Undecided(2)

“Get lost,” Kellan orders, shoving Crosbie toward the door. I shuffle to the side as Crosbie tumbles out, laughing. He smells like sweat and lemon-scented laundry detergent, and when he bangs into my shoulder he grabs my hip to steady me, his big fingers digging in just a little too hard before letting go.

“Sorry,” he says, making a face at his friend. “His fault. You should probably reconsider living here. He’s an *.”

I don’t know what to say so I say nothing. Then Crosbie’s gone and it’s just Kellan and I.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “Do you want to come in? Please come in.”

I should leave. He lied to me, he has a stupid friend, and he doesn’t remember that we had sex. If I’d been having any doubts about the wisdom of that hookup, they were cemented forty-five minutes later when I spotted him getting a very public blowjob from a very willing blonde.

The mortification of that moment should be enough to send me running. And I swear I would, if only I hadn’t met with four other potential roommates yesterday and failed to click with any of them. And if only I didn’t need to move out of my cramped room in summer residence by the end of the week.

“Sure,” I say.

It’s a nice, predictable apartment, arranged in the same style as all the others in the neighborhood. The front door opens to a tiny foyer and set of stairs leading up to the living area. The main space features an open kitchen with a small breakfast bar, and one wall is taken up with three doors—two bedrooms and one bathroom, according to Kellan’s ad.

It’s bright and airy, with the original hardwood floors and large windows. There are no special upgrades, just standard-issue appliances and white paint on the walls, and it’s in the process of being furnished as Matthew—Kellan—had explained in his emails. In an effort to keep him away from the party crowd, his parents agreed to pay for this place on the condition he keeps his grades up, but they’re not paying for anything else, so he’s getting a roommate to cover his living expenses. Before today I’d assumed that “Matthew’s” biggest expense would be cat food and brand new board games. Now…not so much.

“Have a seat,” Kellan says, gesturing to the tiny wooden table that, for the moment, is sitting in no-man’s land in the space between the front door, living room, and kitchen. More of a hallway, really. Or, in Kellan and Crosbie’s book, a dining room.

I sit stiffly, crossing my legs then uncrossing them and crossing at the ankles. I tug at my collar, certain my shirt is trying to strangle me. The last time I wore it was during my party girl phase when I’d paired it with a lacy magenta bra and four undone buttons. Today, however, I had to wear a sports bra just to get it to button up over my boobs. A petite frame and a D-cup does not make getting dressed easy.

“Want a drink or anything?” Kellan asks. He waits for me to shake my head before sitting down and resting his arms on the table. He smiles shyly, his teeth white and even, mouth quirking up slightly more on one side than the other to reveal the dimple in his left cheek. Yes, I know Kellan McVey has a dimple in his left cheek. Everyone does. Just like they know he benches 280 and runs a five-minute mile and came in third in last year’s national track meet and is in the second year of a four-year sociology degree. He’s basically Burnham’s resident celebrity, and here I am, in his living room. Dining room.

Our dining room.

No. I can’t even consider this. It’s an exercise in failure, and I have had enough failure in this past year to last me a lifetime. In fact, I won’t even have a life or a future if I repeat last year’s poor performance, hence the commitment to my new prim and proper lifestyle. Nora Bora 2.0. Emphasis on the bore.

I force myself to return the smile, then study my plain fingernails, trying to figure out what, exactly, to say in this situation. “You said—” I begin, at the same moment Kellan says, “I know I—”

We both break off, then laugh awkwardly. “You first,” he says.

“Your ad said you were studious and responsible,” I say, hating how lame I sound. “I didn’t really picture, you know…you.”

He winces. “I know. I’m sorry. But it’s one hundred percent true. At least, it’s going to be. Last year things got a little carried away, I had too much fun, and it cost me. Not just my grades, but nationals. I should have won and—” He interrupts himself with the shake of his head. “That’s not important. The point is, this year is going to be a fresh start. I moved out of the frat house and I want to live with someone who wants the same things. Feel free to party your ass off wherever you want—just so long as it’s not here.” He laughs a little then, and I realize it’s the idea of me partying that he finds amusing.

Ha ha, Kellan, it’s a freaking cardigan, not a chastity belt.

“Sorry,” he says, reading the irritation on my face. “I, uh… I just thought it would make things easier for me and my roommate if there was no…temptation. Like, you know. To complicate things.”

I try not to let my jaw drop. Did he just call me ugly? Or at the very least, un-tempting?

“I mean—” He cringes and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit. I’m so bad at this. Just listen to me. I mean, I asked for someone studious and responsible so we could keep each other on the straight and narrow, you know? If you’re not bringing people here to party, and I’m not bringing people over, then we’ll just…study, right? And, I don’t know, watch the news and…read. Ugh.” His head falls back. “I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry, Nora, this must sound as appealing as prison. Basically I emailed with like, half a dozen people, and you were the only one who sounded any good at all. Like, normal and smart, with a sense of humor. And a strong stance on recycling.”