Chapter 6
six
LOCKE
Truthfully, I think there are only a few situations worse than standing in a room of grad students desperate to network. My father’s office is one of them. Maybe I should be thankful he hasn’t called me in yet, but the anxiety of waiting for the pin to drop makes it almost unbearable.
I try to think of something else while waking to the grad student mixer. During the ten minutes across campus, I anxiously wait for Rosie to mention my father, too. She still hasn’t shown any signs of knowing who he is.
Even if her industry isn’t linear to Dad’s, I’ve been unpleasantly surprised before. She’s never even hinted at it, though. Either my roommate is great at hiding things, or she really has no idea who my father is.
“So what are your hobbies? Other than video games and Lego sets?” Rosie’s voice rises above the growing sound of a crowd.
Aside from no Dad talk, this is the most refreshing thing about living with her.
She asks questions like this. About my day-to-day, or my interests, or Ghost. They’re surface level and don’t truly constitute knowing the deepest parts of a person, but they’re the deepest cuts anyone’s ever made to get to know me. To me, that’s sacred.
Hands tucked into the pockets of my slacks, I wipe the sweat on my palms. “Not much.”
“Come on.” Her brown eyes are pointed, stern but humorous. She always smiles when we talk, and it’s especially comforting right now. “There has to be something else you enjoy. Video games and building bricks can’t hold someone over for a lifetime.”
At her insistence, my mouth twitches. Partially from amusement, and partially because I’m embarrassed.
I have lots of interests. Just not many I share with people.
The skirt of Rosie’s chic black dress sways when she bumps into me. The surprise of it rocks me onto my left foot. My lips fully morph into a smile.
I wouldn’t call us friends yet. Acquaintances, by proxy of our living situation.
Regardless, talking to her has become easier.
Being around her has become less anxiety-inducing.
Maybe because of exposure, but either way, having her bump shoulders with me and asks questions isn’t as nerve-wracking as a week ago.
Worrying about how to talk to her is becoming less and less.
The sound of people speaking over background music lights my anxiety now. The conference room filled with networking grad students grows more imposing with every step.
From my right, Rosie smiles again, and says that whatever else I enjoy, she won’t judge.
Clearing my throat, and squaring my shoulders, I push down my skepticism. “I like spending time with my siblings. And watching anime.”
“Oh.” Her voice raises in surprise. But just as quickly as she says it, her smile grows, hands clapping together. “I’m really into movies and TV shows, but I haven’t gotten into anime yet. Which one is your favorite?”
The conference room door is getting closer. With it, I realize how much I cherish these moments where it’s just me—just Locke—sharing what makes me happy and nothing else. I wish I had more moments like this.
“It’s called Spy x Family,” I answer, and attempt to ignore the mixer for as long as possible.
“Let me guess. Action anime with a whole bunch of fighting and gore?”
I chuckle softly. “No. The opposite.”
Her amused expression fades, replaced with lifted eyebrows and a turned nose. “Really? The title has ‘spy’ in it.”
“Yes.” A few grad students tumble out of the room. Through the door, I can see it’s jam-packed. My blood pressure spikes. “I like some action anime. Spy x Family is more about the family part, though.”
“Ooh, that sounds interesting, actually. Action isn’t my favorite genre, but I really like the found family trope, so if you’re saying that…”
Rosalie is still talking. I hear her voice in my ears, and I want to process her words, but I can’t. Not when the conference room is a stone toss away, and one of the students sees us, lifts his eyebrows, and immediately turns to his friends. Then starts pointing not-so-subtly.
The light of optimism in my chest dies out. I’m eighty percent sure he recognized me.
The other twenty percent knows there’s a chance it’s Rosie who caught his attention.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the reason he’s smirking to his friends is because they’re talking about her.
By the time we make it to the entrance, they’ve walked off into another corridor. I hope Rosie hasn’t noticed how much more tense my body has become.
When I hold the door open for us, my grip tightens around the wood.
Once one person notices someone with serious connections is in the room, they’ll flock.
It happened in almost every undergrad class I took.
It’s ten times more chaotic when that “someone” is the son of one of Boston’s most established businessmen.
I already want to leave. Rosie promised to stick next to me for the event and we didn’t discuss how long we wanted to be here. She took the time to ready herself with make-up and curl the ends of her naturally straight dark brown hair, so I don’t want to rush her.
Maybe she’ll make the event more tolerable. Or will make the awkward conversations with people who so blatantly want to use me go by easier.
There’s an immediate burn of eyes on us when we walk in. I’ve always thought I shouldn’t gather this much attention. My father hasn’t done anything significant enough in life for this.
I walk next to Rosie, heading left and tracing the wall of the semi-lit room. She seems to know exactly where she’s going, and I’m happy to follow her. If she feels the stares on us, she chooses not to say anything.
“Okay. I have a confession to make.”
With the situation we’re in, and our peers beginning to whisper behind their hands, I think the worst. Her words burn. The hands stuffed back into my pants pockets start gathering sweat again and my stomach drops.
Please, for the love of everything I hold dear in my life, do not say you know who my father is.
I nod at her to continue. I can’t speak even a single word right now.
She breathes in deep, and I gulp.
“I love mixers, but I’m not excited about this one.
And I only really wanted to come because there’s an internship I’m applying for, and I’m hoping to schmooze some people from the company, if they’re here.
” We both let out a deep exhale. The crushing weight of anxiety relieves itself just enough for me raise an eyebrow.
“That probably goes against some ethics shit, but I really want this internship.”
I laugh under my breath. If only she knew how little ethics come into play in the professional world. Dad’s career should’ve fallen apart decades ago.
Again, I don’t have a appropriate response for the conversation she’s kindly given me.
Slowly, I’m starting to think my roommate doesn’t mind that I can’t develop full sentences around her.
She just says what she has to say, leads me further where she wants to go, and accepts if a reply doesn’t come.
Her attention shifts from her confession to the event’s snack table. It’s full of finger foods I’ve seen too many times—triangle-cut sandwiches, hummus and vegetables, and meat slices stabbed onto sticks. Rosalie doesn’t pay any attention to that, though.
“Popcorn!” She grabs a snack cup from the back end of the table, smiling.
It’s not child-like glee, or unbridled happiness over something simple. It’s just someone enjoying what they like, and not being hyper-focused on the professionals scattered around the room. I feel equal parts of admiration and jealousy.
After a few bites, she opens her mouth to speak, but it’s not her voice I hear.
“It’s princess Rosie!” Someone calls from the left. A man in a white pressed button down tucked into navy blue slacks walks up to us, smirk plastered across his face. “How did you possibly get to Locke McCarthy before the rest of us?”
The energy around me goes dark again. No more admiring Rosalie’s bubbly personality or letting myself become comfortable around her. A switch flicks.
Spine straight. Shoulders back. Chin up.
Her demeanor shifts too. She moves the cup of popcorn behind her back, quickly wipes her fingers onto the side of her thighs, and posts a smile. It’s tight lipped and not at all like the one I’ve come to know.
“Hi, Jeremiah.”
“Nice dress.” His attention shifts off me and onto her, smirk growing.
It’s undeniably condescending. He’s shorter than me, the top of his head where my shoulder is, but his height on Rosie lets him stare down at her.
“Are you planning to go clubbing after this or do you like dressing inappropriately to serious events?”
Her dress isn’t inappropriate at all. It’s not half a suit like we’re wearing, but it’s semi-formal, falls just above her knees, and doesn’t show any skin above her bust line. The fabric hugs her in a few places, but not to the point of being unprofessional.
Besides, this is a student event on a college campus. She’s not running for office.
Rosie must know this. The guy next to us is being a dick just for the sake of it. I wait for her to say something. In the time we’ve spent together, she’s never shied away from anything. She goes headfirst into interactions like this.
Yet, when there’s a perfect pause for her to defend herself, she says nothing. I see Rosie’s throat move with a gulp, her hands tugging the skirt of her dress lower. She says nothing and tilts her head to the floor.
“Don’t mind her.” The man’s—Jeremiah’s?—words distract me from wondering why this Rosalie is so different than the one I know. “I apologize if she’s bothering you. If you want, we-”
“I’m perfectly fine here.” My own voice turns stoic.
Years of interacting with people like this taught me I should always thank someone after they offer something—even if it’s not of interest. But I can’t bring myself to say, “Thank you,” to this guy.