"It's because I'm so short," I pouted. "Every time I gain a little weight it's super obvious."

"Anna, give it a rest," Whitney practically snapped. "You're not fat."

"Okay," I relented, "just checking. I know there's a reason I don't have a boyfriend."

"Anna," Whitney said, sounding exasperated, "the reason you don't have a boyfriend is because you study all the damn time and you work at the bookstore. Every time we invite you to come do something with us you have to go to study; or in the case of spring break, go home to visit family. Stop trying to be so perfect."

Perfect? That was the last word I felt described me. "I'm not perfect," I frowned.

"Oh, Anna."

I decided to give it a rest. If there was an answer to my problem with boys and dating, it was obvious that Whitney didn't have it.

****

Driving to Montana was going to take a couple of days, and I was a little daunted by the idea of all that windshield time, alone. And it wouldn't help that every time one of my friends took a selfie at the beach my phone would notify me just how happy and thrilled everyone else was.

"Is that the last bag?" Whitney asked as she hefted a suitcase into the back of my Ford Ranger. It was my mother's old truck, and it had seen a lot of hard, dusty work. Now it was old and beaten up, and the idea of it making it all the way to Billings, Montana, seemed doubtful.

"Yeah, it's the last one," I lied. It wasn't, but Whitney seemed so exhausted and annoyed I thought I would let her go.

"Well have a wonderful time," Whitney chirped, pulling me in for a tight hug.

"You too," I said, all of a sudden not wanting to let her go, "I hope you have so much fun in Mexico."

"I'm sure Montana will be great," she said, squeezing me again. "Maybe you'll meet a hot cowboy or something."

"Yeah right."

After Whitney had driven away I walked back into my dorm, past the broken elevator and up six flights of stairs. I arrived at my room and grabbed my last two bags. One was a backpack that I'd kept from high school, when three outstanding students were chosen to go on an Outward Bound course. I strapped the thing on to me and grabbed my other bag, which was nothing more than a gigantic sack of dirty laundry, and headed down the stairs.

****

My second day of traveling felt even lonelier than the first. I could only listen to so much dub step until it felt like my head was going to explode, so I switched to country music. It helped me settle down, and somehow I felt like it fit the landscape. Montana was in fact beautiful, with endless rolling plains and snowcapped mountains. The only traffic was the occasional muddy pickup, and every time my old truck groaned over another mountain pass I was treated to yet another expansive, breathtaking vista.

I decided the only thing making me unhappy was my phone. After the thirtieth time my phone buzzed with another ecstatic group photo taken by the side of the ocean, I decided to delete my Facebook entirely.

Almost there--I was so excited.

It was about 11 am when I pulled off the back-road Google Maps told me to use as a shortcut and merged onto the freeway. I hit the gas and drove hard until my stomach growled, letting me know it was time for lunch; I pulled off at the first full-service tourist truck stop I saw, one of those huge ones with a restaurant, showers for truckers, tacky gift store, etc. I got out of my truck and walked stiffly across the parking lot. Cowboys were milling around their trucks, and the place was a hive of activity as big rigs pulled in from the highway while others took off.

It looked like I was the only female around, and I was suddenly self-conscious about how I was dressed: like a college girl on spring break, in a flimsy wife-beater over my bra and a pair of tiny short-shorts. I unconsciously smoothed my hair out as I made my way towards the sprawling complex.

"Hey darlin'," a handsome old cowboy said as I walked past him in the parking lot; I didn’t answer. Despite myself, I turned around to watch him saunter lazily over to his truck. His ass filled out his tight jeans nicely, and I stared until he pulled his wiry body up into the cab of his big 4x4.

He grinned when he saw me staring at him. He tipped his hat for a second before firing up the big diesel engine and speeding off in a cloud of dust and black smoke.

I stepped into the dark, loud building and oriented myself. I found the café I was looking for and headed towards it, conscious of all the male eyes on me. It was frightening and exciting, and by the time I got to my destination my heart was beating a little faster, and I felt the tingle of adrenaline electrifying my body.

There was a long line at the café counter, and I lined up at the end with a gaggle of smelly, bleary-eyed truckers.

"Hey there, little girl," one of them slurred at me. I was shocked when I smelled his breath in my face. He reeked like booze.

The rest of them turned and chuckled.

I shrank away from them, not wanting to be so close.  But at the same time I couldn’t be too far away so as not to lose my place in line, which was getting longer by the second.

"What's wrong?" the drunken trucker slurred again, "am I too hot for ya?"

Then he reached over and grabbed my ass.

I shrieked and slapped him away, my heart suddenly pounding with fear. My attempt to drive him away only emboldened him, and he staggered towards me, his big hand closing around my forearm. The rest of the drivers laughed.

"I'd like to take you back into one of those little rooms they got here," he sneered, "or maybe take you into one of the showers, then get you out of those clothes."

"Stop it! If you don't let go of me, I'm going to scream," I said with terror in my voice.

"Let's just hear you try it," he growled, pulling me in close.

"Let go of her!" a voice rang out from behind me.

The crusty trucker looked over my shoulder, his eyes wide with surprise.

"I said, let go of her," the voice bellowed again. It was deep and strong, but without the roughness and gravel of an older man.

"What’re you goin’ to do about it, stranger?"

"I'll fuck you up, that's what!" Then the man stepped right between me and the trucker, pushing us apart. He stood only inches from my aggressor, his gaze level with his, even though the truck driver was twice as big as he was.

"Did you hear that?" the trucker chortled, turning to look at his compatriots, "this little runt is going to fuck me up." But when he turned back to the young man there was a hint of fear in his eyes--the man hadn't moved an inch.

"Hmph," the drunk grunted, pushing past my hero and rudely bumping his shoulder in the process. “I’ll be seeing you around, little girl,” he said wickedly to me with hate in his eyes as he stepped out of the line and walked away.

I almost collapsed with relief, and the handsome young man caught me before I toppled over.

"Whoa," he said, “easy there.”

I was surprised to find myself in a man's arms. When I looked up at him, finally registering his muscular features and sun-weathered skin, the scruffy blond hair poking out of the edges of his cowboy hat, I was speechless. My rescuer, whoever he was, was gorgeous. He looked to be only a few years older than I was, but he was already self-assured and rugged, older than his years.

And he reminded me of a lot of the boys back home, the ones who were going to take over their fathers’ ranches some day, who were used to working from sun-up to sun-down, who drove mud-splattered trucks and swaggered around with a can of Skoal in the back pocket of their Wranglers. It brought me back to another world.