To See You Again Read Free Page A

to watch Raven look in the mirror and
decide that she has to transform into one of the stupid bar-girl clones. I
light a cigarette and inhale deeply. Raven has banned my habit in her apartment,
as well as in her car. She's pleaded with me to quit since we met in a creative
writing class our freshman year. She's so earnest about it that it almost makes
me want to stop. Almost.
    Spencer appears at the top of the landing, dressed
preppy and smelling like a half a bottle of some overly masculine joke of a
cologne. Neither of us bothers to greet the other. What's the point? No one's
watching and this hatred isn't a one-way street.
    "Is Rachel ready?" he asks in his nasally voice.
     "Rachel" is Raven. Nearly all of her college
friends, and even some of her high school friends, call her Raven. She sat
behind me in the first class we had together, and one day I wanted to talk to
her, but I couldn't for the life of me remember her actual name. It probably
seemed like a come-on, but it wasn't. I made it a personal rule, after a few
very bad post sex encounters, not to do date anyone I had a class with. The
drama unleashed on me by those girls, and their little rag-tag buddies, was so not worth it.
    I glance up at Spencer. He's been the one holdout.
He refuses to call her Raven, even though she tells everyone she prefers it.
She told me once that she never liked her name, never felt like a
Rachel. Nope, Spencer won't do it, because it has a connection to me, and if he
had it his way, all links to me would've ended a long time ago. When I'm around
he loves to say her name as much as possible, sometimes giving me a sideways
glance that says, "Rachel is our special thing." What-the-fuck-ever.
    I shrug at him. "Go on in."
    I don't move out of his way, so he steps awkwardly
over me like a giant pile of dog shit he's trying to avoid. If Raven were here
now, watching me be a total dick to him, she'd be lecturing me about my
assholedom.
    I finish my cigarette and follow him into the
apartment, immediately staking claim to the larger of the two couches, the one
I've been sleeping on for the past few weeks. Spencer, having clearly been told
to wait in the living room, saunters back and takes the opposite couch, waiting
obediently like the good dog that he is. We don't bother with small talk; no
need to pretend when Raven isn't here.
    He seizes the remote like he's won it from me and
begins flipping through the channels, only pausing to adjust his black,
buttoned down shirt. Spencer is always well dressed, well groomed, well spoken,
well-to-do. In a few days he will graduate with a business degree and start
working at his daddy's company. He thinks I don't get his lifestyle or where he
comes from, but I do. Spencer is a lesser version of what I would've become had
I'd done what was asked or expected of me.
    Tabby meanders down the hall first, clearly not in
any hurry. She has on the standard bar outfit: skimpy tank, short black skirt,
and screw-me black boots. She has a decent figure, but I'd give her personality
a zero. I don't feel too bad about that, because she makes no bones about the
fact that she doesn't like me. "So, Collin, I hear you're going to grace us
with your presence tonight?" She twirls a lock of her blonde hair between her
fingers and glares at me.
    The dog's ears perk up; this is not what Spencer
was hoping to hear. I guess Raven left that detail out.
    "Yeah, Tabby, I'm coming. Don't worry, though, I
plan to be a good little boy tonight." I give her a condescending wink.
    Not watering down her disgust even a little bit,
she laughs humorlessly. "I'll believe it when I see it." She rolls her eyes and
then returns to her reflection. I guess the amount of cleavage she has showing
just isn't enough, because she tugs on her tank exposing even more of her boobs.
Work it girl, ‘cuz it's pretty much all you got.
    Spencer shifts uncomfortably in his seat. I don't
doubt that he's enjoying watching Tabby's take down, but I think he's