The Design(13)

I glanced over. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” I admitted. It was the truth: I’d slept at Brooklyn’s condo the night before, but I only had four days left before I had to move out of my dorm.

“Yeah, same here,” she nodded.

Then, it clicked. She was trying to introduce the subject of us being roommates without looking too desperate.

“I know it’s kind of weird and you hardly know me,” I began, “but we’ll both be going to the same place every morning…”

She gave me a weird look. “I’m sorry—are you hitting on me? I’m not a lesbian.”

What? What?

“Uhh, neither am I. Why would you think that? I thought you were trying to ask me to be your roommate a second ago.”

Hannah’s eyes widened. “Oh, right. Okay, yeah. Sure, I’ll be your roommate. But uh, we’re not sharing a room.”

I was pretty sure she still thought I was a lesbian. Oh well, it’s not like I had other roommate options. I didn’t want to stay with Brooklyn and paying for my own place would eat into my Paris budget.

…



Later that night I chatted on the phone with Brooklyn while I worked on packing up my dorm room.

“Where should we go for my celebratory dinner this weekend? I want somewhere good. Don’t hold out on me, sis,” I joked as I shoved another sweater into a cardboard box, thus solving the age-old question: How much crap can Cammie stuff into a single box? Answer: a lot. I was halfway done packing up my tiny dorm room, throwing random articles of clothing into bags and boxes along with various trinkets I’d collected over my college career.

“I’m not sure, but I got Grayson to agree to come out with us,” Brooklyn replied.

“You did what?!” I asked, almost dropping my phone to the floor mid-shout. “Why would you do that?”

“Because, Cammie, we’re celebrating your new job and he’s the reason you have the new job in the first place. He hired you! What’s with the dramatic response? I thought it’d be good for you to see him outside of work, y’know, have a chance to talk to him one-on-one.”

I groaned.

“Do I want to know how you convinced him?” I asked, propping the phone between my shoulder and my head so that I could fold my favorite Harry Potter sweater. It had a giant “H” knit onto the front and it was supposed to be a replica of the one Mrs. Weasley gave Harry his first year at Hogwarts. It served as a barometer for friend-making: if you got the reference, we could be besties.

“I just asked him nicely, said I’d pick him up, and threatened to end our friendship if he said no. There might have also been a Snapchat of knives. Whatever. I swear his automatic response to anything in life is no, so I just had to convince him to say yes this time.”

“Oh god, Brooklyn. You’re insane. Listen, I gotta go. Hannah and I are apartment searching tomorrow after work and I’ve got to finish packing up my dorm.”

Brooklyn hummed across the line. “Who is this Hannah? Can you even trust her? You just met her.”

“Gah, Brook, you’re such a mom. I wish you and Jason would spawn some baby musicians already so you’d have someone else to worry about all the time.”

“Okay… but still, why don’t you just move in with me?”

I rolled my eyes. “Two reasons. One, you only have one bedroom and I’m not sleeping between you and Jason. Two, I can’t bring home guys to your condo. That’s just gross.” I left out the third reason: the need to separate my life from hers, but I knew she wouldn’t take that answer well.

“Oh! So you’re planning on bringing guys home all the time?”

I shrugged, though she couldn’t see it. “Not plural. Just one guy.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she replied.

I had no clue.

We said our goodbyes and confirmed dinner for Friday. I dropped my phone onto my nightstand and propped my hands on my hips, wondering how I’d find the time to pack, search for a new apartment, impress my new coworkers, and figure out how to seduce Grayson… all in four days.





Chapter Five


Amount saved for Paris: $122

Items I have: a printed travel checklist of all the things I needed to get. Hey, that counts as being productive.

Items I need: everything on my printed travel checklist.

French phrases that I know: Bonjour, mon nom est Cammie. Je suis américain et votre accent est sexy… which I think translates into “Hello, my name is Cammie. I’m American and your accent is sexy.”




Tuesday morning, I followed Beatrice to my assigned desk for my first real day of work. I carried a small box with me filled with notebooks, my favorite drafting pencil, and a photo of Brooklyn and I when we were kids. It was just enough personalization to ensure that I’d remember which of the array of nearly identical desks was mine.

We passed through the center of the main room and arrived at a cluster of four rectangular desks closest to the back wall of offices. The corner desk was empty and waiting for me. As I neared the desk grouping, I realized that if I leaned back in my chair, I’d have a clear view into Grayson’s office, which also meant, that at any given time, he’d have a clear view of me.