the old bag around here,” he mumbled, the words slightly garbled from the cigarette perched between his lips. He fished a metal Zippo lighter out of his pants pocket and lit the end. Then he leaned back and rested his arms along the back of the sofa. I eyed the cigarette smoldering between the first two fingers of his right hand, envisioning tiny burn holes in the upholstery.
“Feel free to have a seat, love,” he said, gesturing to the striped chair. He let out a cackle that turned into a hacking cough.
A hot jet of anger burbled up inside me. Who the hell was this ponce to tell me when to sit in my living room? This place was supposed to belong to me—the
new
me. It was supposed to be about late-night talks with my new roomie while we painted our toenails burnt orange, or eating takeout Chinese while I read from a ten-pound college textbook. It was supposed to be about leftover pizza for breakfast, having
American
Pie
DVD marathons, and rating the frat boys passing beneath the balcony. It was
not
supposed to include some MTV reject digging into our couch like a hermit crab.
I sucked in my breath, ready to tell Robot to take his
bloody
feet off our
bloody
furniture and put out his
bloody
stinkarette.
Yet . . . Christine had obviously invited him here. And I couldn’t piss off Christine. If I did she could sabotage things with my mom whenever she called. Then I’d be packed off to San Marcos and my lame excuse of a life faster than you could say “Cheerio, old chap!”
My anger subsided until I could only stand there chewing my nails, hyperaware of the stubble on my legs and the layer of grease on my face.
At that moment the phone rang. I quickly snatched it up, grateful for the distraction, only to hear my mom’s voice on the other end say, “Katie, do you realize you forgot your skin ointment?”
I shut my eyes and made a tiny whimpering noise in my throat. “Hi, Mom.”
“I can’t believe you left this behind! What if you start getting that rash again?”
Man alive. I get one minor outbreak of eczema on my elbow and now she thinks I’m ointment-dependent. “It’ll be okay, Mom.”
“You know, you might want to look into a highly recommended doctor someplace near you. That way if anything goes wrong, you’ll know where to go. In fact,” her voice went up an octave, “you could call Aaron and see if he knows anyone. He had a really good friend for a while who was studying to be a doctor. They were very close. I’m sure he would know . . .”
My hearing failed. My brain went AWOL. I just couldn’t take her without caffeine. As I forced myself to remain upright I noticed Christine emerge from her room. She was wearing black boxer shorts and a white tank with the word
Goal!
in purple block letters across the chest, and her hair stuck out in all directions. She stumbled crookedly down the hallway and crawled on top of Robot, who was once again stretched along the couch. I felt a squeezing sensation behind my ribs as I watched them snuggle up together.
“. . . And you might want to get a standing prescription in case you get bad menstrual cramps again. . . .”
Robot whispered something to Christine and she let out a shriek of laughter.
“What was that?” Mom asked suddenly. “Was that Christine?”
“Um, yeah,” I said, cupping the receiver in case she accidentally overheard Robot’s voice. “She must be watching TV or something.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“What?”
“You heard me, sweetheart. Let me speak to your roommate. I want to hear what you’ve been up to.”
My chest grew tighter. So she was really going to go through with this? My word wasn’t enough for her? I briefly considered complaining, and then realized it was a lost cause. Once Mom decided something, no amount of begging, battling or skillful debate would make her change her mind.
“Fine,” I grouched. I took a step toward the sofa. “My mom wants to talk to you,” I said, focusing on the dark-haired
“Feel free to have a seat, love,” he said, gesturing to the striped chair. He let out a cackle that turned into a hacking cough.
A hot jet of anger burbled up inside me. Who the hell was this ponce to tell me when to sit in my living room? This place was supposed to belong to me—the
new
me. It was supposed to be about late-night talks with my new roomie while we painted our toenails burnt orange, or eating takeout Chinese while I read from a ten-pound college textbook. It was supposed to be about leftover pizza for breakfast, having
American
Pie
DVD marathons, and rating the frat boys passing beneath the balcony. It was
not
supposed to include some MTV reject digging into our couch like a hermit crab.
I sucked in my breath, ready to tell Robot to take his
bloody
feet off our
bloody
furniture and put out his
bloody
stinkarette.
Yet . . . Christine had obviously invited him here. And I couldn’t piss off Christine. If I did she could sabotage things with my mom whenever she called. Then I’d be packed off to San Marcos and my lame excuse of a life faster than you could say “Cheerio, old chap!”
My anger subsided until I could only stand there chewing my nails, hyperaware of the stubble on my legs and the layer of grease on my face.
At that moment the phone rang. I quickly snatched it up, grateful for the distraction, only to hear my mom’s voice on the other end say, “Katie, do you realize you forgot your skin ointment?”
I shut my eyes and made a tiny whimpering noise in my throat. “Hi, Mom.”
“I can’t believe you left this behind! What if you start getting that rash again?”
Man alive. I get one minor outbreak of eczema on my elbow and now she thinks I’m ointment-dependent. “It’ll be okay, Mom.”
“You know, you might want to look into a highly recommended doctor someplace near you. That way if anything goes wrong, you’ll know where to go. In fact,” her voice went up an octave, “you could call Aaron and see if he knows anyone. He had a really good friend for a while who was studying to be a doctor. They were very close. I’m sure he would know . . .”
My hearing failed. My brain went AWOL. I just couldn’t take her without caffeine. As I forced myself to remain upright I noticed Christine emerge from her room. She was wearing black boxer shorts and a white tank with the word
Goal!
in purple block letters across the chest, and her hair stuck out in all directions. She stumbled crookedly down the hallway and crawled on top of Robot, who was once again stretched along the couch. I felt a squeezing sensation behind my ribs as I watched them snuggle up together.
“. . . And you might want to get a standing prescription in case you get bad menstrual cramps again. . . .”
Robot whispered something to Christine and she let out a shriek of laughter.
“What was that?” Mom asked suddenly. “Was that Christine?”
“Um, yeah,” I said, cupping the receiver in case she accidentally overheard Robot’s voice. “She must be watching TV or something.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“What?”
“You heard me, sweetheart. Let me speak to your roommate. I want to hear what you’ve been up to.”
My chest grew tighter. So she was really going to go through with this? My word wasn’t enough for her? I briefly considered complaining, and then realized it was a lost cause. Once Mom decided something, no amount of begging, battling or skillful debate would make her change her mind.
“Fine,” I grouched. I took a step toward the sofa. “My mom wants to talk to you,” I said, focusing on the dark-haired
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