Undecided(4)

“We’re doing this,” I say.





chapter two


Okay, so today didn’t go exactly as planned. It went mostly as planned, in that I have to move out of my current place by the weekend and I found a great, free, apartment, but obviously my roommate is not the bookworm I’d been anticipating. And we once had sex in a closet and then he forgot about it.

I drop onto the edge of the twin mattress in my shoebox-sized dorm room and sigh, trying to convince myself I made the right decision. I mean, if I make a pros and cons list, the pros obviously outweigh the cons. And what’s the worst that could happen? I have a crush on my roommate for a while? Big deal. People live through crushes all the time.

The tiny dorm window is already open, but I still shove it up an extra half inch, as though it will make breathing any easier. After last year’s debacle I’d had to sign up for summer classes and move into Henley, the lone residence they keep open for summer students. The rooms are barely big enough to house a bed and an average-sized human, and the building is nearly deserted. Of its ten available floors only five are in use, and there are four other people on my level. Not that I’ve had a lot of time for socializing, with three classes, a full-time job, and three hundred hours of community service.

I wrapped up my summer courses and community service last week, and now all that’s left is my job at Beans, the coffee shop in town. I’d loved working there last year, but now it’s painfully awkward. The awkwardness is entirely my fault, but after nearly flunking out and getting arrested, I’d had to make some changes. One of those changes was ending things with my best friend and co-worker, Marcela Lopes. After getting my ass chewed in the Dean’s office, I’d flipped the switch on any fun and frivolity, and that meant getting rid of any bad influences in my life. Unfortunately Marcela fell squarely into that category, and she did not take being “shunned” too well.

I know I made the right choice in changing my circle of friends—more like, deleting my circle of friends and opting to have none—but I really miss Marcela. She’s smart and funny and a little bit insane, and she’s the only one in the world who knows about my hookup with Kellan. She’d die laughing if she heard about today’s events, but I can’t call her. And when I go into work tomorrow, I can’t tell her, either. She’s not speaking to me, and it’s for the best.

I’m pretty sure.

I strip out of the constricting interview clothes and toss on a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. I unwind my hair from its bun, relieved when it falls in nice waves down my back instead of its usual tumbleweed nest. Though we technically have a small kitchen on our floor, it’s just a filthy microwave and a stove with one working burner, so I forgo eating in, grab a jacket, and head to the small campus strip mall, which has been a ghost town all summer.

There are two days left in August but no one gave Mother Nature the news, and the trees in northern Oregon are already starting to change, greens giving way to muted yellows and reds, the air already taking on the crisp feel of autumn.

Classes officially resume on September fifth, the day after Labor Day, and students are allowed to move in on the third. Until then it’s just me and a handful of other summer students lining up for burgers and fries at the Hedgehog Grill, one of the few campus restaurants that stay open year-round.

“Hey, Nora,” calls Franco, the owner. “Lemme guess. Burger. Mushrooms. Bacon. Vinegar for the fries. And…an orange soda?”

“Sounds good,” I say, getting out my wallet. It always sounds good, since I always get the same thing when I come here. I pay and find a booth along the wall, grabbing my archaeology textbook from my bag, determined to cram every bit of knowledge about matrices and excavation processes into my brain by the end of dinner. Even though I have no intention of being an archaeologist, I’d failed this course last year and the only way to ease the bruise of an F is to re-take the class.

I’m halfway through a page about strata when I hear my name. Looking up, however, it’s not Franco calling me over to pick up my food, it’s Crosbie Lucas approaching with a tray of his own.

“Trying to go incognito?” he asks, gesturing to my loose hair and non-cardigan. “Look more like a college student than a nanny?”

“I guess it didn’t work.”

“Can’t fool me.” Without waiting for an invitation, he slides into the far side of the booth and munches on a fry. “What are you reading?”

“I’m studying.”

“I figured. What?”

“Archaeology.”

“You want to be Indiana Jones?”

“I just want to pass.”

He shrugs. “Sure. Fair enough.”

My eyes dart around and I catch several people looking our way. Despite last year’s irresponsible antics, I’m a small fish in a big pond, and I don’t have much of a reputation. Crosbie Lucas, however, does, and though I’ve just agreed to move in with his best friend, I have not agreed to be friends with Crosbie by extension. Every girl Crosbie hooks up with gets added to a list called the “Crosbabes” and no way do I want to join their ranks, rumored or real.

Before I can think of a polite brush-off, Franco shouts that my food is ready. I head up to collect my meal, then return to the table and sigh when Crosbie shows no signs of leaving.