Authors: Megan Squires
“No.” I shake my head and unzip the luggage,
pulling out my clothing and walking to the closet with them in hand. “I had to
drop all my classes this quarter. All but Anthro—Professor Long did me a
huge favor with that one.”
“Well, if you end up taking O-Chem again next
quarter, chances are we can be lab partners because I’m currently failing.”
Sawyer flashes another award winning smile, then reaches for an empty red cup
on Cora’s desk and spits into it, throwing away any of the charm he might
previously have exuded.
“You’re not going to fail,” I assure. “You’ll
do great.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Sawyer
says, stepping backward toward the door. “But I’ve got about 53% in there right
now. So I’ll be seeing you in class next quarter, Maggie.”
I offer a smile. “See you then.”
Sawyer walks out of our room and Cora comes to
my side to finish transferring my clothing from my suitcase to the closet.
“There’s a movie showing tonight on the quad,”
she says, slipping a gray, wool sweater onto a hanger. “Most of our floor is
going. Wanna come?”
“I don’t think so,” I say as I fold my
underwear and socks into the top drawer of my dresser. “I think I’ll hang low
tonight.”
“Suit yourself.” Cora takes the now empty
luggage from my bed and stands on toe to try to place it on the top shelf. “But
there are supposed to be some mighty fine upperclassmen attending.” The
suitcase wobbles into place, and Cora keeps a steady hand in front of it until
she’s satisfied it’s not going anywhere. “Probably won’t be any guys hotter
than Ran, anyway.”
“Probably not,” I reply, my eyes burrowing into
the stained concrete floor underneath me. I chance a glance up at Cora, and her
mouth is pulled into an ‘I told you so’ smile.
“Probably not,” she says once more.
***
When the bright light from the hallway slices
into our room, I have to squint my eyes to fight the glare, even though they’re
still closed.
“Cora?” I croak, lifting up slightly in my bed.
“Cora, what time is it?”
Two giggles—one female and the other
distinctly male—offer me the only answer I need. It’s late. Like
middle-of-the-night-and-Cora’s-brought-someone-home-with-her kind of late.
“Seriously Cora?” I heave a spare pillow across
the room toward the intertwined couple and one of them mutters, “Thanks.”
Ugh.
This is
so not how I wanted to spend my first night back at school. I’d take the muted
sound of Mikey throwing up on the other side of our shared bedroom wall over
Cora’s midnight romp. Not that she’d go too far. That’s the funny thing about
Cora. She pretends to be this girl that’s been around the block and then some,
but the reality of it is that she always stops things before they get to that
point.
We had a conversation the first night we met
about our experiences, and I was shocked to learn that Cora was a virgin, and
that she intended on staying that way until her wedding night. Cora proved
herself to be the perfect example of ‘you can’t judge a book by its cover.’ On
the outside she looked experienced, overly confident, and well practiced, yet
on the inside she was completely innocent.
I’d never been jealous of Cora over much, but
that was one thing about her that gripped me with envy.
“Can’t you guys get a room?” I yank my pillow
and blanket under my arm and push past them toward the door, snatching my cell
phone on the way out.
“Yeah, we kinda just did,” the boy-of-the-week
utters as they tumble onto Cora’s bed with a thump.
Though it’s the dead of night, you’d never know
it based on the amount of noise and bustle on our fifth floor. The movie on the
quad finished up hours ago, and my guess is that the following parties and
keggers have also just recently wrapped up—or were broken up.
Foggy with sleep, I trudge to the student
lounge at the end of the long hallway and toss my makeshift bedding onto a
vacant loveseat. Fluffing up my pillowing, I lie down and stretch myself under
the patchwork quilt, hoping to summon the deep sleep I was in just minutes
before Cora and her boy-toy barged into our room.
There’s another student folded into a small
armchair to my left, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose, about to slide
right off, and a copy of
Wuthering
Heights
held loosely between his fingers, hovering just inches over the
ground. I’m tempted to go over and push the glasses back up to his bridge where
they belong and pull the book from his grasp, but I stuff down my OCD
tendencies and rotate over to face the wall.
I’ve tucked my cell in the top edge of my
sports bra, knowing how loud our floor can get in the morning and how good I’ve
become at tuning out the white noise. Keeping my phone close should help ensure
that I’ll hear my alarm go off in just a few hours. I’ve only got the weekend
to crank out Professor Long’s paper. I’m going to have to start early if I have
any hope of making this quarter count for something.
Just as the commotion on the floor slowly drags
itself into the hazy transition of slumber—the point where I don’t know
what sounds are real and which are fabricated in my dreams—something
vibrates against my chest.
A text.
U will never guess what I just did.
It’s 3:30 in the morning. Must be the wrong
number.
My phone buzzes again.
BTW, this is Ran.
Seriously? Ran’s never texted me before. Why
would he choose this hour of the night to send his first one?
Me: What
did you just do? (And why do you feel the need to share it with me at 3:30 in
the morning?)
Ran: We just transported a 5 yr old that ate
his pet goldfish.
I chuckle quietly and my student lounge
sleeping partner shifts in his too small seat. His book clatters onto the
floor.
Me: Is he OK?
Ran: Yes. His older bro told him it was sushi.
Me: That’s a mean older brother.
Ran: That’s an awesome older brother and even
more awesome prank.
Me: You are cruel. Does that really warrant a
trip to the hospital?
Ran: Yeah, seafood allergy.
I bite back the smile that’s edged onto my lips
and force myself to breathe when I notice I’ve stopped doing so while waiting
in between texts.
Ran: I haven’t told you the best part.
Me: And that would be?
Ran:
That I stopped by PetPalace earlier today (2 for 1 special) and had an extra
goldfish in the front cab of the ambulance. So I gave it to him. Made his
night.
Who is this guy?
Me: That’s awfully nice of you, Ran.
Ran: IS THAT COMPLIMENT #5?!?!
I roll my eyes and my fingers tingle as I punch
the letters on my phone.
Me: Don’t flatter yourself, you stalker.
Ran: Dang it, Maggie. You keep deducting them.
A ten second pause.
Ran: Why am I a stalker?
Me:
Because you showed up at my house and just texted me without me giving you my
number.
Ran: That doesn’t make me a stalker. That makes
me resourceful.
Me: Kidnapper, Hostage Holder, Ransom Demander,
and now Stalker.
Ran:
Shoot Maggie. I’m just going to count those each as 1/4 deductions since they
were in the same text. You’re going to be in the negatives soon.
Me: Really? Don’t get me too excited.
Ran: I’m sure I can get you excited.
My body goes instantly hot.
Me: Shut up.
Ran: I
forgot to tell you I downgraded your 5 compliment award to just a kiss, no
licking.
Me: And what if I don’t want to?
Ran: At the rate you’re going, Insult Queen,
you’re not going to get the chance ;)
My heart twitches inside my chest. He must be
drunk. That’s the only thing that makes any sense in this scenario.
Me: Are you drunk?
Ran: No.
Me: You sure?
Ran:
Pretty sure you have to drink alcohol to get drunk, and since I don’t do that,
I can say with certainty I’m not drunk.
Me: Ok.
Ran: Are you? If so, you’re an angry drunk.
I groan under my breath and the glasses slip
from my new friend’s face as he rotates over again in the armchair.
Me: No, I’m not drunk. Just tired.
Ran: Get some sleep. Talk tomorrow.
Me: Is that a threat?
Ran: No, it’s a promise.
CHAPTER
NINE
“That is one hot text exchange, girl.” Cora
tosses my phone onto my bed as she tugs a cowl-neck sweater over her head. My
bed is still unmade from last night, and it reeks of cheap cologne and musty
boy sweat. I don’t know how she does it, but Cora always manages to have the
guys sleep in a different bed after their PG-13 make out sessions. Since there
are just two beds in our room, that bed ends up being mine. She says that
sleeping in the same bed all night leads to sex, but I think actually
sleeping
next to someone is likely much
tamer than rolling around lip-locked on the mattress for hours. Whatever. It
seems to work for Cora and I’m not sure how, but she’s found a lengthy list of
guys that have been willing to comply with her prudish demands.
I push off the desk and wrap my fingers around
my phone. “It’s not hot, it’s annoying.”
“Oh yeah, it’s really annoying to get middle of
the night texts from gorgeous guys saying they want to kiss you and get you
excited.”
“Cora, that’s just wrong.” I grimace. “And
that’s not what he said he wants to do.”
“Umm, yeah it is.” Cora eyes me from her
reflection in her full-length mirror as she coats her lips in a shiny pink
gloss. “Working on your paper all day?”
I nod and flip through the stack of books I’d
checked out at the campus library earlier this afternoon. “I have to finish.
This quarter can’t be a complete waste.”
“Well, if you need a break, I’ll be at the
Student Union with the crew studying up for the Spanish 4 final. Necesito un A+
en la clase.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Gracias, chica.” Cora tosses a wave over her
shoulder as she slips out of our room.
It’s a gorgeous day outside, the winter sun
streaking through broken patches in the cotton-like cloud cover hanging above
campus. I’d rather spend it anywhere other than the prison-like dormitory. I’m
just in the middle of contemplating scooping up my things to stretch out and
continue my studies on the grassy quad when a light knock sounds through my
door.
“Coming!” I shout, scurrying toward it,
reaching for the handle. The door falls open and that familiar face greets me
with an unusually warm smile that races my heart. “Brian. What are you doing
here?”
“Nice to see you too, Maggie.” Brian pushes
around me and makes himself at home on my bed, glancing across the room. He
looks good as always, with his honey blond hair and piercing blue eyes. And he
looks tan, too. Way too tan for the beginning of December. “Did you have a good
holiday?”
“Holiday?” I shake my head, confused. “Oh,
yeah. Thanksgiving was good. Quiet, just the three of us, but Mikey was able to
keep the turkey down, so that was a plus.”
Brian smiles again, flashing impossibly white
teeth under his full lips. “We vacationed in Barbados just like last year. It
was nice.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” That explains his
unseasonal sun-kissed skin. “Is there a reason you’re here?”
Brian looks at my bed, scrunches his nose like
a bunny rabbit, and cocks his head. “Did some guy sleep in this last night? It
smells like dollar store aftershave or something.”
“Yeah—” I begin, but the rhythmic rap on
my open door interrupts me. Both Brian and I flip our heads the direction of
the sound just as Ran pokes his head in; a clear plastic bag filled with water
and a bright orange fish is grasped in his hand. He thrusts an arm toward us.