I never carried a purse if I could help it,
just stuffed my back pocket with a few dollars and hid my house key at the base of
the gutter beside the front porch.
Colleen skipped ahead, spun around, and struck some made-up martial arts pose. “You
wanna mess with this? Do ya?” Then she tilted her head back and opened her mouth,
and her laughter echoed down the alley, across the ocean, and back again.
I crossed the street and entered campus through the main gate. As I walked back toward
my dorm, I noticed a few people looking at me. I finally understood Colleen’s feeling
of power as she walked to the party that night. I could walk across campus and people
would know. They’d know what I was capable of.
And I didn’t even need the pepper spray.
A girl with long black hair, short black bangs, and thick black eyeliner put her hand
on my arm as I walked through the lounge. “Do you remember me?” she asked. She moved
a piece of gum from one side of her mouth to the other. “Chloe. Remember? You came
to my mom’s wedding. I was a bridesmaid. Orange dress. Big bow. You can’t forget something
like that.”
Her hair had been lighter and shorter, and that had been before her discovery of eyeliner,
but she was right: hard to forget an orange dress with a giant bow.
“The chocolate fountain,” I said, because that wasn’t something you could forget,
either. Especially since I got it all over my dress. Actually, Reid had gotten it all over my dress. Chocolate-covered-strawberry handoff gone wrong.
Chloe smiled. “Exactly. My mom told me you were enrolled this year.” I wondered what,
exactly, her mother had told her, but I could tell from the way she didn’t ask that
she already knew. “Come sit with us at Preview?”
“Preview?”
“Yeah. Fall Preview. It’s like a dinner-dance thing in the dining hall the day before
classes start every year. Kinda lame, but, you know, tradition.”
“Oh, I can’t go,” I said, because I was fairly certain I’d never go to another party
again.
She scrunched up her mouth. “All right. Well, I’m in 233.” She pointed straight up.
“Come visit sometime.”
“Okay,” I said, and Chloe left through the front door. I walked down the hall toward
my room. I wished it was that easy. Walk up the stairs to room 233 and talk about
her hideous bridesmaid dress. Be friends in that easy, simple way. Talk about easy,
simple things.
Think about easy, simple things.
My dorm room was empty — emptied. I guess this was just another part of consequence, like my grandma had warned me.
Everything we do has consequence. This was just another.
My bed was piled high with my stuff, but the other side of the room, where Bree had
been, was now consumed with an emptiness. Her bed was stripped. Her desktop was bare.
The lights were gone. The posters were down. The only thing remaining was the sticky
tack where the posters used to hang.
I unpacked and set up my room, trying to spread everything out so the emptiness wasn’t
so overwhelming. It wasn’t a big room, and it hadn’t felt empty when I’d first arrived.
Only after Bree came. And left. People are funny like that.
I booted up the laptop and followed the instructions to set up the Internet connection
and a school e-mail account. Then I composed a message to Colleen:
1 ex-roommate.
1 creep.
2 bitchtastic girls.
79 days till Thanksgiving break.
I hit send, pressed my thumbs into my temples, and felt this chill along the base
of my neck. I squeezed my eyes shut and thought No , but that doesn’t do anything either. My laptop made a tiny ping — a message from Colleen:
Miss you too. Will come as soon as detainment is over.
And that was just like Colleen. She didn’t send cryptic messages, saying anything
but what she meant. If she loved you she said I love you. If she hated you she said
I hate you. She said what she meant.
And she did what she
just stuffed my back pocket with a few dollars and hid my house key at the base of
the gutter beside the front porch.
Colleen skipped ahead, spun around, and struck some made-up martial arts pose. “You
wanna mess with this? Do ya?” Then she tilted her head back and opened her mouth,
and her laughter echoed down the alley, across the ocean, and back again.
I crossed the street and entered campus through the main gate. As I walked back toward
my dorm, I noticed a few people looking at me. I finally understood Colleen’s feeling
of power as she walked to the party that night. I could walk across campus and people
would know. They’d know what I was capable of.
And I didn’t even need the pepper spray.
A girl with long black hair, short black bangs, and thick black eyeliner put her hand
on my arm as I walked through the lounge. “Do you remember me?” she asked. She moved
a piece of gum from one side of her mouth to the other. “Chloe. Remember? You came
to my mom’s wedding. I was a bridesmaid. Orange dress. Big bow. You can’t forget something
like that.”
Her hair had been lighter and shorter, and that had been before her discovery of eyeliner,
but she was right: hard to forget an orange dress with a giant bow.
“The chocolate fountain,” I said, because that wasn’t something you could forget,
either. Especially since I got it all over my dress. Actually, Reid had gotten it all over my dress. Chocolate-covered-strawberry handoff gone wrong.
Chloe smiled. “Exactly. My mom told me you were enrolled this year.” I wondered what,
exactly, her mother had told her, but I could tell from the way she didn’t ask that
she already knew. “Come sit with us at Preview?”
“Preview?”
“Yeah. Fall Preview. It’s like a dinner-dance thing in the dining hall the day before
classes start every year. Kinda lame, but, you know, tradition.”
“Oh, I can’t go,” I said, because I was fairly certain I’d never go to another party
again.
She scrunched up her mouth. “All right. Well, I’m in 233.” She pointed straight up.
“Come visit sometime.”
“Okay,” I said, and Chloe left through the front door. I walked down the hall toward
my room. I wished it was that easy. Walk up the stairs to room 233 and talk about
her hideous bridesmaid dress. Be friends in that easy, simple way. Talk about easy,
simple things.
Think about easy, simple things.
My dorm room was empty — emptied. I guess this was just another part of consequence, like my grandma had warned me.
Everything we do has consequence. This was just another.
My bed was piled high with my stuff, but the other side of the room, where Bree had
been, was now consumed with an emptiness. Her bed was stripped. Her desktop was bare.
The lights were gone. The posters were down. The only thing remaining was the sticky
tack where the posters used to hang.
I unpacked and set up my room, trying to spread everything out so the emptiness wasn’t
so overwhelming. It wasn’t a big room, and it hadn’t felt empty when I’d first arrived.
Only after Bree came. And left. People are funny like that.
I booted up the laptop and followed the instructions to set up the Internet connection
and a school e-mail account. Then I composed a message to Colleen:
1 ex-roommate.
1 creep.
2 bitchtastic girls.
79 days till Thanksgiving break.
I hit send, pressed my thumbs into my temples, and felt this chill along the base
of my neck. I squeezed my eyes shut and thought No , but that doesn’t do anything either. My laptop made a tiny ping — a message from Colleen:
Miss you too. Will come as soon as detainment is over.
And that was just like Colleen. She didn’t send cryptic messages, saying anything
but what she meant. If she loved you she said I love you. If she hated you she said
I hate you. She said what she meant.
And she did what she
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