Chapter Nine
My days were starting to revolve around that hour and a half two times a week when I had to sit in his classroom and pretend that it was Russian literature that I found fascinating and not Tobias. I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew my whole world was shifting around me. It was an odd feeling—disorienting, like being in dark water and having no idea which way was up. I found myself looking for any excuse to stay after class under the guise of needing help with understanding an assignment, when in reality I just enjoyed the quiet moments when we were alone. I didn’t want to admit that those were the only times I felt like I could breathe, and as much as I wanted to fight it, I realized the pull I felt toward him wasn’t anything that I could stop or make go away. Yet I still was worried about what people would say if they caught on to my growing crush, or worse if we ever did cross that careful line that I put into place to protect myself from being the next Parkhurst scandal. It was a constant battle between my head and my heart.
In a word, it was a bit torturous.
“Tamsin, are you listening to me?”
“What? Oh, sorry, no,” I admit. “What did you say?”
“Look!” Alex shoved a hot pink flyer in front of my face.
LEARN HOW TO COOK A HOMEMADE MEAL RIGHT IN YOUR DORM ROOM!
I didn’t even read the rest. “Absolutely not.”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” She beamed.
“You know it’s going to be all overly eager freshmen,” I said, handing back the brightly decorated flyer she had pulled off of the bulletin board down the hall.
“But it’ll be fun! And practical. Aren’t you tired of dorm food?” She pouted.
“Yes, that’s why I eat out.”
“Well, not all of us have a trust fund.”
I scoffed. I didn’t have a trust fund. Not really anyway. Yes, my dad was generous, his way of compensating for everything he put us through I guess, but it wasn’t like I had unlimited funds.
With a sigh, I conceded. “Fine. When?”
“Tonight!”
“What?!” I definitely didn’t pay enough attention to the flyer.
“Starts in twenty minutes,” she said, pulling off her sweats. She started digging through her closet until she found her favorite pair of ripped jeans. She pulled those on, along with an oversized Parkhurst sweatshirt. She looked relaxed and adorable and ready to go in less than thirty seconds.
I, on the other hand, plopped dramatically back down on my bed. Why did I agree to this? I had so much reading that I should be doing instead of learning how to make dinner in a coffee mug.
“C’mon, Tamsin! Socializing is good for the soul.”
“Says who?”
“A wise sage I once did Bikram yoga with.” She added a hair flip for good measure.
“You’re so full of it,” I pointed out, but I slipped my shoes on all the same.
The director of student life, Mr. Morrill, was always trying to get the students on campus more involved by planning various activities such as Nerf gun wars—around Halloween he even added ‘zombies’ from the theater department—urder mystery dinners, carnival games once the weather warmed up, and outdoor movie nights. This dorm food class was just his latest endeavor.
It took us a bit to locate the culinary science room since neither one of us ever had any classes in Conley Hall. As usual, there wasn’t a great turn out, but it was a Friday night so I guessed there were far more entertaining events happening that pulled other students’ attention. We arrived just as Mr. Morrill was beginning, which I hated because it meant everyone—all eight of the other people on campus with nothing better to do—looked up as we tried to slip quietly to the open table toward the back. I was uncomfortable even in the small group, but Alex, well, being Alex, was completely at ease in whatever setting she found herself in.
“When someone says ‘dorm food,’ what is the first thing you think of?” Mr. Morrill asked the group. A few hands went up, and he called on the first one.
“Ramen,” the guy answered.
“An essential for sure.” Mr. Morrill chuckled. “But today we are going to learn how to make more than just a cup of noodles or box of macaroni and cheese. Meatloaf, pizza, gyros—the possibilities are endless, but tonight we are going to start with quiche and dessert.”
At the end of the class, Alex had burned her quiche and undercooked her brownie.
“Okay, fine, you were right,” she said as she dumped everything in the trash on our way out the door. “Let’s stick to takeout.”
I linked my arm around hers. “Whatcha in the mood for?”
“Anything but breakfast food.” She laughed.
“Yeah, I can still smell burnt eggs,” I said, wrinkling my nose.
“I think the stench is stuck in my hair.” She cringed.
“Pizza it is!” Then I had an idea. “Do you think we could stop by the mall? I need to pick out a baby gift for Blair’s shower.”
“You are actually going?” Alex asked in disbelief.
“Against my better judgment, yes.”
“I think it’s good you’re going. I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to your dad.”
“Yeah, I guess. Did I tell you that she’s the one who called?”
“I hope you were nice,” Alex said pointedly.
“I was too stunned to be anything but. You know, she has never reached out to me before. We’ve only actually spoken to each other a handful of times, and even then it wasn’t exactly full-on sentences.”
“Maybe she’s shy?”
“Or maybe she feels guilty for being a homewrecker,” I mumbled under my breath.