I didn't plan to start college as a virgin.
Actually, I hadn't planned to finish high school as a virgin. Or to start my senior year as one... But I wasn't the type of girl that filled guys' heads with thoughts of sex. More like thoughts of, "Boy, I bet she can help me with my homework!" That's right: I was a class A, one hundred percent geek.
I wasn't ugly, at least I didn't think so. Though there were days I wished I could shave my head instead of fighting with my unruly hair. And I couldn't wait for the day I could afford contact lenses instead of my stupid round glasses. I had a decent figure, but with the fashion sense of a tree, I had no idea how to dress to accentuate it. Put simply, I was a mess. And so naturally, I started college as a virgin.
I woke up my first morning of college in the same bed I'd slept in for fourteen years. Yep, I was still living with my parents. They were overprotective, which was yet another reason I'd had no opportunity to lose my virginity, and my father had announced a year earlier that he didn't think I could "handle" dorm life until I was at least twenty. My feeling was that he just wanted to keep me a little girl for a while longer, but I hadn't argued. I never argued with my parents. Never mind that my older brother Randy had moved into his own apartment at eighteen. He wasn't me.
My classes were just as boring as my high school ones had been. Day after day was the same thing. Breakfast with my parents, a day of classes that put me to sleep, a few hours at the convenience store where I'd been working since my eighteenth birthday, and back home for supper with my parents. There were cute guys in some of my classes, but none gave me a second glance. Most didn't even give me a first.
One afternoon, I was alone at work when a creepy-looking guy came in. He looked around the store for a few minutes, then came up to the counter. "Give me what's in the register," he said.
"I- what?"
He pulled a knife out of his pocket. "Give me what's in the fucking register! Now!"
Oh, god! I froze. My boss had drilled it into my head over and over: if someone tries to rob you, give them what they want. But now that it was time to put it into practice, I couldn't remember what he'd said.
The guy lunged across the counter and held the point of the knife against my throat. "Open the motherfucking register and give me the goddamn money!"
The door opened. "Put the knife away, you moron."
Startled, the robber jumped off the counter. "You an idiot or something?" he asked the customer. "I have a fucking knife!"
"You have a fucking problem." The customer held the door open. "Get the fuck out of here before I kick your ass."
"Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"I think I'm Jay Christian."
"Shit." The robber took one last look at me and bolted.
Jay Christian. Object of my first childhood crush. He'd graduated with my brother eight years earlier; they'd been friends until a fight over a girl split them up. Jay'd gotten the girl, as I recalled, along with plenty of others. He'd never paid attention to me, of course; I'd just been the little kid who tried to crash the conversations.
"Are you okay?" he asked me.
Now that the danger was over, I fell apart. Huge sobs erupted from my throat; I couldn't even answer Jay. He came around behind the counter and put his arms around me. "It's all right," he said softly. "You're safe."
"I- Oh, god, what if you hadn't come in?" I said. "He was going to stab me!"
"Nah, I know the guy. He's just a punk. He wouldn't have done anything; sooner or later someone would have scared him off. Or you'd have smartened up and given him the money like he asked." He studied me. "You're Samantha, right? Randy's sister?"
"Yes." I backed away from him and grabbed a piece of paper towel. I didn't really want him seeing me with tears and snot all over my face. "Sorry. I'm not usually like this."
"I'm sure you're not usually the victim of an attempted robbery. Where's your phone?"
"Huh?"
"Phone. So I can call the police? Like I said, I know that guy. One call and he'll be picked up. You'll have to file a report and all that, but I'll stick with you till you're done."
"You will?"
Jay laughed. "You ask a lot of questions. Yes, I will. We go back a long way, Sam. Though you definitely have improved since you were nine."
I decided not to ask what he meant by that. "The phone's right here." I picked up the receiver and handed it to him. "I'm going to have to call my boss, too."
"No problem." Jay reached in front of me and dialed the phone. He didn't quite touch me, but he was so close I could feel his body heat. I leaned back. I'd just almost been robbed, for crying out loud! Now was not the time to renew a nine-year-old crush.
The police showed up while I was on the phone with my boss. My boss showed up soon after. I had to go through the whole story over and over while notes were taken and forms were filled out. By the time Randy showed up to give me a ride home from work- my parents, naturally, hadn't let me get my license yet- I wanted to collapse.
Randy ran into the store. "Sam? What happened?"
"Someone tried to rob the store," Jay replied. "Fortunately, someone else showed up and scared the creep off."
"You?" Randy eyed him suspiciously. "Why were you even here?"
"Um, it's a store. I came in to buy something." Jay squeezed my hand. "Hang in there, Sam. You did all right tonight. Talk to you soon." He winked at me and sauntered out.
Randy waited around while the police and my boss finished getting the information they needed, then walked me to his car. "What was that all about with Jay?" he demanded as he drove out of the parking lot.
"What was what all about?"
"Telling you he'd talk to you soon. Why was he even there?"
"Because he saved me from being stabbed!" I turned to stare out the window. "I don't get why you've held a grudge against the guy for so many years, but that doesn't mean I have to hate him too. If he hadn't come in when he did, I don't know what would have happened. And I hope he does talk to me soon."
"He's too old for you, Sam."
"No one's too old to be a friend."
"Yeah, and what I know about Jay Christian is he wouldn't only want to be your friend. The man's a complete pussy hound, always looking for the next lay. And he's into some other pretty nasty stuff, too. Drugs, for example. Stay away from him, Sam."
"He used to be your best friend."
"Yeah, almost ten years ago. Things change. People change. I mean it, Sam. I'll talk to Mom and Dad if you don't promise right now that you'll stay away from him."
Typical. Randy was twenty-six years old and still acted like a child. "Do what I say or I'll tell," I mocked.
"I'm not messing around, Sam."
I knew he wasn't. He was just as overprotective as my parents. "Okay, fine. I promise."