Sweet Water(21)

I look up to find a boy with overgrown dark-brown hair and a wry grin nosing into my dormitory. “I’ve got connections,” I say for probably the first time in my entire life.

It’s a little unsettling having a boy appear in my bedroom, just like that. Then I realize I’m living in a coed dormitory and I should probably get used to it.

“That’s so money; I like your style.” The boy’s wearing a tie-dyed shirt with Greek letters on the front. He points to my bed, as if we aren’t the only two people in the room, and I can’t figure out the correlation.

“Right. Thanks,” I say, but seeing his body, long and lean, pointed toward my bedsheets sends warm shock waves down my stretched bare arms.

The little buzz quickly defuses when a much smaller kid decides to invite himself into my room as well, and suddenly I feel bombarded.

“There you are. I’m here to serve, Marty.” The boy makes a dorky salute sign at Marty—that’s his name. The smaller one has the kind of smile that could light up a billboard, a real this-is-a-nice-kid kind of grin, and I decide he’s okay.

“I’ve got this, Tushy,” Marty says.

“Tushy?” I giggle. What an awful name.

The smaller guy rolls his gorgeous umber eyes. “It’s Tushar Patel.” He reaches out his arm and shakes my hand firmly.

So polite.

Marty says, “Tush is a sophomore like me, but he’s just deciding to join us, so he’s trying to kiss up because I’m in charge of the pledges.”

“Ah, Mr. Important,” I joke.

“Sure.” Marty winks, and he’s kind of dorky too. A very cute dorky. “She’s all set, Tush. Find someone else to harass.”

“Oh . . . I see how it is.” Tushar makes an awkward but sweet bow, then leaves.

“Is that a lava lamp?” Marty’s eyes dart to my bedside table. I guess he’s not planning on going with Tush. His body is fully in my room now.

“Uh-huh. A Spencer’s store special. Thought it tied the room together,” I say.

“Come on, Marty!” I hear someone scream from the hallway. “At least wait until we get to the fence to harass the freshmen!”

Marty flushes from his cheeks to his lamb-chop sideburns, which I don’t particularly like or hate; they’re just different. He’s not like the guys I’m used to at home. Even though Josh’s hair was on the longer side, there’s a polish well hidden by Marty’s ratty T-shirt. But I don’t want to think of Joshua. He’s not here—and Marty is.

“Don’t pay attention to him. That’s Meat, the president of the fraternity,” he says. “He just likes to order people around,” he whispers.

“Meat?” I ask. “What’s up with the names in your fraternity? And why do they call him that?” I’m leaning on my metal bed frame, and I’m never quick to judge people, but I instantly like Marty. There’s an energy about him that makes my insides flutter, anxious but in a good way.

Marty shrugs. “You don’t want to know.”

“Marty!” Meat yells again. “There’re other people who need help. Just tell her to meet you at the fence tonight.”

“You’d better go. Duty calls,” I say.

“Right. You should come tonight, though. To the fence,” he says as he backpedals the two steps to my door, bumping his head on the entrance as he does, blowing his cool act.

“Which fence?” I ask.

“You have to find it on your own. I can’t be the one to tell you.” Marty is out the door before I can say another word. I haven’t even told him my name.

Hanna Flaherty, my new roommate, shows up a few minutes later with her parents. Her mother and father are dressed in nearly matching plaid shirts. Their moving boxes are neatly taped from one side to the other.

Mrs. Flaherty holds a brightly colored tote bag. “Hello, I’m Ramona and this is Gregory.”

“Hi, I’m Sarah,” I say with a quick wave. I’m not used to adults introducing themselves by their first names, and I don’t like the way these two eye my dormitory decor like something ugly might crawl out from beneath the sheets.

“Hi!” Hanna rolls her large bright-blue eyes lined in charcoal. They’re so vibrant, I wonder if she has colored contacts. I smile back. I’m not great at female relationships, but I heard that dormitory roommates are supposed to be like insta best friends. Sorta like my hot cocoa—just add water and stir. I had high hopes, but I clearly don’t belong with the offspring of these two.

“Are your parents here?” Ramona asks. She pulls out a container of cookies from the tote bag and places them on a nightstand. The cookie carrier is in one of those specially designed Tupperware deals with the formidable red lid. We’ve never covered our cookies with anything but aluminum foil, which immediately confirms that Hanna and I will not be a good match.

“My dad’s hooking up our cable,” I say.

“Oh, I didn’t know cable was an option.” Gregory grabs a tabbed university brochure from Ramona’s tote bag and begins to browse it for confirmation.

“Cable is all set!”

Ramona and Gregory jump when my dad charges through the door. He wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans, and his flannel shirt is flapping open to reveal yet another concert tee, this one Van Halen. Ramona’s eyes run over his shirt the same way they did my bedding.