THE FOUR OF US

We all met when we were blissfully unaware of what our lives were going to be, which can be defined as the fruitful age of eighteen.

First, Greg and George met their freshman year in some crap liberal arts class every college in the United States demanded you take. I wish I had been there to see when they met. They claim it was “love at first sight,” but I bet ya, they didn’t say a word to one another until week seven of the semester.

Then a year later, Zach and I met in an intro to philosophy class. He always sat in the front with his notebooks lined up on his desk. I had just moved from California to Vermont and didn’t know anyone besides my roommate. We were partnered up for a project, and we hit it off. We grew up only twenty miles from one another, yet never met. We were both political science majors so we compared classes that we were taking and talked shit about professors as if we knew what we were doing.

We still hadn’t met Greg and George yet. During that time, Zach and I made our schedules identical so we could have every class together. We hung out a lot outside of our classes which made all my girlfriends question if we were an item.

For the record, I never had feelings for Zach in all the years I’ve known him. I love him the way a sister would love her brother. He knows all this, but I want to make it clear to everyone else that we were never an item.

When I entered my sophomore year, Zach entered his junior year and we were forced to take different classes due to scheduling conflicts. I decided to take an English literature class that only had twelve students in it. Of course, it was at 7:30AM with a professor who loved to teach bright and early. I sure as hell didn’t want to be there! I was a goddamn poli sci major that ended up taking these idiotic basic major-type classes.

I didn’t know anyone in the class so I sat in the back row in a chair that was probably older than me. The first day of class was always the same; read through the syllabus, ask questions, debate to drop out of the class, debate to drop out of college altogether. You know, the usual college student things.

Our Professor was yapping about his percentages of grading when Greg walked in. He was fifteen minutes late to the first class of the semester.

I still remember what he was wearing. He was wearing these light pink shorts that had white daisies all over them. They were small daisies but big enough to draw your eyes directly to them. He paired them with a regular white t-shirt and sneakers. His light brown hair was sticking in different directions but somehow he made it work. It’s crazy how you remember little life details from what feels like a million years ago.

Our Professor didn’t say anything which forced Greg to just rush to the nearest open seat which was a row in front of me.

I didn’t pay attention to what my Professor said after that. I just couldn’t. I just kept staring at him the entire time. I noticed how he cracks his knuckles before he picks up his pen or how he touches his neck constantly. He never took out his laptop which was strange since every college student uses their laptop. He just took notes in a notebook the entire time.

The class had finished early causing everyone to run out of there as fast as possible. Greg took his time so I timed it with him. I purposely got out of my row right when he did cause us to collide. Don’t pretend you’ve never done that.

“Shit, sorry.” He said. I heard that accent and I was captured. I don’t want to say that I’m one of those basic girls who love a British accent, but when Greg spoke to me for the first time, I melted.

“It’s ok. Don’t worry. I’m kinda a mess a lot of the time. I get into these debacles a lot actually. The other day I tripped over my own foot. Which is really insane because I’m twenty-” I rambled for no reason constantly so, of course, I had to at this moment. This should have been his sign to just ignore me and carry on with his day but he was smiling. Like a full grin. Teeth showing and everything. He had a light stubble that was either all the beard he could grow or just him being lazy and not shaving.

“Uhm,” He was clearly holding a laugh, “well, it’s very common to have that issue. I don’t have that issue but, I know lots who do if that makes it better.” We both smiled then. Some girl who was still there squeezed between us causing both of us to force a goodbye.

“I should go to my next class. It’s on the opposite side of campus and I have like ten minutes to get there.” We were walking towards the exit that led us to the crowded hallways.

“Yeah me too. I’ll see you.” He had his backpack on one shoulder. It was brown leather. Looked expensive. Not that I’m that girl who looks for expensive things.

“See ya.” He continued walking down the hallway while I made my way to the elevators.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when I met Greg Andrews. It’s also when in exactly four years we’d have the most bombshaking breakup known to man and would lead him to write an amazing album that wins five Grammys and leave me utterly heartbroken.

***

“I’m sorry.” I took off my glasses then pressed my fingers in my temple. If there is anything he’s uncomfortable with me sharing, I guess you guys will edit it out. But, I don’t know how I’m supposed to share the story of Greg Andrews and how he absolutely changed and destroyed my life.” I grabbed the water bottle next to me and chucked it. I can’t believe that all these people were willing to snug into my living room to hear me talk. “So, I think we’re done here.”

“Don’t you find it odd that you two haven’t talked since the breakup and he still wants you in his documentary?” The director adjusted herself in her chair before pushing her glasses closer to her face.

“If you have to ask me that question, you clearly haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.” I moved strands of my hair behind my ear. “Do you not realize that his hit song is about me? Also, have you not realized that his album Friends, and a Little More is about the four of us? Or that if he didn’t make me realize that I was destined for more, I wouldn’t be who I am? If we didn’t meet, if we didn’t fall in love, neither of us would be who we were. I pushed him to his dream, and he pushed me to find what would make me happy.” The rest of the crew had their eyes on her.

I hate stupid questions.

“What makes you happy?” I wasn’t sure if the cameras were still rolling. I wasn’t going to lie, but I also wanted Greg to know that I was doing great.

“My job makes me happy. I’m the head of PR for a nonprofit that focuses on serving underprivileged kids. I get to travel, see the world and make changes in people’s lives. And I wouldn’t change anything I’ve done. Regarding my boys, they are the most important people in my life. And that includes Greg. Regardless of what happened between us, I can’t deny the connection we share.”

I stood up and walked to Petunia who was curled in the corner of my sofa. She hissed as soon as I picked her up. I still felt the crew's eyes on me but I wanted them to get the hell out of my house. Petunia’s nails were digging into my arms so I brought her to her scratching post.

“Greg is in love with you!” I turned around to find all eyes on a girl that had to be in her early twenties. She had big curly hair and was wearing one of Greg’s tour t-shirts.

“Morgan!” The director screamed at her. There were whispers instantly and her hand started to shake.

“Someone had to tell her!” Morgan’s hands were brushing her hair away from her face. “Nate, show her the clip!”

“What clip?” Morgan walked towards a monitor and flipped it around to face me. I walked past the director so I could get a clearer view of the clip. I instantly saw Greg sitting on a white sofa wearing a navy blue sweater. He now had a full beard with little gray patches. There was a man, I assume Nate, sitting by the monitors with headsets.

“She can’t see exclusive footage!” The director ended up standing next to me but I reached for the headset and put it around my ears.

“So like I was saying,” That fucking british accent still gets me. “If there is anything my fans take from this documentary - let it be this.” Greg leaned forward in his chair looking directly into the camera.

“If you have a person who lights a fire in you in ways you didn’t know possible, who challenges you, makes you a better person, but most of all loves you endlessly, never let them go.” He then cleared his throat and someone said something to him, but I wasn’t able to hear it. “Cami is the love of my life. The tabloids could publish that I’m in love with whatever fucking model they want, but, none of them will ever mean anything to me like what Cameron means to me. I have to fight the urge, daily, to drop everything just to go see her. I have kept her promise to not contact her, but I’m not sure how much longer I can do it. I lost my lifeboat and I’m scared she’s not going to ever float back to me.”

“Holy shit.” I ripped the headset off my head. I didn’t realize that tears were streaming down my face at this point. I whipped them away as the entire crew was just looking at me. “When was this clip filmed?” I turned to look at Morgan.

“Last month when we were in his house in LA.” I grabbed onto my table because I was afraid if I didn’t, I might have fallen.

There were nights when I prayed that he would call me, or show up on my doorstep. Nights where I went home with other men and wished it was him. For a whole year, I would listen to his debut album on my rides to and from work. I just wanted to hear him sing about how much he loved me because there was a part of me that thought he never would again. But he loves me. I’m his goddamn lifeboat!

“I need to go!” I went right to Petunia, swooping her in my arms. I grabbed my sweater from the chair then reached for my backpack. “I have to go to LA!”

“Cameron,” I turned to find Morgan inches away from me, “he’s not in LA anymore.”

“So where the hell is Greg?!”

“San Francisco.” The director spoke. “He’s recording his new album. He’ll be there for two more days.” I had no idea what was in that bag, but I knew that if I left now, I could drive and get there by the midnight, sleep in my car, then find his recording studio. All I will need is a little help from Twitter and I should be good. There’s always fans waiting outside recording studios.

“Thank you.” I took any little thing I could find that would possibly not help me in my very impromptu roadtrip to tell my famous ex boyfriend that I love him and haven’t stopped loving him. Normal, right?

Katarina Cordero was born and raised in New York City, which sparked her love for literature very early in life. She recently attended the Westport Writers’ Pitch and Publish Conference, where she gained valuable insights to help her grow as a writer. Katarina graduated from St. Francis College, Summa Cum Laude, with a Bachelor’s degree in Communications Arts and a concentration in Digital Media. Currently, she works in the sports entertainment industry.