Undecided(15)

He returns the money and stands, and I do too. If he were any taller, he’d be too big, but I’m five-five, and he’s not even six feet. I like his height. He’s so broad that any taller would be too tall; he’d be enormous. Right now he just feels like he takes up a lot of space. Suddenly I’m too warm in my sweatshirt; I’m wide awake when I should be falling asleep.

He’s about to say something when a sharp rap on the door startles us, and we both turn to see Kellan peering in. “Cros?” he says, looking between us. “What are you…?”

“Just showing Nora a trick,” he says.

Kellan looks suspicious. “What kind of trick? I promised you wouldn’t bother her.”

“He wasn’t bothering me,” I say quickly. “And it was a pretty good trick. You should see it sometime.”

The suspicion fades to surprise. “Oh yeah?”

I try to sound casual. “If you want.”

“Maybe I will.”

He steps back as Crosbie exits. “Good night, Nora,” he says, before Kellan closes the door on him.

“Good night, Crosbie,” I say to no one.





chapter five


My full class load and shifts at Beans keep me busy, but the real reason I haven’t opened the boxes containing the pieces of my bed frame and desk is because I don’t want to. I’ve set up the box spring and mattress in a corner of the room, dutifully covered them in a fitted sheet and comforter, and now inch out of my room whenever Kellan’s around so he doesn’t see that I have neither the inclination nor the know-how to build things.

It’s Friday evening, the night of Kellan’s twenty-first birthday, and I have to be at work for five. I met Crosbie on campus earlier and he gave me his house key and promised every guy in the frat would be gone by ten. This suits me just fine, since that’s when I finish work and the last thing I need is to be the lone girl in a house full of horny frat guys on a Friday night.

At least, not this year.

Anyway, Crosbie told Kellan his parents were coming to take them out for dinner and they’d head back to the frat afterward to party, so Kellan’s sitting on the couch in a suit and tie, a textbook open on his lap, video game controller in his hand, trying to straddle the line between college kid and dutiful son.

“Hey,” I say, slipping on my jacket. I close my bedroom door behind me and wish not for the first time that it had a lock. As it stands, I’ll have to trust Crosbie that he’ll keep everyone out. Not that I have anything worth stealing—I’ve got my laptop in my bag, and nothing else I own is valuable. Or built.

Kellan pauses the game. “Off to work?”

“As always.”

“You know, for roommates, we don’t see very much of each other.”

It’s true. Most of my classes are in the morning so I can work in the afternoons and evenings, and Kellan picked afternoon classes so he could sleep in or run in the morning. If I’m not working I spend my evenings in the library studying—I really didn’t think “applying myself” would be this difficult, but it is—and when I get home Kellan’s either out or asleep.

To his credit, he’s been keeping up his end of the bargain about not bringing people home. With the exception of Crosbie, he’s done all his socializing away from the apartment. I pretend I’m doing the same, though I mostly just spend time by myself. Even though I know it has to be killing her, Marcela has not brought up the “roommates with Kellan McVey” thing, and Nate’s too nice to really tease me about it.

Strangely enough, the person I talk to most…is Crosbie.

I’m not going to think about that.

I shoot him a smile. “Happy birthday. Enjoy your dinner.” What I really mean is, “Coat this place in spray bleach after the strippers are gone,” but when he grins back and says thanks, I do nothing more than wave goodbye and head downstairs to grab my bike.

Beans is bustling when I arrive. From five until eight we’re pretty much run off our feet. We could use more staff, but the place is small enough that there wouldn’t actually be room for more people behind the counter. As it stands Nate, Marcela and I bump hips and elbows and stomp on each other’s feet with such regularity that we no longer bother with “ouches” and “sorrys.”

When we finally catch a lull we slump against the counter as Nate makes us each an espresso. The silence has more to do with our tiredness than any lingering awkwardness, but Nate changes that when he says, “So. Kellan McVey’s birthday.”

I glance over at him. “Uh-huh.”

“Big plans?”

I gesture to the shop. “This is my plan.”

“It’s his twenty-first birthday and he’s not doing anything?”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t doing anything. I’m not doing anything. New leaf, remember?”

Marcela snorts into her espresso but manages to bite her tongue. After all these weeks I imagine she has a lot to say, but she’s been remarkably composed. Or maybe she’s just bottling it up, ready to explode at any moment.

“I saw this…” Nate starts, tugging his phone from his back pocket and pulling up his Facebook page. Somehow Nate manages to be invited to absolutely everything, though he never goes. I think it’s a combination of him seeming older than us and therefore cooler, but not actually being older than us, and therefore not creepy. Even though I shouldn’t look, both Marcela and I edge closer so we’re standing on either side of Nate and peering down at his phone.