Vicious Little Darlings by Katherine Easer Page B

but couldn’t leave a message because their mailboxes were full. Who, I wonder, has been filling up their mailboxes? I’m worried, pissed off, and confused all at once and there doesn’t seem to be a damn thing I can do about it.
    I poke at my food: tempeh and limp broccoli in brown gravy. It’s the vegan meal option. The food at Wetherly is devoid of flavor, yet loaded with fat. I’ve been gaining roughly two pounds a day—which I’m sure is some kind of record—so I started opting for the vegan entrees, and now I get dirty looks from the real vegans of Haven House. Who knew vegans could be so mean?
    But it’s not the food or even the mean vegans that have me so upset. Both would be tolerable if Maddy and Agnes were here. Now that they’re gone, everything at Wetherly is bland. I actually cried in the shower this morning, although I’m sure that was partly due to the nasty surprise I found in the drain: a large clump of hair with contributions from everyone who had showered before me, a kind of Haven House hair ball. It was so gross that I had to take a follow-up shower in a different stall immediately afterward. I probably should file a complaint at the next house meeting. That is, if I even go.
    To pass the time, I’ve been going to class. I’m taking drawing, film theory, microeconomics, and psych 101, but drawing is the only class I care about. It’s like a language I was born understanding. When I was little, the other kids would watch me sketch and ask, “How do you do that?” They’d shout out their requests: Draw a pony licking an ice-cream cone! Draw a dog eating my homework! Draw Tommy farting! I liked being really good at something. And no matter what was going on around me, drawing always seemed to calm me down.
    Unable to eat another bite, I put down my fork. I take my tray into the kitchen. After scraping my plate, I hand it to the auburn-haired girl who’s rinsing off dishes. She’s a fellow housemate who’s on the work-study program and she looks flushed and tired. She avoids my eyes. After rinsing off my plate, she takes another from the top of a huge stack and grimaces at the hardened mixture of cheese, gravy, and marinara sauce stuck to its surface. My body tenses: this girl could be me in a few weeks if Nana’s check doesn’t get here soon.
    I go up to my room. I lie in bed and try to relax, but being in my room only triggers anxious thoughts of Maddy and Agnes. What if Maddy found out I had sex with Sebastian? What if she and Agnes hate me now?
    No. I’ve got to distract myself from these paranoid thoughts. But how? I’ve already done all my homework, read every magazine I want to read, pushed back my cuticles, and trimmed my nails. I guess I could redye my hair, but I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, and I doubt that the tiny act of dyeing my hair will keep me from falling. No, I’ve got to do something active. It’s Friday night. I should be out having fun, not cooped up in my room by myself. Who knew college would be like this? It’s weird being alone all the time.
    The problem is that I’m not close to anyone here other than Maddy and Agnes, and even though it’s only the third week, it’s already too late to make new friends. Everyone bonded during Orientation Week and these are the friends they’re going to have for life. Through graduation, marriage, children, divorce, and death. It’s all so arbitrary. You’re going to be BFFs with someone just because you started a conversation with her in the bathroom late one night, when you were brushing your teeth and she was washing her face in the sink next to you and you were both feeling a little homesick. The bond will form instantly and it will be permanent.
    I reach for my sketchbook, but decide on a whim to take a walk instead. I slip on my black Chucks and hurry out the door.
    It’s seven