10.7: The Third Year at UCLA

   "Well that issue was rubbish."
   "They cannot all be number twenty-six." I teased, as Elliot tossed the comic aside.
   "Ask anyone who reads them, they'll confirm that that particular one is, in fact, the most ground breaking, monumental issue."

   "God, you're wonderful... Other than your button-up, I'm bare and you were reading a comic book."
   "I was waiting for you to wake up. Staring at you seemed rather creepy."
   "We actually did this..." I trailed off, sitting up so I was staring into his eyes. It was finals week at UCLA, I was a junior studying physics, Elliot was a senior, freaking out because he was about to graduate. We'd studied together, ate lunch together occasionally on campus, yet we'd never actually gotten together, in an intimate way. We were at the comic book store, drinking cheap beers to celebrate some geek's twenty-first birthday, we began chatting, then one thing lead to another and we were heading back to his frat house, making out, falling onto his bed in a drunk enough to not think about the consequences, yet sober enough to be two consenting adults.
   "We did..."
   "I don't want to have to talk about the aftermath."
   "Nor do I." The words 'but we have to' hung in the air, unsaid, yet what we were both thinking.
   "This doesn't make us a couple." I simply said. "Sex is something human's have a biological predisposition-"

   "Exactly. Besides, we couldn't, even if we wished to."
   "We couldn't?" I asked, befuddled. "Because..."
   "Ryelynn, I got excepted into MIT."
   "Ohmygawsh! Congratulations; that was your number one for grad school." I had felt a connection to him, yet it seemed platonic. I didn't feel any particular urge to date him, marry him, have us create children together, even though we'd just, as a layman would describe the act, done it.
   "Thank you for being a supportive friend."
   "Elliot, we've cultivated a very healthy friendship; being supportive is part of that." I moved off of the bed, standing up, looking around the room, trying to find my clothes. "You don't happen to see my dress, socks, leggings, shoes, panties and bra?"
   "We might have lost a few articles of clothing in the cab ride over here."
   "Oh, yeah. Shame, I really liked your pizza sneakers."
   "There are your leggings." He pointed to the gray fabric that was hanging over the curtain rod. I stood on my tip toes, grabbing them. I turned around to see Elliot staring at me, smirking.
   "Thank karma that you didn't find your panties first."
   "Shut up, perv." I playfully said, as I stuck out my tongue, pulling on the leggings.
   "Sorry, I'm just saying, whatever I did in my past life must have been marvelous, because not only did I get to have intercourse with an incredibly visually appealing, Star Wars loving woman, but she's one of my best friend."

   "Aw, that's so sweet. Now tell me, how I just got got screwed slash walk of shame do I look?" I struck a pose, in last night's black, velvet wedges, my hair pulled back into a bun that was efficiently, ergonomically fashioned with a holey sock I stole from his dresser.
   "Eh, I dunno about that, but you look very enticing."
   "Why thank you. Now, I've got an eight am final and it's seven-forty eight; wish me luck."
   "Good luck." He replied, as I sauntered out of his room, blowing him a kiss as I went. I had grown out of my awkward, friendless, quiet girl phase and now, admittedly wasn't a social butterfly, was much more confident and had gained a few fellow H. G. Wells fanatics to associate with.. I knew that I wasn't supermodel attractive, however I also knew that there wasn't much I could do about it; might as well embrace my looks, my intelligence, my geekiness.
   I was living in carefree bliss. I had a four point zero GPA, my professors were wonderful, I had been able to work with several acclaimed quantum physicists who'd made large strides in the field, my robotic engineering skills had improved, I'd attended my sixth consecutive San Diego Comic Con; what wasn't to love?