Chapter 3 One Day
Chapter three
One Day
Marigold Belmore
I barely resist the urge to slam the door to my apartment. My roommates don’t deserve that, so instead I’ll slam my hands against my computer keyboard. Or my head against my desk. Whatever gets Jameson’s gravelly voice out of my brain.
My left shoe doesn’t slide off as easily as it should, and I let out a frustrated growl. Once I’ve tugged it off and set it beside the other girls’ shoes, I trudge into the kitchen.
“Don’t you look chipper,” Jasmine says from her spot by the stove.
Jasmine is on her way to being the best chef in the world.
She’s always cooking or baking, which means she’s always feeding us roommates.
If it wasn’t for her, I’d exist off of food from the café or vending machines.
I never learned how to cook. My parents never taught me, and I didn’t take the time to teach myself.
I can boil water and hit buttons on the microwave, but that’s it.
“You will not believe what happened today,” I grumble as I plop down at our kitchen island. My messenger bag thumps as it hits the ground.
“I’m guessing it has something to do with the Traitor?” Jasmine asks with a smirk as she fills a bowl with some kind of delicious-smelling pasta concoction.
I started referring to Jameson as the Traitor to my friends. Sometimes when one of them says it I get the tiniest twinge of guilt deep inside, but I ignore it. He betrayed me, thus the moniker.
“He got the cover story for next week’s paper, and somehow that’s not the worst part.”
Jasmine sticks a fork in the bowl, then slides it across the counter.
“Carmelized cabbage with miso butter noodles,” she says with a gesture to the bowl.
I eye it skeptically, though I know better than to question her at this point. She could tell me she was feeding me cow brains, and I’d still eat it. I take a bite and hum. The sweet and salty is perfect. And there’s nothing like pasta to comfort you after a long day.
“If I didn’t know Shep was in love with you, I’d tell you he’s dating you just for your cooking skills.”
Jasmine laughs. Last semester, she ended up falling for her chess rival, who also happens to be the star quarterback of the Thrashers football team. Shepherd is a great guy and treats Jasmine well. Which is good, because if he didn’t, he’d pay.
“I take it that means you like it?”
I nod in response, shoveling in another mouthful.
Jasmine watches me for a moment. I slow down a little, knowing she’s probably wondering when the last time I ate real food was.
It’s not like I want to starve myself; it just feels difficult to make time for food when my to-do list grows longer by the second.
If I want to pass my classes, excel at the paper, and write, I don’t have time to breathe, much less make a meal.
“So what else happened?” she asks.
My shoulders tense. I both do and don’t want to talk about it. Jasmine seems to have mixed feelings about Jameson, probably because I do, too. So I’m not sure whether she’s going to think it’s good or not that we’ll be spending so much time together.
“Jameson pitched an article following the hockey team to the playoffs.” I roll my eyes. “He’s determined to have his name plastered all over the paper one way or another.”
My mind flashes back to his dark eyes as he told me I knew he wasn’t like that. Maybe I did, once. But the Jameson I knew wouldn’t have stolen the internship from me.
“Well, Charlie thought it would be a good idea to turn it into a whole series of articles. They’ll be written from two perspectives. Jameson as the player and …” I trail off.
Jasmine winces and finishes my sentence, “You.”
“Yep.”
I poke at my bowl of noodles and cabbage. Before either of us can say anything, the front door clicks open and Saylor comes barrelling into the room. She’s wearing baby-blue scrubs, and with her pink backpack it makes her look like cotton candy. Her blonde ponytail swings as she speeds by.
“Hey, Say—” Jasmine starts, but Saylor cuts her off.
“Can’t talk. I have to get out of my scrubs, shower, and start my skincare routine, or I won’t get to sleep on time tonight.”
My bun wiggles haphazardly as I shake my head.
Saylor, one of our other roommates, is premed and schedules her life down to the second.
Spreadsheets are her love language and she cleans to de-stress.
Last semester during finals, I came in and found her reciting biology terms while scrubbing the baseboards.
“Okay, well I made food if you’re hungry!” Jasmine calls out as Saylor shuts herself into her room. Jasmine looks at me and lets out a laugh. “How does she know she won’t get to bed on time? It’s seven.”
I shrug. “It’s Saylor.”
“True.” Jasmine puts a lid on the deep pan on the stove, then leans against the countertops. “So, you’ll be spending a lot of time with Jameson this semester. How do you feel about that?”
I scrub my face, feeling my mascara crumble beneath my fingertips.
“I feel …” As though it might kill me. “Like it’s too soon.”
Months have passed, but the wound is still open. I feel as though I walk around bleeding all over everything and everyone. No matter where I go or what I do, there he is. If not in person, then in thought, or memory. I can’t escape him, and now it’s going to be even more impossible.
“I already know what you’re going to say in reply, but I’ll suggest it anyway: you could turn down the article.”
I drop my hands and shake my head, further dislodging my messy bun. I reach up and pull out the pencil, letting my auburn hair fall down past my shoulders in a tangled mess.
“No, then he wins.”
“I doubt he’ll see it that way,” she replies in a gentle tone. “He’d probably be as relieved as you are.”
Her words sting, though I imagine they’re true. Jameson doesn’t want this article any more than I do. But I can’t let him see how much he gets to me. And more than that, I can’t look bad in front of Charlie.
“Since Jameson got a head start with the internship, I’ve been playing catch up in the eyes of Charlie,” I explain to Jasmine.
“I want him to put my articles on the cover, to choose my pitches, and—down the line—recommend me to a newspaper. That means I can’t turn down anything he gives me. I’d look like I didn’t want to work.”
Jasmine gives me a sympathetic look. She knows what it’s like to chase after big goals—all of us roommates do.
Not only is Jasmine an aspiring chef, but she’s also a cheerleader who dedicates a lot of her free time to practicing.
Saylor has her dream of becoming a doctor, and Aurora wants to be a prima ballerina.
That means that we stretch ourselves thin sometimes.
It’ll all be worth it in the end, though.
“Well, just know that some things aren’t worth the pain. It’s okay if you have to step back. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
I muster a smile for her. “Thanks, Jaz. I’ll stop if it becomes too much.”
I’m lying, and we both know it, but it’s all okay. I can make it through a few uncomfortable meetings with Jameson if it means I get closer to my goal of being a great journalist. One day, when I’m successful and happy, I’ll look back and laugh about how broken up I was about this. One day.