Chapter 4
Nervous at the idea of actually meeting my elusive roommate by the time I get back to the dorms, I take a moment to stop outside our door and listen. Given the last time I entered the room without precautions, it feels necessary. I only catch the sound of upbeat music blasting through—no squeaky bed, no moans. She’s here, then.
I know better than to think that means the scene will be completely PG. Maybe she put on the music so loud to drown out less savory sounds. Bracing myself, I scan my keycard and push the door open.
In broad daylight, the room looks even bigger than it did last night, or this morning, when I left in a hurry, and I’m greeted by the brightest smile I’ve ever seen.
The gorgeous, petite brunette immediately drops the stack of books she was arranging on shelves onto her bed, and leaps toward me, arms wide.
“Hi!”
Before I know it, I’m squeezed into a tight hug, which is pretty disturbing.
I blink several times because what the fuck? It’s the very first time I’m meeting this girl. I think I was less surprised when I caught her naked on her hands and knees.
It’s not that I’m entirely unaccustomed to hugging. My big brother can be a veritable octopus. Plus, I just left a hugger at the cafe, but it took Tanya months into our freshman year to get that comfortable with me.
“Bass told me you’re Hestia, is that right?” the girl rushes to say, finally letting me go. “I’m so sorry about yesterday, darling. I was hanging out with the guys, and then one thing led to another—you know how it is. I figured you wouldn’t make it until tomorrow as it was so late. Bass said you were pretty shocked? Please, forgive me.”
And then she pouts. Those big, golden brown doe eyes plead better than the average golden retriever puppy.
“I swear I’ll never have fun with guys in our room without checking if you”re around and letting you know. Give me your number? I’ll text to check if you’re coming soon next time things get heated.”
She says all this without stopping to breathe, eager for my approval. That sounds...highly reasonable. I smile back, the tension I”ve felt all day at the thought of this confrontation dissipating. I expected some sort of altercation, maybe a few veiled insults—her calling me a prude or something. But apparently, she’s a bubbly, adorable, friendly sweetheart.
Just the kind of sweetheart who likes to get railed by a couple of guys at once. It”s none of my business, so long as she sticks to her promise to not do that sort of thing when I”m around. She seems sincere, and I decide I”ll take her at her word until she proves otherwise.
“It’s…fine,” I find myself saying. “As you said, I wasn’t there, and you didn”t have my number to warn me, after all.” I clear my throat, awkward as fuck, especially in the wake of her own ease and familiarity. “We definitely should exchange details. You’re Ari, right? And I go by Tia, not Hestia.”
“I get it. Ari is short for Ariktha. A bit of a mouthful, right? Teachers never got it right when I was growing up, so I just asked everyone to stick to Ari.”
She brings out her phone, and offers a QR code for me to scan.
I extract the phone number and send her a quick text.
“Oh, and I got us chocolate,” I say, remembering the box I picked up in town.
“Oh my gosh, aren’t you the sweetest?” She eagerly opens the box, and presents it to me before taking one.
Her genuine enthusiasm having erased my filter as well as my anxiety, I find myself confessing, “I’m glad you’re cool about warning me when you’re having some guys around.” I wince. “After last night, I went to see if I could change rooms and now the receptionist thinks I’m a bigot. I didn’t even see you! Not that it would have changed anything,” I’m quick to add, “I just figured I’d be better off paired with someone without that kind of social life…”
Ari scoffs. “Don’t sweat it, I’ll tell her you walked in on us, she’ll get it.”
“You would?” I blink, surprised by her offer.
Who would volunteer to snitch on themselves to the faculty about that kind of stuff?
“Well, yeah,” she replies with a shrug. “It was a blonde, preppy clothes, severe hairstyle, right?”
I nod.
“That’s my cousin. She knows what I’m like.”
“Really?” I don’t hide my surprise.
Ari is golden-skinned, with thick, dark brown hair, and a straight nose, which makes her ethnicity impossible to guess, but also, clearly not strictly white. The girl from yesterday was your average all-American Cali girl—albeit a little more mature.
“I’m a third-generation Thorn Falls kid, tracing back to when the town was created,” she tells me, returning to her books, “so I’m related to half of the families from southie and the west side.”
“Wow. You’re from a founding family?”
Thorn Falls, while too small to be called a city, is notorious as an economic power on the West Coast. The handful of families who built this town are very well known. It’s one of the reasons why Mother let me come here. She can’t resist the chance of making political connections with this town through me. Honestly, I’m surprised she fell for it; I never was the best at cultivating relationships with what she considers the right people. They bore me to tears, though I suppose Calla qualifies, and she seemed all right.
Ari laughs. “More like my grandma used to clean the founder’s toilets. How about you, where are you from?” she asks, which is the most natural follow-up, but I can’t help a grimace.
I don’t want to talk about where I’m from, my past, or my family, but that’s unavoidable during introductions.
“New Mexico, born and raised,” I say, hoping to leave it at that. “But my father’s family is from New York. Need help with those?” I offer, jumping on a change of subject.
“Thanks for offering, but I’m fussy about my books,” she replies, bouncing across the room to offer me another chocolate.
There are at least eight piles of ten books each spread across her bed. At first glance, it’s an eclectic selection: I spot some covers that seem like classics, others, fantasy, contemporary romances. Even the odd thriller, in black and white with bold yellow type.
“I like to shelve them in order of preference, and those I haven’t read yet have their own shelves, and then there’s also series, colors…”
“You’re a true bookworm.” I grin.
“Please,” she snorts. “I’m a book dragon. These are just a few I can’t part with, and those want to read this week. You should see my library at home.”
I’m so glad I didn’t get my way last night. It would have been a shame to miss out on getting to know Ari.
“Something tells me we’ll get along just fine. I read every day,” I say. “Though I tend to stick to ebooks.”
I’ve never wanted to stay home; the idea of having tons of cherished material possessions to move when I can finally escape isn’t appealing. It’s much easier to just grab my e-reader.
“I know they’re better for the environment, but I just refuse to spend ten bucks on a virtual book the retailers can take back, when the hardcovers or paperbacks are the same price. Cheaper, sometimes,” she rants.
“Right!” I readily agree. “I hate that. But I tend to read a lot of indies. They price their ebooks affordably.”
Who would have thought I’d have so much in common with someone who does…what she was doing last night? I figured she’d be a party animal, only attending college to get guys or something. I can be judgmental, apparently. I decide I don’t like it. One of the many things I’ll have to work on.
Now that she declined my help, I get started on unpacking my own stuff. I didn’t bring much. Clothes, my laptop, e-reader, and tablet. That’s about it. The sparse decor of my side of the room stands out in stark contrast to Ari’s books, her potted cacti, and colorful pillows. I didn’t think to bring any personal effects. Or rather, I don’t have anything I’m emotionally attached to in my room at home. How sad is that? But an interior designer took care of every room in my mother’s house, and I never bothered to put my touch to it.
Maybe I should go shopping. Grab a few things to liven up the area.
I’m done with all my stuff much faster than Ari’s done with her books, so I set up the little desk next to the bedside table and log into the university’s portal to check my schedule.
Classes start Wednesday, which gives me tomorrow to get acquainted with the campus. Maybe I should try to find the classrooms ahead of time, so I don’t get lost.
I click on my university mailbox and find it empty, which means my Dear Stranger pen pal hasn’t replied to me yet. They’ll tell me when I can go pick up the next letter.
“What’s that music?” I ask.
The beat is catchy, and I find my head bobbing up and down, though I don’t recognize it.
“Oh, should I lower it?” Ari asks bashfully. “Sorry, I always tidy up with something blasting in the background, sorry.”
“No, no,” I’m quick to say. “I like it. I just don’t think I’ve heard it before.”
She beams. “An indie band, local. They’re playing this weekend, in fact. Do you want to tag along? It’s Saturday at eight.”
The offer comes fast, not forced at all, and I’m touched by it.
“I’m hanging out with a friend Saturday,” I improvise.
That’s not untrue, necessarily. I’m likely to go out with Tanya. If she doesn’t have a show, that is. What I don’t say is, the music sounds trendy, sexy, and everything I’m not. I remember the last time I tried to go to a concert with some friends. The looks. The snickers. The insults. I can get away with looking like I’m on my way to Sunday church service most of the time, but it’s completely out of place at night amongst my peers.
I’mout of place.
“Oh, nice! You’re new in town, right? I figured you wouldn’t have friends yet.”
“My bestie just started at the Thorn Falls corps de Ballet. I’m going to their opening on Thursday night, actually.” Shyly, I add, “I have a spare ticket if you want to come?”
Because Tanya’s suggestion—that I could ask Sebastian—is out of the question. I never have asked any guy out in my entire life, and if I were to start, it wouldn’t be that one. I mean, I could technically ask a guy friend, I suppose, but Sebastian doesn’t strike me as friend material. He’s too…tall? Sexy? Sinful? Teasing? Gorgeous? I shut down every single one of my brain’s suggestions.
Intimidating. He’s way too intimidating.
I don’t expect my roommate to want to go, so I’m startled when she squeals.
“To the ballet?” Ari gasps. “Hell yes. Those tickets are, like, a hundred bucks apiece, right? I’ve never been.”
I smile back, though I’m self-conscious about the fact that she’s so happy to jump out of her comfort zone when I can’t seem to. I want to be the kind of person who says “yes, sure, I’ll go to the concert” and not think twice about it. But one glance down at myself—the tweed skirt, the two-inch kitten heels, the cardigan over a silk blouse, and the lace undershirt beneath, all picked by my mother—and I’m reminded why I’m not that person.
The fashion sense of Ralph Lauren models in commercials is daring compared to mine. And I know, without a single doubt, that the moment I change that, I might as well pack my stuff and head back home.
“Right. I’ll text you the time,” I say, returning to my side of the room.