Kent held his book in one hand and scraped dirt off the side of his sneaker with a stick he held in the other. Deciding to read his assigned chapter on a bench in front of the English building on the nicest day of the year was a big mistake, Kent thought. Waaaaaaaaaaay too easy to get distracted out here.
A deep purr caught Kent’s ear and grew louder as an old pick-up truck rounded the corner and slid into one of the student parking spaces. Dried mud was splattered across the entire truck like it was a mobile Jackson Pollack canvas. Kent trained his eye on the vehicle as the driver’s door opened and a girl stepped out.
Kent recognized her as a classmate in his American Lit class that just finished a few minutes ago. He tried to pretend he wasn’t staring her down as she strode across the parking lot, but he wasn’t very convincing. A worn-in cowboy hat sat atop her head full of flowing black hair. Her body was a genuine phenomenon, slender but curvy, with a little extra padding in the boobs and butt. Flawless legs ran from the frayed bottoms of her cut-off jean shorts down to the knee-high cowboy boots sheathing her smallish feet. Kent was so caught up with the sight of her that he didn’t even realize she was coming toward him until she was right in front of his face.
Kent jumped back, startled. The girl smirked. “Don’t tell me class is over,” she said, a southern twang decorating her feathery voice. Country girls. Kent was a city kid attending school in a rural college town. No matter how many times he heard it, that accent always gave him pause.
“Yeah, it ended about 15 minutes ago,” Kent responded. His eyes moved slowly from her rack up to her eyes.
“Shit.” The girl bit her thick red lower lip and stomped her foot. “I gotta get my fuckin’ watch fixed. This is the second time this month.”
“You didn’t miss much,” Kent assured her. “We just went over ‘Gatsby’ again, and --”
“I don’t get that book,” the girl whined. “I mean, what the fuck is with that green light? What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t like that symbolism shit. I’m a tell-it-like-it-is kinda girl, y’now? No frontin’. No bullshit.”
Kent laughed. To an academian lit major like himself, dismissing symbolism as bullshit was tantamount to sacrilege. But never question a pretty girl.
“You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?” the girl asked. “How’d you like to help me with some of the lit homework?”
“Sure. When would be good for you?”
“How about right now?”
Kent shrugged. He wasn’t gonna get any work done out here anyway. “Why not?”
The girl flashed a smile as big as a cornfield. “Great!” she said. “Hop in the truck. We’ll go to my place.”
The two students made their way over to the mud-encrusted truck. “How in the hell did you get that thing so dirty?”
“Muddin’. I LOVE muddin’,” she said. “Takin’ a truck out in a field and just drivin’ through all the yuck and shit … Great way to spend a weekend.”
Kent rolled his eyes. How redneck. “You really get a kick out of that, huh? That‘s what you do every weekend?”
A devious glint appeared in the girl’s eye. “Not every weekend. There are other fun things to do in the mud.”
Kent’s body stiffened. He was a little confused, as he really didn’t know what she was talking about, but something about the way she said it made it sounds VERY sexual.
Kent climbed in the passenger seat and the girl started the motor. “What’s your name, by the way? I can‘t remember,” he asked as she turned her head to pull out backwards and stretched her arm across the seat, casually laying it behind his shoulder.
“Jenna,” she said. “You’re Kent, right?”
He smiled. “You’re smart.”
“Then what do I need you for?”
After a brief laugh by both parties, Kent shifted in his seat and turned to look out the window. He found himself hoping the sexual tension wasn’t just in his head.
The truck pulled up in front of an old farmhouse, surrounded by acres of field and weeds. The two students got out and made their way to the porch. Kent looked around and took it all in. “You’re a farmer?”