because she's seeing me instead of looking through me like everyone else in this place. Yvette opens the door and we walk in, and she gestures to her bed.
"This is my half. That's your half."
I nod, and she smiles, pink hair lit from behind by the sunlight.
"Let's get some fucking food."
***
Fact: College is great.
I know this primarily because they serve clam chowder next to pizza and gyoza next to burritos and there is dessert every. Single. Night. If you so choose. And I hella so choose. My Hagrid bed is pretty shitty, comfort wise, but the terrifying thought of rolling off the five-foot drop at night keeps me securely in the middle and under the covers always. Yvette snores and blasts Metallica when she does her homework, but otherwise we've been getting along fine. Better than fine. She's snarkier than me, sometimes, which is worthy of at least four Nobel Prizes, and she's smart. She isn't Jack smart, or anything, but she's not Jack dumb, either. She's always hard and a little angry, but she laughs louder and gets angrier faster than anyone I've ever known, except maybe Kayla when I tell her she's pretty. But Yvette's openness is a refreshing change from last year's secrets and passive-aggressiveness. She doesn't bring up Sophia's suicide, even though I told her about it the first day to break the ice. She's not the type to pry, and I adore her for it. She smokes on the fire escape sometimes and sometimes I go up there with her and try to smoke but it usually ends up with me puking so we stop that right quick.
I'll tell her about Sophia, in my own time. Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just keep it inside, like I kept Nameless. But I won't let it fester, this time. I won't let it hurt me. I won't hold on to the hurt like a ball of shattered glass ever again. Some shitbaby jerk taught me better than that.
My classes are great but sort of easy, in that weird beginning-of-semester way. I mean, four teachers assigned ten page essays due next week, but forty pages is a febreeze for me. I used to write twenty pages in my radical-yet-whiny pubescent diary on the daily. The only thing that's really hard is focusing, because the classrooms are huge auditoriums sort of, which could easily be converted into gladiator rings if we moved the teacher's desk and got rid of the chairs and really, the bland walls would look so much better with swathes of blood across them and also the lights are so bright, do they shine the lightbulbs? How do you shine a lightbulb so high up? Can their janitor fly?
Next to me in our seats in the very back, Yvette informs me janitors cannot fly. Vampires, however, can.
"Vampires are gross," I determine.
"Have you even read Twilight?"
"I've read so many things that are not that."
"It was the best. The vampires were the best. The make-outs were the best."
I shudder. Yvette, in her flaming skull t-shirt and ripped jeans, sighs like a fancy princess dreaming of boys.
“Imagine having sex with a vampire.”
“Imagine going to church and praying to your lord and savior," I offer.
She laughs and goes back to facebook on her laptop. The best part about college, I've decided, is the professors don't give a shit whether you pay attention or not. Short of dropping an f-bomb super loud out of nowhere, they ignore all the internet surfing and texting that goes on. We're paying to be here, not the other way around. It'll be different when labs come around, but right now it's Shangri-La and please do not talk to me about labs because the thought of me around combustible chemicals is so exhilarating I have to fight to not pee myself constantly in anticipation. Long live science. Long live explodey things.
Mom calls every night, because that's what Moms do. That, and like, sighing. But Mom's always sighed a lot, because she's sad mostly, but also because having a borderline insane daughter like me would be trying on any mortal human's soul. Except, like, Beyonce, but we all know she isn't mortal at
"This is my half. That's your half."
I nod, and she smiles, pink hair lit from behind by the sunlight.
"Let's get some fucking food."
***
Fact: College is great.
I know this primarily because they serve clam chowder next to pizza and gyoza next to burritos and there is dessert every. Single. Night. If you so choose. And I hella so choose. My Hagrid bed is pretty shitty, comfort wise, but the terrifying thought of rolling off the five-foot drop at night keeps me securely in the middle and under the covers always. Yvette snores and blasts Metallica when she does her homework, but otherwise we've been getting along fine. Better than fine. She's snarkier than me, sometimes, which is worthy of at least four Nobel Prizes, and she's smart. She isn't Jack smart, or anything, but she's not Jack dumb, either. She's always hard and a little angry, but she laughs louder and gets angrier faster than anyone I've ever known, except maybe Kayla when I tell her she's pretty. But Yvette's openness is a refreshing change from last year's secrets and passive-aggressiveness. She doesn't bring up Sophia's suicide, even though I told her about it the first day to break the ice. She's not the type to pry, and I adore her for it. She smokes on the fire escape sometimes and sometimes I go up there with her and try to smoke but it usually ends up with me puking so we stop that right quick.
I'll tell her about Sophia, in my own time. Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just keep it inside, like I kept Nameless. But I won't let it fester, this time. I won't let it hurt me. I won't hold on to the hurt like a ball of shattered glass ever again. Some shitbaby jerk taught me better than that.
My classes are great but sort of easy, in that weird beginning-of-semester way. I mean, four teachers assigned ten page essays due next week, but forty pages is a febreeze for me. I used to write twenty pages in my radical-yet-whiny pubescent diary on the daily. The only thing that's really hard is focusing, because the classrooms are huge auditoriums sort of, which could easily be converted into gladiator rings if we moved the teacher's desk and got rid of the chairs and really, the bland walls would look so much better with swathes of blood across them and also the lights are so bright, do they shine the lightbulbs? How do you shine a lightbulb so high up? Can their janitor fly?
Next to me in our seats in the very back, Yvette informs me janitors cannot fly. Vampires, however, can.
"Vampires are gross," I determine.
"Have you even read Twilight?"
"I've read so many things that are not that."
"It was the best. The vampires were the best. The make-outs were the best."
I shudder. Yvette, in her flaming skull t-shirt and ripped jeans, sighs like a fancy princess dreaming of boys.
“Imagine having sex with a vampire.”
“Imagine going to church and praying to your lord and savior," I offer.
She laughs and goes back to facebook on her laptop. The best part about college, I've decided, is the professors don't give a shit whether you pay attention or not. Short of dropping an f-bomb super loud out of nowhere, they ignore all the internet surfing and texting that goes on. We're paying to be here, not the other way around. It'll be different when labs come around, but right now it's Shangri-La and please do not talk to me about labs because the thought of me around combustible chemicals is so exhilarating I have to fight to not pee myself constantly in anticipation. Long live science. Long live explodey things.
Mom calls every night, because that's what Moms do. That, and like, sighing. But Mom's always sighed a lot, because she's sad mostly, but also because having a borderline insane daughter like me would be trying on any mortal human's soul. Except, like, Beyonce, but we all know she isn't mortal at
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