[Novel] Dorm Room 210

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Dorm Room 210

Author : Nicole Kaps
Category : Teen, Fiction
Source : books4u.me/read/dorm-room-210/9736.html

I graze my hand along the grey, written names before I turn back to Noah. “Why were people telling me how lucky I was to share a dorm with you?” Noah smirks and lean his arm on the wall beside him. “I am the son of the man in charge of this school. I’m rich and incredibly handsome. Who wouldn’t want to do the whole 'repeat of history' with me?” “A repeat of history?” Noah shakes his head. “Dorm Room 210 has been abandoned for a decade now. Haven’t you been informed about the last boy and girl who shared this dorm? They hated each other’s guts, doing pranks and whatnot on each other; creating a fuss wherever they went. They resembled animals.” His steps are deliberately slow. Tension thickens in the air. “But he was still a boy and she was still a girl. So naturally, they fell in love.” After having her parents killed in an accident, Lillian Camel is about to embark on a one girl mission: survive College. When hatred, friendship and love collide, Lillian is going to need the will power she has to face her roommate, the arrogant Noah Sky. Just how well will she do without giving up? Will she allow him to dig her a grave ten feet underground or be the one standing tall? Perhaps the ghost story of the past roommates from dorm room 210 will be repeated. [currently editing so I apologise if things don't make sense right now xx]

 

[books4u]

Dorm Room 210
Prologue​

<b>All Rights Reserved Copyright of Broken_Dream07, Nicole Kaps. All content from here on out also belongs to the owner. This story is for pure fun, enjoyment and entertainment. All related topics are fictional. The University is fictional and events that happen between characters do not necessarily happen in real life. Don't plagiarise, they say. Don't disrespect the author and cheat by taking her story. You have been warned.</b>

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A lot of terrible things happen in this world. The good and the bad are fragments of our memories that we categorise them into, so at any given time we can rank through those recollections and seek them out. We savour the happier ones, of course, because some may be too upsetting to remember.

I shudder. The memory of my parent’s bodies lying in two separate black coffins does nothing but make me feel sick. I was fourteen when they died. The day before Christmas stained eternally from there on. It didn’t get any better when I had to move states to live with my Aunt Stacy. The comfort of my home was a comfort to someone else’s. Before long, Victoria became my playground and Stacy filled the role of a legal guardian. During my pre-teen years, my relationship with Stacy had been stiff and edgy. I learnt the hard way around her and fending for me became a requirement than it did with gradual growth. I had to grow up quicker for the sake of keeping up with her. Some days were easier than others and Stacy, the starving artist she was—is—couldn’t have made it harder.

Funds from my parents were accessible at the beginning of my eighteenth birthday and despite the misfortune, I’m grateful for the chance to live the life I was sheltered from. I knew I wanted to go to university at the beginning of my tenth year at high school. The problem was money; therefore a scholarship became the only option.

Sweat and tears and numerous frustrations later, I got accepted.

Now here I am, hyperventilating outside of Prestwick West Campus wondering whether leaving Stacy’s house and moving into a dorm room for the next three years was a good idea. Adjusting isn’t a problem for me; it has more to do with people than the environment. The suitcases beside me feel heavier than this morning; the heat of the typical early March tingle my bare skin.

There’s no one to congratulate me on the beginning of my journey as an individual of society; no one to wish me luck or to converse with. I am like everyone who has ever walked in the unfamiliar hallways that they will be settling into. I will stumble and scrape my knee. I may make friends that will escort my soul until the end of time. Love doesn't stray to far from that possibility either.

Right now, none of those thoughts are worth it. In this moment, it’s just me and the University. 

 

[books4u]

Dorm Room 210
Dorm Room 210: Changes​

<b>A/n: I apologise in advance if things don't make sense now. I am editing the story, chapter by chapter. A lot of things will change as the story progresses, but with your patience and kindness, I'm sure it's not going to be a major issue (despite that some changes may lead to changing a few vital moments you were comfortable with—and for that I am sorry). Reminder, I am Australian: I write Mum with a U instead of O (because that's just how we do it here). Thank you for being amazing readers! I can't believe I got over 23M because of you guys. Amazing! xx</b>

<b>Chapter 1:

Changes</b>

The leather grey chair I’m seated in is the cage that prevents the rush of wanting to leave. The people around me are loud; their voices bounce off the cream-coated walls decorating the reception room. Whatever had led me to believe I could do this really had a sense of false hope. I’m a nervous wreck, but it's the kind of nerves you get when going to new places and being surrounded by people in all ages and genders. It’s a new environment, and one I’m not accustomed to accepting on my own.

I look everywhere I can that doesn’t involve people, which is difficult considering wherever I turn there is always a face, including the walls. The photographs of past and present campus Heads hanging across in a timeline of achievements look about ready to fall. I scan the ones in line of my vision. One in particular stands out. The man’s blue eyes hold me prisoner. There’s no doubt Photoshop was involved. With the shiny black hair and flawless contrasting skin he looks in his element, on the borderline of youth. The golden plates of <i>Prestwick West University</i> on the receptions front desk remind me of orthodontists. They used to spook the hell out of me when Aunt Stacy took me. A horror concert, I called them once. The grey and white carpet design feels fluffy underneath my shoes. A few people have taken their flip-flops off to squeeze their toes between the fabrics. I’ll need to do that one day.

The clock above the reception brings me back to reality. It’s been almost an hour since I arrived and the amount of people has grown to almost double the original digits. I barely move my legs in time before a guy walks into them. Where are the Guides? According to the schedule there should be five Guides escorting their appropriate group-number to the payed dorm rooms. I’m in group two, Building B: the closest one to the reception and main entrance of Prestwick West. If I did know the dorm number, I’d have already been at my dorm just like all of the off-campus students have claimed theirs.    

I’m beginning to regret choosing this school, despite the scholarship paying my first year fees and dorm room rent. The organisation skills they have ‘pride’ themselves to have is thinning out my expectations. If they cannot prepare today, it won’t only damage the student’s mood but their reputation as Prestwick’s best. I don’t understand how hard it is for someone to show us to our dorms considering the receptionist is doing as best as she can by herself.

Helen is a woman in her early seventies. Her brown hair is fading to grey and her wrinkly skin covered in makeup; her eyes outlined with black and lips painted in pink. If Stacy saw her now, she’d freak. From the first conversation I had with her back in orientation week, she isn’t that bad. Her attitude becomes a problem when she gets frustrated, an obvious sign to stress. Right now, a student has gone up to her with a sour look on his face almost ready to run down her desk. The blond spikey hair appearance and thin white singlet portrays the stereotypical thoughts of a bad boy from Greece but with access to his dad’s bank account. I narrow my eyes at him and then at my hands.

“Just go look ‘round for a few minutes,” Helen says as she picks up the phone beside her. The blond mutters something too low in the mumbling crowd and left with a bounce in his step.

I get up with my arms fold and look to where the blond went. Two girls and two guys stand beside him as he gestures his frustrations. The girl with red hair touches his arm, her warm smile ceasing the blond’s wild demonstrations. My mind goes to immediate conclusions: girlfriend. The red head says something to the group and they shrug in unison. Just then, the girl with black hair snaps her eyes to mine. I panic momentarily at being caught and guilt washes over me. I avoid her stare and turn the other way, the chair catching my fall. Hopefully she doesn’t remember my face.

Beside me sits a woman. I say with a smile, “Sorry, do you know where the bathroom is?” in hopes of not getting flipped off. She points behind us with short, easy directions. With a thank you on my part and bags in hand, I make my way to the bathroom. A few girls and women occupy the space and chat among themselves, but overall, the bathroom is empty. The cool tile floor and walls radiate around the room and calm the heat on my skin. The mirror before me—it’s so clean and has a faint aroma of window cleaner—points out the blush on my pale face and frizzy, blonde hair. Groaning from the mess I fix out a comb, dip it into the sink of running water and brush through the warm strands. Like the tiles, the water cools my scalp. I remain in the bathroom as women go in and out, my phone clenching in my hand while seconds expand to minutes.

Time goes quickly and the bathroom is beginning to thin out and go quiet. Before I know it, no one’s in the bathroom but me. The murmurs are dull and almost non-existent. Frowning, I leave the bathroom…

And there’s no one in the reception room. If I wasn’t hyperventilating before I arrived, I am now.

I almost—more like practically—run to Helen, shaking with a stammering hear missing its appropriate beats. She looks up; her grey eyes meet my brown ones. A sigh escapes through her lips, like she knows what I’m about to say. Still, I say it. “Uh. I missed the Guide tour.”

I can tell she doesn’t seem to remember who I am, it’s been four months since last November and the women must have important things on her mind than the clueless girl who asked her for directions. Her fingers type rapidly on the keyboard.

“Ya name and course? I’ll find ya dorm in no time.”

“Lillian Camel. I’m doing Bachelor of Fashion and Design.”

“Just wait in ‘ere, love. I won’t be long.” Her slime, long fingers reached for the dialling phone on her upper left corner. Before answering she motioned her head forward. Biting my lower lip, I walk over the grey leather chair with a sick feeling in my stomach as I glance back to Helen.

The seat beside me makes a noise and all thoughts go silent when I glance up to see the girl who caught me staring. My cheeks grow warm as she leans back into her seat, her blue eyes refusing to give and look away. She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow making it seem like her eyes is picking me out. Self-consciousness hover overs me like a raincloud but I can’t seem to make it go. Whoever she is, she’s scaring the hell out of me.

“You missed your group-number.” It doesn’t sound like a question but I nod.

“You—you missed yours?”

She shrugs and says nothing else.

Helen continues to talk on the phone so the possibility of asking her a question—a stupid, silly question she would expect from a blonde—is futile and, will probably be, the most humiliating thing I can do right now. Instead, I think about the dorm and my potential roommates. I chose a room with a maximum capacity of three people, considering all of the fours are taken. Meeting new people isn’t something I can manage on my own, but everyone has to at some point. Considering what they and I share is art, maybe there’s a possibility I can make friends.

The girl shifts in her seat. Hesitantly, I side-glance at her and watch as she looks at the reception’s entrance. “Where are you guys?”

In order to make friends, I actually need to speak to them. Practice makes perfect, as the old saying goes. “Waiting on friends?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Those fuckers should’ve been here ten minutes ago.”

“Is that why you missed it?” I clench my phone to stop the shaking.

She turns to me. “Something like that. We got a rule that we follow: bitch or ditch.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No,” she says, and flicks her hair over her shoulders. The conversation ends on an awkward note for me. The girl continues to look at the doorway.

Helen is gone from her desk, which sucks. Seated next to someone who doesn’t seem to find you interesting dampens moods. I could eat a jar of nutella right now and it wouldn’t help the lonely feeling bubbling in me (that’s not true; nutella is a match made for all souls).

I don’t notice the girl getting up from her seat and making her way to a group of four individuals until a blast of warm air hits my sweaty skin. The heavy air clings to me and I can feel my hair frizzing again. Making friends be damned right now, I’m heading for the shower first.

“Where have you guys been? We missed the Guides taking us to our rooms.” I notice how tiny she is when she stands beside them; almost a head shorter than the rest, maybe a few inches from the red-head.

“Chill my little darling sister,” the blond says and shoves a packet of Dorito’s at her, “we got off the phone with Tracy; she's gonna text us our room numbers.”

The girl smiles sweetly at him and turns to the red-head taking her hand. “Great! We’ll see you guys later then. Come on, Rach.”

The girls leave with their luggage tucked beside a three seated couch and exits at the opposite doorway leading outside. Neither two girls acknowledge me as they gossip to one another. I shake off the disappointment and wait nervously for Helen, reminding myself that there were friendships that are never formed.

I can see the three boys from the corner of my eye as I unlock the phone in my hand and pretend I’m reading a story. Being alone with boys makes it to my top five of things I’m uncomfortable with. Stacy has told me stories about girls like me and boys like them; how terrible most of those situations always end up being. I peed my pants the first time she sat me down on her stained couch that smelt like scented candles. Stacy always says it like it is. She rarely had an excuse as to why I shouldn’t know the things I would eventually learn. Sometimes I thank her; sometimes I leave and ponder it in my room without a sound.

Helen arrives back just in time for my nerves to get the better of me. She motions me over. I barely take notice of my surroundings as my feet carry me to her desk. I just want to get my year started without wanting to run back to Stacy’s house.

Unfortunately, all decisions lead to a conclusion in some way. Blind and one-sided, I crash into one of them until my butt lands on the soft carpet and a sticky drink lands in my hair. The guy stumbles but manages.

“It’s a sign I shouldn’t have worn this.”

Through a dripping milkshake, I look up at the owner of a thick English accent. He frowns and clicks his tongue at his shirt and hands, as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. He scoops a finger at the milkshake and licks it clean. As he moves, I notice his wavy brown hair that seems like copper in the light and

 

[books4u]

Dorm Room 210
Dorm Room 210: Hello Roommate​

<b>Chapter 2</b>:

<b>Hello Roommate</b>

When I was nine, Dad used to take me to this park a couple of blocks away from our house, for one of our father-daughter bonding sessions. The park had two sets of swings near a small lake, where ducks used to swim in the hot, summer days with a concrete footpath circling the area. It wasn’t much, but it was peaceful and open-spaced. It even had a café with rich cakes and ice-cream, coffee and hot chocolate. Sometime during that year, it expanded. The lake got bigger; the café got relocated on the opposite side of the road, which consisted of a ten minute walk. I complained about the distance and the changes that I’d have to get accustomed to. Dad had said, “Life doesn’t remain the same all the time; you’re going to have to get used to it eventually.” I questioned why. He smiled. “You won’t grow otherwise.”

I think of what Dad said as Tracy walks pass Building B and the built-in dormitory without a second glance. The distance between where we are now and where we were supposed to go, is too far for me to count but we’re at the main cafeteria of the campus, which is a five minute walk from the reception. Tracy comments on how well prepared the food is, unaware of the question repeating in my mind: where is she taking me? Building E, where engineering courses are held, comes into view and I’m beginning to panic. Tracy goes silent as we waltz through the glass doors and corridors that smell of orange and wood (how the combination works is a mystery I won’t ever find out). 

We’re outside, turn left, and the concrete transitions itself to dirt with smooth stone paths to lead us to a cottage looking home. Of course, it’s not a cottage from <i>Goldilocks and the Three Bears</i> but the small house is covered in different colour flowers and flush green vines it can almost pass as one. I’ve stepped into the land of the fairies.

“It used to be for Mr Sky when he stayed back to do late night work,” Tracy says. “He uses it once, and forgets the damn thing ever existed. It’s been sitting here for a decade or so.”

I feel speechless. “That’s my dorm?”

“And your roommate’s,” she adds. “We asked for some flowers to give it a homier feel. I think they overdid it with the pinks, but we paid for quality and that’s what we received.” She turns to me with a formal expression. “As for the rules.”

Tracy goes into explaining the basics of the campus rules, reminding me to make sure I look through them online. Apparently we get strikes if we don’t follow them correctly. They don’t do major damage but it can force you out of your dorm if it gets too extreme. It’s happened once, ten years ago. A party got too wild and authorities were involved. Two students were kicked out of their dorms with a fine over two thousand for small vandalism.

We walk until we’re face-to-face with the door in front of us, Tracy commenting all the way. “I’ve told this to others like you, if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask. It’s better if you get it off your chest faster.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Let’s meet your roommate.”

I’m excited; I can taste the rushing sound of my blood and the muscles in my legs. The sticky milkshake and the girl who ignored me aren’t preventing my cheeks from stretching. I wonder if the person on the other side of the door feels the same. Tracy knocks on the door.

A heartbeat goes by. Two heartbeats. Three—

The English guy opens the door, shirtless.

“Bloody hell,” Noah says. “I thought I had this dorm to myself.”

The hot milkshake drips onto my tongue. My mind is running into questions; bruising from the lack of answers and comfort it’s receiving. There’s no air in my lungs when I glance to Tracy. She’s complaining about his state of appearance. Noah says, “You should’ve told me I had company; I would’ve prepared myself.” He winks at me and I frown through hot cheeks.

“I’m sorry, but what is going on here?” I glance at the two before setting my eyes on Noah. I watch as his face rearrange into a smirk that doesn’t at all fit his features, as if telling me I am in for some real treats.

“Ms Camel, meet your roommate, Noah Sky.”

I chock on the hot taste in my mouth. “My...my what?”

“Roommate,” Noah says. “Or are you incompetent to understand right now?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

My arms are shaking with I face Tracy. “This is a joke. I’m not living with a—<i>that</i> boy.”

“You’ll find yourself to realise Noah isn’t just any boy,” she says with a smile on her face.

“He’s a boy no matter how you look at it. He has hormones and dirty kinks and quirks like any other boy does.”

“You’re a drop of sunshine,” he says and leans against the door frame. I try not to look at his tone body that is giving my skin something other than the heat unrequired warmth. “What a way to leave first impressions.”

“Actually, this is the second.” I wipe the substance from my forehead.

Noah has his eyes scrunch up and his head tilt to the frame. “We’ve met before.”

I get mad. “You’re the one who dropped your milkshake on me.”

“That was you?”

“Unfortunately.”

He’s smiling now. “You’re her, huh?”

I don’t understand the double meaning behind his question but I nod anyway, suddenly shy.  I’m looking for assistance from Tracy but she isn’t paying attention to the conversation. She’s dragging my luggage inside with a steady persistence. I don’t follow her, but stand in the heat with my tongue edging my body to chuck up from the taste of warm milkshake. Noah hasn’t stopped looking at me, and the decision to run back into Building E is hitting me in every section of my reluctant and discipline mind. Why I’m not forcing myself to leave won’t ever leave my mind.

Noah goes inside, leaving the door open. Flies are attracting the doorway. A few enter the room. There’s a figure or two among Tracy and Noah; one with blond hair and another dark hair. Their eyes take me in while Tracy explains why they must leave. I wonder what they see: a young, insecure girl covered in goo with pleading eyes and an air of clumsiness or a confused girl wondering why the hell she’s standing out in the sun.

I don’t wait out for long. Tracy ushers me inside sweetly. The air-conditioning wraps around my sweaty skin. I don’t hold back the sigh. The Jesse guy rolls his eyes and tells Noah he’ll see him at lunch or whatever, and his mate, Raven, follows him out. Jesse’s hazel eyes punch a hole through me, almost in an intimidating gesture. His shoulder knocks me slightly off balance. Noah’s other friend sidesteps me on his way out. I am glad he doesn’t see me in the same way Jesse does. The thought of living with a roommate whose friends are asshole makes me want to go back to high school. The door slams shut.

This left me with Noah, who’s in a white polo shirt, and Tracy. I’m pleading to Tracy in seconds. “There has to be <i>something </i>you can do. Isn’t there any girl dormitory that still has a bunk left, in any building?”

She offers me a sympathetic smile. “The dorms are coordinated with their buildings. I am sorry, Lillian.”

I don’t stop. “Think about it,” I say, trying to make her concentrate on my words. “A boy and a girl in a dorm room, together. Anythingcan happen. Aren’t you concerned about this? What would our parents think if they knew about this arrangement?”

It’s small, maybe unnoticed, but I see Tracy’s face twist slightly. Her eyes drift down to the ground briefly, squinting in concentration. For a moment, I feel relief about not bunking with Noah. However, the boy in focus makes a face and laughs.

“Yeah. As if anything will happen. You’re way below my expectations for any sexual activity.” The heat hides my embarrassment. “You’re of legal age. Your parents don’t have a say. Tracy has enough on her plate so be a little mature about this and deal.”

“No Noah, it’s all right—”

“You see?” He shakes his head and turns to Tracy, smiling at her. “You can go do whatever you gotta do. I’ll take it from here.”

Relief washes her face. A sigh escapes from her lips. “Thank you, Noah.” Then her eyes turn to me. I want to shower now to rid of the stickiness and the guilt inside me. She doesn’t make it any easier for me. “I will see what I can do about the arrangements, but I won’t hold your breath on it.” She smiles politely and leaves with a good luck.

I don’t know what to say or do because nothing made sense to me. What kind of university is this? Noah Sky, my roommate, turns his back on me and rids off his shirt. Noticing this, I clear my throat and excuse myself to shower with my toiletry bag and suitcase.

Noah doesn’t say anything.

It takes a while to get comfortable, and my reasons seem valid enough. After my shower, I rearrange Noah’s stuff over to his side of the room and have my side replace it, and realise dinner approach. Five hours has passed pretty quickly. It would’ve been a lot easier if <i>someone </i>helped instead of leaving me to do the work.

I come out of the bathroom, finally happy to place my towels and shampoo bottles somewhere. There is no sign or trace of that Noah Sky person. I smile to myself a little before letting it fall off my face.

<i>This isn’t how I pictured my university life.</i>

Sitting on my single bed far off to the corner, I took in my surroundings. The whole place is bigger than I first thought. In fact, it’s half the size of a decent house. The walls are white, contrasting nice with the red curtains that spilled from each window. So, yeah, the place feels like I’ve stepped through royalty or something as wealthy. The floor isn’t anything special, just floorboards. Noah’s bed is plain. That’s the only word that comes to mind when white quilts on a white single bed is pushed against a white wall, sitting alone on the opposite side of the room. It hasn’t been made! In fact, the whole <i>room </i>is in a mess. My side excluded, of course.

Breathing out harshly, I lie my head against the wall.<i> This is how it’s going to be,</i> I think. Turning my head to the side, I analyse the small picture frame of Dad, Mum and me three months before the accident. I wonder what would’ve happened if they were still here. I definitely wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure. They would’ve made sure I was sent to some other university where I was required to come home to sleep. We’d be eating dinner together, and chatting about random things, such as life and friends and school and work. They’d ask me “How’s school going?” and I’d reply with a smile and say, “School’s going great! I met a lot of people who share the same dream with me.”

 That’s never going to happen.

The overwhelming feeling of isolation settles in. Where is Aunt Stacy to yell at me for bringing home a negative mood? At least she’ll have something worth lifting up my spirits, even if the boredom killed me and the world outside called my name. I wouldn’t have had to change anything.

A glimmer of grey catches my attention as my eyes flicker to the edge of the wall. Sitting up, I scoot to the edge

 

[books4u]

Dorm Room 210
Dorm Room 210: Friendships​

<b>Chapter 3:</b>

Friendship

Claiming an early rest for tomorrow’s classes, I thank Nicole for inviting me to share dinner with them and wave goodbye to Rachel. I ignore the boys, glad that their conversation makes my retreat a little less difficult. I admit that they are the reasons why I left. No matter how hard Nicole Rachel tried to get me involved in the conversations, I was either cut off or completely ignored. It doesn’t bother me and it won’t when I go to bed.

The one thing I like about room 210 is the bathroom. It’s spacious enough for two comfortable to live in. The shower particularly had my skin thickening to goose bumps; pleasant in all aspects of pleasure.

Once I finish brushing my teeth and pulling my hair up in a bun, I slip on comfortable—and appropriate—clothing before I aim straight into bed. I charge my phone and place it on the drawer beside me, the time in the back of my mind. Reaching over to bottom drawer, I pluck out my timetable and scan the room location, hours and teachers. I will only have five hours in the morning before the rest is free. The day after that has the same class time with another after five. The only days that seem to be free are Friday and the weekends. It’s an easy and flexible schedule. So much better than high school.

I scurry off my bed and kneel before the bottom drawer and pull out a sketch book, finding a pencil along with it. Why not sketch a few ideas before going to bed?

I remember showing Stacy one of my sketches; a dress with no backing with spaghetti straps crisscrossed over each other, holding it together. She didn’t exactly like it. Having a sixteen year old niece slash goddaughter drawing sketches so common for woman her age, left her a really bad accusation of what kind of girl I was becoming. I failed to assure her that I wasn’t confident enough to wear clothes like them, that even a porn star could handle the situation better. She almost fainted from hearing me say that word.

I laugh to myself.

As my hand flies across the page, leaving shades of different greys behind, I think about her wellbeing. At almost thirty eight, I can’t understand how she survives living on her own. I rarely saw any friends visiting her, but she claims to have plenty. She’s the one who visits them. Has she managed to get herself a boyfriend in last previous hours? Does she even miss me?

I don’t know why I care, but it’s sort of nice to wish one person misses my presence. The kids I use to hang with when my parents were alive don’t contact me like they used to. Here, I feel like I’m an animal trapped in a cage and watching with quivering eyes as people walk by in wonder of what kind of foreign creature I symbolise. Noah would probably list me a dozen or so pages to help me recognise what kind I belong to.

Ugh. Just thinking of Noah boils my insides. For a roommate, he sure is a lousy one. Is my invasion of the dorm going to strain us from here on out? Am I already hated by him? In front of Tracy, he’s a flirty guy. When he’s with his friend or with me, he’s a total jerk. He acts like a king and I, the orphan peasant with mud on her shoes: if you ignore them long enough, you wouldn’t know who the orphan is and who signifies the mud.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but the sound of my alarm buzzing with the Spice Girl’s remix jolts me to consciousness. I see Noah in just shorts, sitting on his bed with a towel on his hair, smiling. He’s smiling at <i>me.</i>

“What?” I say, in a groggy tone.

Noah smirks. “Good morning, sunshine. Did you have a grand time drooling last night?”

My hand rises to the corner of my cheek, no doubt to wipe away my warm saliva. I don’t dare to glance at my pillow. “So? Everyone drools when they sleep. It’s common.”

Noah tilts his head to the side. “That’s what makes you different to me.”

I turn my back to him, picking up my crumple sketchbook and fallen cushions and make my bed. He’s stupid comment reddens my cheeks despite how wrong he is. Everyone sleeps and wakes up with drool on their face.

“What makes you think you’re more important than me?”

He decks to his closet at the far end of his room and pulls out a shirt. “I don’t think I need to explain you the reasons why.” His smirk stays in place. “Besides, we’ve got ten minutes for breakfast and another twenty before my class starts. I dunno about you, but I came here to learn.”

“How weird, so am I.” The front door opens suddenly, with Jesse and Raven in tow. In my opinion, they’re commonly known as his dogs. After last night, I officially name Jesse as leader.

“Noah, my man.” Jesse and Noah share a bro-fist. “Gonna get somethin’ to eat before class?”

“No crap.”

Jesse laughs before his eyes land to me. The stupid grin of his faults, and so does the sparkle of happiness in his eyes. I swallow my morning breath and walk to the bathroom, hoping I can avoid him. Clearly, Noah should train him harder.

“Hey bitch, you got a bit of drool there,” and motions a finger down his chin.

I want to shout how <i>normal</i> it is to drool, but I’m a shy mess and Noah’s laugh doesn’t help. I stand there, awkwardly, running my fingers along my wrinkle clothes. I do notice Raven standing beside the door not inputting with the conversation. Having the nerve to look up at him, all he does is face the floor.

Humiliation drowns what dignity I have left this morning. I swear my vision blurs on me when I clear my throat. “You guys better go hurry along,” I say in a small voice. “You don’t want to miss an <i>exciting </i>new day of class.”

They don’t reply but the sound of the door closing justifies the response.

I glare at myself at the bathroom mirror when I see an ugly image of my morning glory.

I laugh, shaking my head before turning the tap on and splashing my face with the cold water streaming down. “Get a grip, Lillian! They’re just annoying assholes who think the world revolves around them. There’s no need to get frustrated over it. Besides,” I give the reflection a smile, “you get to see the girls today. It’s not as if you’re alone now.” I hurry to get ready for breakfast and my first day of class.

I hear the group before I see them. My tray of pancakes wobbles as I get closer until I slow down and stop altogether. Noah is looking right at me with a subtle challenge in the corner of his brown eyes. The message is unclear. I continue walking towards their table. Eventually, Noah turns away.

“Hey, Lily,” Rachel says when she sees me, pushing a chair back to let me sit on it. Her back was the one facing me. I smile at her (ignoring Jesse’s stare). “Did you sleep well last night? I slept like a baby!”

I ignore Jesse’s cackle. “I slept all right.”

“Morning,” Nicole says and jumps into the seat between Noah and Rachel. She turns to Rachel. “You were supposed to wake me up before we left, Rach.”

‘I’m sorry,” says Rachel, “I wanted the pancakes <i>so bad</i>.”

I nibble on one of the small eight pancakes I have on my plate, when Noah says, “Why so many pancakes, <i>Lily</i>? Care to share with the rest of your <i>friends</i>?”

Nicole shushes him a little. “Eat your breakfast, Lillian and ignore him.”

But I can’t, not when they’re all looking at me expectantly. I push the seven remaining pancakes in the middle. “If you guys want them, have them.”

Noah grabs two and winks. “Thanks, <i>Lily</i>.”

I ignore him and get my bag from the floor. “I’m going to start heading off to class.”

“So soon?” asks Rachel. “But you just got here.”

“Let her go,” Noah says, shrugging. “If she wants to go, let her go. The better it is for all of us.”

For some reason the comment strikes me in a not-so-comfortable way. Of course, who am I fooling? Sitting on the same table with people like Noah doesn’t help you make friends at all.

Nicole tells Noah to apologise while Rachel says that “he doesn’t mean it” and “he acts grumpy in the mornings. Like, all the time.” I say, “It’s fine. Noah is entitled to his own opinions.”

“That’s right!” Noah says. “At least she knows where we stand.”

I walk away from the table, feeling relieved and upset about the outcome. I’m stopped when Raven jogs up next to me. “I’ll come with you.” He fixes his bag around his shoulder before looking back. “I have a few places to go in the same direction as you.”

“Sure.” In the distance we hear shouting. It sounds like Nicole and Noah.

We walk in silence from there, clearly in our own minds. I have no idea why Raven would want to walk with me, especially after this morning. Still, I find his company to be a soothing one. At least he isn’t as bad as the other two.

“Good morning,” he speaks, turning his face to me. “I was gonna say it before at the table. I dunno why I didn’t.”

“S’okay. You’re not obligated to say anything.”

Raven doesn’t persist. Instead, he says, “Do you know which way you’re going?”

Nervously, I nod my head. “I have five minutes to class, so I thought a little walk could clear up my head.”

“In a way, that makes sense.” I hear the humour inside his voice. Actually, it occurs to me how lovely his voice is; not too deep, not too light. It’s a right combination in both harmonies. Compare to Noah, Raven’s hair is slightly longer and darker, and his eyes are a blue instead of brown. Just two heads taller than me, Raven is slightly thicker in muscles than the other two of his mates. His skin is a natural tan colour. If Noah is good looking, Raven certainly passes.

“Like what you see?” His voice snaps me out of my head. I blink up at his smile and look away.

“You’re nothing like the other two,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“Jesse and Noah. I’ve never been confronted with a high level of disrespect before.”

Raven shrugs, tapping his fingers along his bag. “Considering that both of their dads run this campus, I’d say your opinion to them doesn’t matter.”

I stopped in my tracks and looked up at him with confusion. “I’m sorry; did you say that both of their dads <i>run </i>this campus?”

Raven nods. “There’s no other Prestwick West I’m referring to. There’s just East.”

 “Is that why Noah seems to be getting his own way?”

“I don’t get it.”

“Never mind,” I say and continue walking.

“You should talk to Noah about that,” he says. “I’m sure his answer will be justifiable.”

I scoff. “I doubt it. He hates me.”

Raven sighs and shocks me when he places an arm over my shoulder. A girl walks by with a frown on her face and I blush. “Listen, Lillian, Noah doesn’t <i>hate. </i>He might sound like he does, but he doesn’t. He’s got this…thick brick wall up on himself. Some people are able to walk through without any delay because he trusts us. And <i>trust me</i> it wasn’t easy the first time.”

“Are you saying I have to get past his barrier or something for him to talk to me like a normal person?”

“If you think it’s worth it. It’s why many people don’t really want to get to know him properly becaus

 

[books4u]

Dorm Room 210
Dorm Room 210: A Music Festival​

<b>Chapter 4: </b>

<b>A Music Festival </b>

You’ll know if you like a place if you wake up to a new day full of eagerness to get back in the game. Your attitude is brighter, the friends you make become closer—they basically never leave your hip once you greet them. I’m here to tell you the happiness you’re feeling doesn’t last. The drug inside your head can only make you blind for so long before reality chews it off.

It’s been a week since my lonesome journey and I’m ready to leave. The absolute crap thing about it is Noah and Jesse. Raven has been all right; we don’t talk much but usually the conversations will be about the assignments and essays we have to finish. His friends; my roommate and nemesis—I can already tell Jesse and I are getting closer—on the other hand, are the ones finding my existence a nuisance. It’ll be the little things I do or say around Jesse that’ll make him up and leave or take the attention back. He can have the attention for all I care, it’s just the way he does it that leaves bite marks on my lip. And Noah is just about the same.

Speaking of Noah, I rarely see him stay in his dorm, let alone be in the same room as me. He’s been going on about this house party down in Building D—the opposite side of Building B—and how wasted he gets with the expensive drinks provided. Only Rachel knows what he’s talking about, considering she was there. But, during the nights where there isn’t a party, I guess he sleeps in Jesse’s room.

Not that I’m upset about that arrangement. I’m thrilled to wake up in the mornings and see him already leave. This pattern he has in avoiding me works like a charm. If he only gives me the chance to make a proper conversation with him, the likelihood of us crossing paths won’t be hard to outrun.

It’s just after seven when Nicole and Rachel enter the dorm with makeup and hair products in hand. “Get up, lazy.” Nicole wrenches the curtains apart.

I groan from the invasion and sit up blinking until my eyes adjust to the light “Good morning to you too, Nicole.”

Rachel sits on the edge with a smile on her face. She’s never walks in without a smile. “Hope we didn’t wake you up.”

“Oh no,” I say, sweetly, almost sarcastically. “I was awake for hours.”

Rachel’s cheeks redden. Nicole takes a look over at Noah’s bed, shrugs, and climbs on the single. I ask the, “You guys don’t wake up this early unless we have class. Class doesn’t start until one.”

“There’s a festival happening,” says Rachel, taking off her flats before swinging her legs over. “It’s like, this thing they do once a semester. I’ve read about it. The art class is hosting it.”

“Music class,” Nicole corrects. “It starts at six in the morning until two in the afternoon. We already missed an hour from getting ready.”

“Okay, what does this have to do with me?”

The two girls give each other glances. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“We’re friends, silly. Since you’re like, part of the group now, you have to come and spend the day with us. We have six hours until class. Well, for you guys anyway.”

“Good,” says Nicole. “Now get up and get your clothes before I go Kun Fu on your arse.”

I open my closet and throw a pair of shirts and shirt on the bed. “How long have you and Noah been dating for?”

“A year and three months,” Nicole says without hesitation.

Rachel nods. “It’s funny how they like, never show that they’re together unless they’re in a group.”

Nicole shrugs. “We’re not like those couples.” She turns to me. “Why? You like him?”

“No, I don’t,” I say. “We rarely say five words to each other before we go our separate ways.”

“He’s complicating like that,” Rachel says. “Don’t worry too much, darls, you two will get along one day.”

“He’ll be lucky that I don’t throttle him beforehand.”

The girls ***** up and I dress feeling good about making their morning like that. The smile doesn’t cease off my face during the makeup we apply on our face and hair we style.

“We went to high school together,” Nicole says, fluffing her long hair. “Year twelve, someone introduced us and by April we began dating.”

Rachel frowns at Nicole. “But, I thought—”

“No, it went like that,” Nicole says. “Everything else is just a rumour.”

Rachel blinks until she’s smiling again. “Oh, right!”

“You don’t sound too happy about it,” I say as I brush my hair.

“I don’t expect you to understand anything about my personal life.”

I nod. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand mine.”

Nicole scoffs. “I doubt anything tragic happens in your life. From the way I see it, it’s all rainbows and ponies.”

I’m about to tell her. I feel my throat opening up to the words barricading my head. The siring’s going off don’t register as well as they should. The brush stills in place and my eyes train on Nicole through the bathroom mirror. This can either make or break me. I haven’t spoken the truth about my past to anyone other than my therapy Stacy insisted I go to. Telling people about the nightmares I had when I was young, or the hyperventilation’s I get when the air becomes thicker and the shaking in my limbs prevent me from moving, terrifies me. But when I do get it off my chest, when the words are free from my lips, I feel better.

I clear my throat. “It’s not all rain—”

The front door of the dorm opens and in comes the idiots and Raven. “Jesus, Noah, you’re making a big deal…”

“You don’t get a phone call from your dad with a time and date for dinner the day you have plans,” says Noah.

“Dad never calls me for any father-son bonding time. It’s always Nikki that gets them,” Jesse says.

“I don’t want them!”

“Fine! Tell him that.”

Noah sighs. “It’s not easy—”

“What’s not easy?” Nicole walks out with a frown on her face. All three boys are startled by her presence until Rachel pounces out with a smile on her face as she says, “You guys are fighting again.”

“We’re not fighting,” Jesse says. “He’s just being a dick.” Rachel slaps his arm. He hisses and glares at her, while she smiles sweetly at him. I think I found myself a bodyguard. I wonder if she’s up for any clients.

Nicole is fussing to get information out of Noah. He’s almost willingly to tell her, but the moment is cut short when he notices me. I see the walls closing around him; the words dying in his mind. I tell myself his problems are too personal to share in public and it stops the disappointment from settling in. Raven gives me a smile and a wave. I return the gesture

We leave as soon as Nicole finishes the last section of her hair. Jesse and Rachel are in front of us with Noah and Nicole. I stand off the side when Raven rugs me in the group. I don’t see the way Nicole looks at me but she shrugs when I catch her.

Walking out of Building E, my ears are thrumming with music and laughter. It really does look like a festival. Mum used to take me during the summer nights when Dad was too tired from work. Although there aren’t any rides, there are karaoke machines, booths to sell your CD’s, song dedications that blare through a speaker; the result of whistles and cooing is heard soon after. There are hotdog stands, snack and sweet bars and drinks in cups being served around. It really is festive, and we haven’t looked around yet.

As a pack (do you hear the sarcasm?) we stumble through the hyped-up event; cutting through groups of four, seven and twelves. If it isn’t for Nicole holding my hand, I wouldn’t have made it through.

Rachel is by our side in seconds. Nicole tugs on Noah’s arm. “We’ll meet you near Building B,” she says and turns away without waiting for Noah’s reply. He meets my eye, but there’s something different about the way he’s staring. It’s not threatening or pulsing with jealousy. He seems happy that Nicole is leaving him with me. I don’t think about it—at least, I don’t try to—when I’m dragged away.

Rachel goes for the karaoke machine first and wins a small bag of Mamp;M’s for her participation. Nicole aims for the food and buys us large chips to share. She offers to buy a milkshake, but I refuse and instead get water. She doesn’t question it.

“What do you wanna do?” she asks an hour in. “You’ve been quiet.” We’re waiting for Rachel to pick out a shirt with a Backstreet Boys logo.

“Nothing,” I say. “I’m happy following you guys.”

“Boring.” She rolls her eyes. “There’s got to be something you wanna do. A song dedication? We can look through some CD’s if you want.”

I hold up the bottle of water. “You already payed for our food; I’m not accepting a CD from you.”

She frowns. Rachel squeals with glee. “Why not?”

“I’ll feel bad.”

“Come on, there’s more than that. Don’t take me for a fool.” I don’t answer. She doesn’t press on. She looks at one of the girls behind the counter and smiles. “The girls here are so pretty.”

Rachel comes back with a bag of three shirts. “I couldn’t decide!” is her only excuse.

Eventually we go to the CD stand and find Raven searching through the list. Confident to speak, I say, “Any good songs?”

“They’re all pretty good.” He nods towards Nicole and Rachel. “How’s it going for you?”

“Fun,” I say, and fiddle with the bottle lid. “The food is good.”

“Did you buy anything? Volunteer at the drink stand…?” I shake my head. Raven pauses. He picks up a random CD. “Want one?”

I smile. “No thanks.”

He shakes his head. “It’s all right, I’ll buy.”

I panic. “Really, it’s fine. I don’t want anything.”

“Has anyone told you, refusing a gift is an insult to the giver?”

“I won’t listen to it.”

Raven shrugs. “Then don’t. Pick one.”

While I go through the selection, Raven asks, “How’re things with Noah?”

“Nothing new,” I say. “He hasn’t given me a chance to make conversation. All he wants is for me to go away, to never exist.”

“I don’t think he thinks the worst of you.”

I play with the plastic on the bottle. “Bestow me with Edward Cullen’s vampire gift so I can reach into his head and dig out the evidence for myself. I know he doesn’t like me here.”

“Did the conversation we had a few days ago leave your mind?”

“If you’re talking about his walls, I’m just letting you know, he’s doing an <i>amazing </i>job letting me in. I think by tomorrow he’s going to move out so I could have the dorm to myself.” I stop on a CD with bold black letters before moving on.

“You should know Noah would drop six feet underground before handing the dorm over to you.”

“You say it like it means that much to him.” I pick up the CD. “I found one.”

“Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Don’t believe everything I say.” He plucks the case from my hands. His grin widens. “Roxette is good.”

I’m stumbling forward from an intense push behind me. When I turn around, a tall girl with short

 

[books4u]

Dorm Room 210
Dorm Room 210: Confrontation​

<b>Chapter 5: </b>

<b>Confrontation  </b>

 Mum liked putting me in cute dresses and skirts when we went to parties and weddings; it was our way of bonding. Mum worked at a clothing store as manager, and usually she’d come home with a bag or two and dress me up. There was an occasion when Mum had put me in a pink dress and Dad asked for a dance. We were watching Beauty and the Beast and the moment the dance scene played, Dad took my hands and spun me around. Mum watched with a smile on her face. She told me what she always had; “You’re beautiful.”

This dress I am fitting on is not beautiful. It sounded fun when the criterion was given out in class. Patterns, floral and colour pulled an image from my mind and transcended onto paper. For three days, my partner and I have been picking out fabrics that match the design, however next week rolled over and I haven’t seen her since. It’s when our teacher tells us that my partner has dropped the subject that I realise something terrible.

Noah Sky is known to get his own way. At least, that’s what I’ve been observing since I found out his dad owns the school. Noah doesn’t have a partner for this assignment and it’s not because he’s capable of doing it himself but because the numbers are uneven. Apparently, his dad got involved and the outcome had our teacher accepting that the assignment will be handed in the same as everyone else (somewhere in September) with extra credit on top of the usual markings, just for doing it himself.

It doesn’t take a genius to know where I’m going with this.

Our teacher calls us up after class is dismissed. She’s explaining the situation as delicately as she can, yet she knows it’s futile. Her shoulders are stiff when Noah mentions his dad but her head is high. She surprises us both when she tells us we’ll fail if we don’t accept the partnership. Noah can’t bring his dad into this one.

“Just this once,” he says in a low tone. “For the sake of my grade. You got that?”

He makes me want to punch him in the face. “You don’t need to remind me how <i>desperate</i> you are in working with me. Shove it up; I don’t need you talking as if you own this campus.”

“News flash, sunshine, I practically <i>do</i>.” He pauses. “You don’t know <i>anything</i>.”

I look him up and down, judging him immensely as I can. “You’re right,” I say, calmly. “I don’t. All you are to me is a boy living under the shelter of hisdaddy. Why should I care about how you feel, let alone know what’s going on in your life?” I leave the classroom immediately.

To even think I can befriend Noah or make an alliance with him is gradually turning impossible. By the time I’m making my way to my dorm, I don’t notice the people around me. The distance between the conversation with Noah and the soundproof of the bathroom blurs any other insignificant moment. All I need is to clear my head before I continue to work on the stupid assignment my partner left me before she quit.

By the time I fish out the keys to the dorm, a figure in a black suit comes into view. Startle from the sudden merge, I stop in my tracks and take a good look at who this mysterious man is. But, it’s like I’ve seen him before. The slight hard jaw of defiance, which coagulates well with the mischief twinkle in his blue eyes, and air of importance reminds me much like Noah.

It hits me. Literally hits me. His stance is strong and the cologne that appears in my aroma sends my head wheeling and nose crowding. He smells like the wealthy. But, it’s the posture and the hair and the face that snaps my mind in recognition.

“Ms Camel, am I correct?” says the painting I saw in the reception back at day one. I nod, fiddling with the bag around my shoulder. “Aaron Sky, Head of Campus, father of Noah Sky.”

<i>Arrogant Sky, </i>I rephrase. There is no indication that this meeting is going to be “pleasant,” or even morally sain. 

I nod again. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he says, bluntly, adjusting his suit<i>. </i>“I was hoping to catch a glimpse of my son. I’m sure you’re aware of his appearance as he is living—”

“Yes I know who he is,” I interrupt, not wanting to hear how “fortunate” I am to be in the sight of his presence. He seems to catch that idea and proceed. I catch myself in the process.

“Can you be sure to tell him his father is requesting to see him right away?”

“Would you like me to tell him what about?” I say, kinder. He eyes me suspiciously, giving me a look-over like what elderly people do when you walk down the street in nothing satisfying to their taste. My patience is barely holding out from the encounter I have with Noah, let alone with the man who tangoed with the woman that gave birth to him.

I am closeto yelling out “Okay-thanks-bye” all in a single breath before I hear the door of Building E closing after tapping feat. I don’t turn around, but I can picture the silhouette of the topic Aaron and I were discussing about. Aaron shifts his gaze to Noah and the sudden need to defend his actions—whatever actions they are—goes above my head.

“Ah. My boy is <i>finally</i> here. Hello, son.”

Ignoring the shrieking chills dancing down my spine, I watch as Noah halts in the middle of the path, looking between his father and me. The redness appearing from his neck (the sun is still hot but not enough to burn him quickly) shows his utter embarrassment. I can see why.

Noah clears his throat and makes his way to the dorm. “Aaron.”

“<i>Dad</i>,<i>” </i>his father corrects. “Or have you also forgotten the respect I validly taught you?”

His eyes shift to the ground; feet fidgeting and jaw gritting tightly so the teeth are clashing against each other. The frustration pouring out of him dulls whatever embarrassment Noah conjured.Not a daddy’s boy after all, I think, sadly.

“If you wish to continue that discussion <i>openly </i>and <i>publically</i>—” he doesn’t need to specify me exclusively; it’s written all over his eyes when he glares, “Say what you need to say now, and leave.”

 As if realising I’m here, Aaron motions towards me. “And your friend here?”

 I scoff. “We’re not—”

 “Get out of here,” Noah demands.

 Anger hasn’t left me, apparently. “You can say it nicer. Maybe add a please?”

“This is none of your business,” he says, a little calmer. There’s something in his eyes that tells me this is no joking matter. “Start on the assignment, I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Aaron raises a hand to stop my hasty exit. “No, she can stay.”

I don’t look at Noah when she says, “She has no purpose in this conversation of ours. In fact, I don’t want to hear anything you have to say to me.”

Aaron scrutinises his son for what feels like hours. “I came here on behalf of your <i>mother</i> to remind you that dinner is next week and you’re required to attend this time.”

“I’m busy.”

Aaron glances at me. “If only you were more efficient in time management, maybe I wouldn’t have to tell you to visit your family once in a while.”

“Maybe I would go if the family wasn’t detached.”

“Do not bring him into this. Whether you have a friend with you or not, once your three years you <i>will </i>take the course I want you to take.”

The air stills and thickens and I feel like I lost control of the oxygen in my lungs. Instead, I focus on Noah and the broken expression he’s trying so hard to cover. All previous accusations I thought Noah is burns in the pit of my mind. If inner destruction and self-loath ever forms life, Noah Sky will happily take first rounds as host. 

Having decided their bittersweet open conversation is over Aaron Sky fiddles with his suit once more and forcefully endures a smile. “I see our conversation is yet to be over.” Noah says nothing. “Be sure to arrive at seven, sharp.” 

There’s no farewell when the older man turns his back to them. The atmosphere is too thick for any of our voices. I make the first move to open the door, when Aaron calls out, “We’d love to meet your roommate. Bring her along.” 

I’m throwing my bag on my bed and ranking for something smart to say, and Noah walks in, slamming the door behind him. I look at him. “Your dad is extreme.”

“Do you have a dress?”

“No,” I say, instantly.

“Get Nicole to find you one. Jeans are out of the—”

“No, as in, <i>no I’m not going</i>.”

“You have to,” he objects. “If there is anyone you should respect, it’s my father.”

“Not likely to happen. He scares the crap out of me.”

“Yeah, he does that if you don’t want respect. He’ll make you fear him instead.”

This is the first time Noah and I are having an actual conversation. “I don’t want to go. For all I know, you may all be serial killers.”

“I think you’d be dead by now if I was a serial killer.” A grin forms on his lips—my cheeks go red.

“I don’t want to go,” I repeat. “You can go to dinner without me.”

“I’ll pay you,” he says. “How much do you want?”

No amount of surprise can drug my body from the way I’m feeling right now. “You have problems.”

“And you’re a ray of sunshine. I don’t want you to go either, but I don’t have a choice.”

“This is your family we’re talking about, Noah. Your dad invited me to have dinner with you.”

Noah crosses his arms. “He wouldn’t have if you listened to me in the first place.”

“You’re not my dad,” I say.

“And look where it got you.”

I part open the section of my sketch book and material from my bag, finding the excuse to touch something soothing. The memory of Dad burning in my skin. “You and Nicole are dating. Bring her instead of me.” 

“This isn’t ‘bring home your girlfriend’ sort of dinner, Lillian. Besides, Aaron doesn’t know about Nicole.”

I try to pretend the way he says my name. “Why not?”

“It’s complicated, all right?”

“I think you’re being a sook, Noah. Just…deal with the problem.”

Noah groans annoyingly. “Oh God, what did I do to deserve this?”

“You talk about this like it’s my fault.”

His brown eyes snap to mine. “Isn’t it?”

We’re sitting on our beds now, divided by a few metres of emptiness but it feels suffocating enough. The tension in my bones is a frozen frame, unable to break with relief. I see no resistance in the way he stares into my eyes, as if wanting to find a secret about me; something that he can use for getting me to go; something, like my loneliness and pitiful life. Something, like the death of my parents... 

Maybe I’m the one who needs to deal with the problem. “What do you want me to do?” I ask. “Pack my bags and disappear off the face of this campus?”

“I guess that’s one way of getting through this,” he says, shifting to lie on his back. “Or you can be mature about this.” It’s like being back on the first day. He turns his head to me. “Get yourself a dress.”

This can be the opportunity you’re looking for, I think; but finding out whothe real Noah Sky is—figuring out how t