Matt Ringler Campus Tour Guide: Unscripted Encounter with a Hollywood Heartthrob

I crossed the road leading to a small house set back a few yards from the sidewalk, moving toward someone unloading his car into the driveway. He turned when he heard the sound of my sneakers against the gravel. “Hi there.” I held out my hand to him, which he accepted with a slight smile. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m…”

“Charley. Yeah, I remember.” There was a small hesitation before he spoke “I'm Matt, by the way, in case I didn’t make memorable first impression.”

I smiled in return, “Maaatt! Right. From the giant plastic map board thing. I thought you looked familiar, but I just couldn’t quite place you.” He rolled his eyes at me. “Really, though, I was just considering the possibility that I could be the last person on this campus you want to get stuck with; in which case you could simply have started talking in a made up foreign language and shooed me away, which happens surprisingly often... ” Of course, I was joking. Small talk was a foreign concept to me, and I tended to avoid it whenever possible. However, it proved necessary at times, and my only saving grace was humor. Usually terrible terrible attempts at it.

A chuckle crossed his lips as he pulled a box from the trunk of his car. “So is your wit the reason you got stuck with me?” My wit was actually what kept me from being paralyzingly shy.

“How do you know I didn’t volunteer? I could be some crazy fan who's completely goo-goo over you.”

He stopped unloading and looked at me solidly for the first time, as if assessing me. “Is that what you are?”

“Of course not. Even if I were, I wouldn't admit it; that would just be silly. Do homicidal maniacs go around warning their victims before they strike? I think not, extraordinarily bad for business.” Serial killers was my default topic when nervous. “I'm Charley Zephyr. I was asked to show you around because I'm not a crazy fan who's completely goo-goo over you.”

A corner of his mouth flickered upward. “How flattering.”

“I do what I can.” The words came out fluidly, as if part of a natural response. “Want some help with this stuff?” He started to give me that look that I've gotten one too many times in my life to not recognize before it was even fully formed. “I'm stronger than I look.” At 5'5 and weighing less than 110 pounds, people often questioned my physical abilities; I liked to challenge that whenever possible. As if to prove myself, I lifted one of the boxes he had placed on the lawn. To my displeasure, it was heavier than I'd expected, but I held it regardless. He laughed again, showing a smile with straight white teeth. “I guess you are, but how about we wait on this,” he took the box from me, carrying it effortlessly and set it back in the car, “and you show me around first. That way you'll fulfill your obligation right off the bat, and I don't waste all of your day.”

“Oh, a day with Matt Ringler, what part of that could possibly be a waste. After all, I had to beat the other girls away with a very heavy, electrified stick in order to get this job.”

“Uh huh, you definitely strike me as the star-struck type.” He closed the trunk of his car. It was an older model than I would have expected from someone with money, though well restored and with a fresh coat of dark green paint. Matt looked at me expectantly. There was good humor in his eyes and his smile was one which had undoubtedly caused much swooning.

He was right about that, though. Star-struck was definitely not something that would describe my personality. Then again, it was rare I did things that the average female was “supposed” to do. I tended to only wear t-shirts, jeans and sneakers with my blonde hair up in a messy bun, as I didn't know how to do anything else to it. The only time I was caught in anything nicer was if the occasion called for it. That day, for instance, I did only a bit better than my usual with light brown shorts and a baby doll style tank top. Even with shorts I wore sneakers; I cursed the very existence of flip-flops. Swooning over guys was not my style, or a past time. My DVD collection was filled with far more horror movies, action adventure and thrillers than chick flicks, Stephen King took up most of my book shelf, and only real vampire novels were anywhere to be found (because real men don't sparkle). On top of that were a few scattered video games and an understanding of sports. Even so, I was not a complete “guy”. Being polite and appropriate were second nature, and soft-spoken would be an understatement when it came to describing me- in public at least. Not to mention, I carry the magical ability to walk in heels without looking like a baby giraffe.

Matt seemed good humored enough, so I continued to joke with him. “That's only because you haven't noticed what a master thief I am. Do you think I picked up that heavy box for nothing? I figure I could make a pretty penny off my new relic.” His expression flashed to that of minute concern. “I'm kidding. Now come on, I have a tour to give.”

So many other girls had pined and begged for the chance to show Matt around the campus on his first day, one even offering sexual favors to the department head. She was turned down immediately and people tend to whisper about her when she walks in the room, now. Guys had also been offering, some of them gay and some looking for a good buddy to help attract ladies.

It wasn't hard to believe people were going that out of control. Matt was, admittedly, wonderful to look at. His amazing smile could leave anyone swooning. It could be playful, charming, teasing, gentle, caring, mischievous... or so I'd heard. Cool blue eyes only added to the beauty, capable of more emotion than any number of words could hope to achieve. His voice was deep, the kind that rumbled through your chest when he spoke. There were a few freckles lining his nose and cheek bones, allowing for an almost playful, boyish look. Currently, his hair was shorter, just long enough to have been tousled around by the wind from the drive; I knew girls who would give anything to run their fingers through it, or even take a good grip of it. Standing next to him, I came to about his shoulders, putting him at around six feet. From what was visible, it was easy to tell he was well built, arms toned with muscle, without being terrifyingly WWE muscular. What was hidden by his loose t-shirt was also well toned, as was common knowledge to a number of people. Everything about him existed to get a girl in trouble. Masculinity and physical perfection aside, not only was he a movie star, but his family was filthy rich.

After his crazy, out of hand audition, he was accepted into the theatre program. As much as the school would have liked to have welcomed him just as they would any other first year, the campus-wide freak-out when the news began to spread made it obvious that that wouldn't exactly happen, not to mention the massive trouble at the auditions. The honest truth was that I had not volunteered for the position of tour guide for him, but was asked specifically to help him settle in because I was not the star-struck type. They had seen and heard about me handling him on his previous visit and admired it. 'Down to earth, logical, and in control' was how my theatre professors described me when they requested I be the one who helped. They trusted enough in my sanity that I wouldn't use my position to sneak into his bedroom in the middle of the night, or set up hidden cameras all over his apartment. I had no doubt that some girls in the department wouldn't think twice before doing either of those.



I took him around the campus, most of which he had already seen. As the summer session had already ended and fall classes would not start for another few weeks, the area was relatively empty. Also, Matt's arrival date had been “leaked” to the general public. Luckily for him, I was the one who leaked it, and he would not be pulling up to the campus for another week and a half. This made the walk much calmer with less screaming girls and possible sprints into abandoned buildings to avoid mob tramplings. He had pulled the same baseball cap he had previously donned low onto his head and sported a pair of sunglasses, so those who did walk by didn't pay him much attention. As the summer sun was high and hot in the sky, he did not look much different from the other guys walking around.

“So, what is it you liked about this school that made you want to come here?” I asked about a half an hour later, as we walked away from our meeting with the theatre faculty.

At first he didn't say anything, but just turned and looked at me. Even through his sunglasses I could tell he was giving me a look. One blessing I was always glad for was that I don't blush. No matter how embarrassed or humiliated I get, my cheeks remain a neutral color. A small wave of heat rushed over me when I saw his look. Had I said something stupid? “Would you like me to rephrase the question? I could ask in pig-Latin, if that would better suit you...”

He chuckled. “Well, my parents wanted me to look into the programs of different universities and see which one best fit with what I was trying to find, but in

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THE END