Starting Point.

"Dude, you've got to come here and see this."

In the library’s computer lab, my friend, Clint, was calling someone over to our worktable. He had replaced the Baylor screensaver with one of Prince, the Artist Formerly Known as Prince, or whoever he was at the time, coyly posing in an enormous tulip.

"Isn't that awesome?" Clint laughed.

I turned back towards the computer next to his, where I was working. Clint was seriously goofy but one of my good friends at school. Ever since our Intro to Statistics class, we'd always scheduled our Psychology and Neuroscience classes together. As it was the night before our research paper was due for "Theories in Psychotherapy", we were burning the midnight oil. Preparation is so overrated.

I glanced up as his friend walked away. Hmmm. He was walking back towards his computer so I could look freely without having to worry about glancing away quickly. He had big blue eyes that looked like they were on the verge of laughing. He was soundly built ( Ha! I just read that- it sounds like I’m talking about a house or something- ‘a soundly built structure’- you know what I mean….muscular.) He was dressed like he was about to go climb a mountain, in a good way. "Clint, I'm weirdly attracted to that guy." I said.

Clint looked at me, wide-eyed. "Shut up, oh shut up. You and Jennings!! That'd be perfect! Let me set y'all up!"

"Um, no. Pass. Thanks, though." I had no interest in dating this random guy who, since I was attracted to him, would probably be a self-absorbed, too-cool shmuck- So, no thanks, okay? I had just made the comment as a breezy thing, completely normal for Clint-talk. So, he and I continued working on our paper; however, periodically Clint would glance over and say, "Jennings? Heh?" I'd laugh, roll my eyes, and change the subject before he started thinking too seriously about it.

For the next few weeks, Clint would call me on a daily basis and say things like, “Hey, me and Laura (his girlfriend) were about to go get something to eat… do you want to come?”

Me: Um, maybe. Who else is coming?

Clint: Oh, um, some friends, you know… not too sure yet.

Me: Oh, really? Who?

Clint: sigh. Adam Jennings.

Me: Forget it, thanks! Goodbye.

This continued on for a month, with both Adam and I skillfully dodging uncomfortable first-meeting encounters. Finally, the semester came to a close and my roommate, Lindsey, and I went home with our other roommate, Caroline, for a few days. After our visit in Houston, Lindsey and I caravanned to our respective hometowns- Mt. Pleasant, Texas and Ruston, Louisiana to spend the holidays with our families. On our way out of Houston, though, Lindsey’s car started acting wildly and she called me from her cell phone, “Um, can we pull over? My car is being weird.”

So, Lindsey and I pulled over for, what would become, 7 hours stuck in a ghetto of Houston waiting on her car to be towed and repaired while fearing for our lives. I waited with her until her car was all-better and then we said our goodbyes and got on the road again. However, it was getting late and I didn’t think that I could make the whole drive to Louisiana. I decided to stop in Waco (where Baylor was) and spend the night at our apartment. My roommate, Cara, was still in town because of work so she and I could hang out.

I nearly ran Cara over as I walked into the apartment. “Hey girl, late to work! See you around 11!” Great. Okay, plan B. I’ll just put on my comfy clothes and park myself on the couch. As soon as I was situated with an Uncle Ben’s rice bowl and Friends on T.V., my phone rang. Clint. How did he know?

“Hi Clint.”
“Hey, what are you doing right now?”
“Actually, I’m sitting on my couch in my pajamas. Yourself?”
“That’s lame! Come out with me and Adam!”
“Um, that’s okay. I’m already in my pajamas and I’m really tired fro-“
“Nope. No excuses. We are friends and, sometimes, you need to do difficult things for friends.”
“…what does that mean?”
“It means get ready; we’ll be over there in 20 minutes.”
“I can’t.”
“Camille, I’m serious- c’mon. Just for one hour. What can it hurt?”
“FINE. But I’m only hanging out for 45 minutes AND I’m not looking cute.”
“Whatever. See you in a few.”

I hastily got off of my warm spot on the couch and went into the bedroom. I threw on my “Indiana” t-shirt that I purchased in a Houston thrift store the day before, a zippered jacket, holey jeans, and loafers. I threw my road trip hair into two tiny pigtails and slapped on mascara (the essential). I returned to the couch to finish my episode of “Friends” and await my awkward night.