trying to get a better glimpse of this person before she sees me.
“Abby?” The foot drops to the floor, and a pretty Asian girl comes into view. At first I think she’s younger than me, but then I realize that she’s just small. She can’t be more than five feet tall, but she looks strong. Her tiny, muscular body is in yoga pants and a tank top, and she’s standing on a yoga mat. When she sees me, she smiles. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I was trying to be quiet.”
I want to scream, WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT AM I DOING HERE???? But for some reason, I don’t. I simply smile back and shake my head.
“Good,” she replies, reaching for the bottle of water near her feet. “After last night, I figured you could use some sleep.” Last night? She smiles again, bigger this time. “Happy birthday, roomie!”
My birthday. I’d forgotten. Which, considering the morning I’ve had, is not nearly as weird as the fact that this chick I’ve never seen before is calling me roomie. “Thanks.”
The girl reaches for an opaque vitamin bottle sitting on the coffee table and dumps two pills into her palm. “Willow bark?” she asks me. I give her a blank, slightly bewildered stare, which pretty much sums up my mental state right now. “It’s for headaches,” she explains. “I woke up with a monster one.”
“Um, no, that’s okay,” I reply. Considering the circumstances, it’s probably better not to accept unmarked pills from strangers. Plus, remarkably, though my head is swimming, it isn’t pounding. Despite the gallon of champagne I consumed last night, I’m not the least bit hungover.
The girl pops the pills in her mouth and takes a swig of water. “Well, I guess I should get in the shower,” she says. “I have econ at eleven.” She steps past me toward the bedroom. A polite person would step out of her way, but I just stand there motionless, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for all this. I’m still standing in the same spot when she emerges from the bedroom a few moments later, wrapped in a towel and carrying a shower caddy. “See you in a few!” she says brightly as she heads for the door. When she opens it, I get a glimpse of an octagonal entryway, surrounded by four dark wooden doors, all labeled with three-digit brass numbers. The door falls shut behind her, and I am alone.
I walk over to the couch and don’t so much sit as fall into it. My heart is racing, I’m ridiculously thirsty, and I have absolutely no idea where I am or how I got here. The clock on the cable box says it’s 10:10, which means that in the span of the last eight hours I, and all my belongings, somehow managed to get from room 316 at the Culver Hotel to here. Wherever “here” is.
My eyes scan the room, looking for evidence, and land on a dog-eared blue book lying on the coffee table. It takes me a moment to process its title: 2009–2010 Yale College Programs of Study.
I’m at Yale.
I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to wake up from what must be a dream. But when I open my eyes, I’m still here, on this velour couch, holding the Yale course catalog in my shaking hands. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm.
A phone rings, and I jump. Then I realize it’s my phone, ringing in the bedroom. I leap off the couch and hurry down the hall. My cell is on the desk next to the bed I woke up in.
MOM AND DAD—HOME
They’re no doubt calling to wish me happy birthday, but I can’t deal with them right now. I won’t be able to hold it together. I send the call to voicemail and immediately dial Caitlin’s number.
“Thank God,” I say as soon as she picks up.
“Happy birthday!” she shouts. I relax the moment I hear her voice. Caitlin will explain this to me. She’ll make this make sense.
“You have to help me.”
“Are you that hungover?” she asks with a laugh. “My head is throbbing, but other than that, I feel okay.”
“I’m serious, Caitlin. I’m freaking out.”
“What’s
“Abby?” The foot drops to the floor, and a pretty Asian girl comes into view. At first I think she’s younger than me, but then I realize that she’s just small. She can’t be more than five feet tall, but she looks strong. Her tiny, muscular body is in yoga pants and a tank top, and she’s standing on a yoga mat. When she sees me, she smiles. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I was trying to be quiet.”
I want to scream, WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT AM I DOING HERE???? But for some reason, I don’t. I simply smile back and shake my head.
“Good,” she replies, reaching for the bottle of water near her feet. “After last night, I figured you could use some sleep.” Last night? She smiles again, bigger this time. “Happy birthday, roomie!”
My birthday. I’d forgotten. Which, considering the morning I’ve had, is not nearly as weird as the fact that this chick I’ve never seen before is calling me roomie. “Thanks.”
The girl reaches for an opaque vitamin bottle sitting on the coffee table and dumps two pills into her palm. “Willow bark?” she asks me. I give her a blank, slightly bewildered stare, which pretty much sums up my mental state right now. “It’s for headaches,” she explains. “I woke up with a monster one.”
“Um, no, that’s okay,” I reply. Considering the circumstances, it’s probably better not to accept unmarked pills from strangers. Plus, remarkably, though my head is swimming, it isn’t pounding. Despite the gallon of champagne I consumed last night, I’m not the least bit hungover.
The girl pops the pills in her mouth and takes a swig of water. “Well, I guess I should get in the shower,” she says. “I have econ at eleven.” She steps past me toward the bedroom. A polite person would step out of her way, but I just stand there motionless, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for all this. I’m still standing in the same spot when she emerges from the bedroom a few moments later, wrapped in a towel and carrying a shower caddy. “See you in a few!” she says brightly as she heads for the door. When she opens it, I get a glimpse of an octagonal entryway, surrounded by four dark wooden doors, all labeled with three-digit brass numbers. The door falls shut behind her, and I am alone.
I walk over to the couch and don’t so much sit as fall into it. My heart is racing, I’m ridiculously thirsty, and I have absolutely no idea where I am or how I got here. The clock on the cable box says it’s 10:10, which means that in the span of the last eight hours I, and all my belongings, somehow managed to get from room 316 at the Culver Hotel to here. Wherever “here” is.
My eyes scan the room, looking for evidence, and land on a dog-eared blue book lying on the coffee table. It takes me a moment to process its title: 2009–2010 Yale College Programs of Study.
I’m at Yale.
I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to wake up from what must be a dream. But when I open my eyes, I’m still here, on this velour couch, holding the Yale course catalog in my shaking hands. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm.
A phone rings, and I jump. Then I realize it’s my phone, ringing in the bedroom. I leap off the couch and hurry down the hall. My cell is on the desk next to the bed I woke up in.
MOM AND DAD—HOME
They’re no doubt calling to wish me happy birthday, but I can’t deal with them right now. I won’t be able to hold it together. I send the call to voicemail and immediately dial Caitlin’s number.
“Thank God,” I say as soon as she picks up.
“Happy birthday!” she shouts. I relax the moment I hear her voice. Caitlin will explain this to me. She’ll make this make sense.
“You have to help me.”
“Are you that hungover?” she asks with a laugh. “My head is throbbing, but other than that, I feel okay.”
“I’m serious, Caitlin. I’m freaking out.”
“What’s
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