Free Reaction by Jessica Roberts Page A

parents. The man was a board professor in the architectural department of the college and the middle-aged woman beside him was his wife. Third, the girl was not their daughter or a grad-student, she was the fiancé.
    After all the introductions were given—me, by some merciful miracle, avoiding so much as one word in the process—Nick finally let go of the girl’s shoulders and took his seat in between her and Peter.
    Though I tried to fight it and though I knew it was my own fault for thinking she’d be parading around somewhere else or at home with the flu instead of sitting right by me, my mood flared—surely a result of the slap in the face—and I turned it on the one person closest to me.
    “How did we all get sat at the same table?” I asked through clenched teeth in Liz’s direction.
    “I think there were numbers at the bottom of the invitations. That’s how Peter knew which table to go to,” she whispered back. “Evidently the invited guests sit with their invitees?”
    “But Nick didn’t invite you guys—”
    “Peter mentioned he arranged for us to sit by you,” she cut in quickly.
    I pierced her with a razor-sharp look.
    She jerked her head in a few quick shakes. “I didn’t recognize her, I didn’t know,” she quietly exclaimed.
    After the harried conversation with Liz, I noticed Nick examining our side of the table as if puzzling what to make of us. His eyes stopped on Creed and studied him with mild interest, however briefly.
    I found my eyes, on the other hand, trying to avoid the girl, attempting to identify the feelings brewing inside me. The emotions were immediate, like a covetous ghost invading my body, cutting its way into my flesh. It was naked jealousy, an emotion I wasn’t used to, and one I didn’t like. I knew immediately I would have to get out of there as soon as possible, before my thoughts translated to words and ruined the entire night.
    Now that I decided to see her, I sourly admitted that the girl had some noticeable qualities. Her natural blonde hair—the sun-kissed color most bottle-blondes would die for—was rolled into a perfect French twist with not a hair out of place. Her manicured nails were of moderate length and painted in some light shade. She was long and lean like me, but unlike me, had curves in all the right places; though I was pretty sure she wasn’t born that way. Anyone could tell she came from money.
    Barbie Doll . Liz was spot on.
    I hadn’t realized Nick was watching me scrutinize the girl, seeing too much. He caught my eye and then looked away. I didn’t know what he was expecting. For the girl and I to be best friends? For all of us to become one big happy family?
    Not happening.
    While the two entrée choices were discussed and decided upon by each group at the table, Nick was engaged in conversation by Peter. If my memories were accurate, they were once friends.
    “When’s the big day?” I heard Peter ask.
    Paige, finding her way into their conversation, replied, “December thirtieth.”
    Instead of lashing out in a jealous rage, I lost my patience with the waiter who’d twice asked Nick if he wanted a glass of wine. “He doesn’t drink—” I called across the table.
    “He doesn’t drink—” Paige said at the same time. And then our faces met.
    Word for word, her sentence had come right on top of mine. The table turned unnervingly quiet as our eyes connected.
    Her face turned bitter and mine turned away.
    Back off, he’s mine , her look seemed to warn.
    My averted glance didn’t respond, though my blood iced instantly.
    The space between us was pressing with unspoken words.
    “Um, Jinx?” suggested Peter.
    The waiter continued around the table, oblivious to the confrontation beginning under his nose. When he presented the wine to me, I took a deep breath, shook my head, and then glanced toward Nick.
    He was looking steadily back at me, hopefully missing the rage and humiliation my face tried to hide.
    “Should we go get our