Page 6 of The Puckable Playbook

“It’s actually the perfect idea because she’s the exact opposite of Trish. Nor is chill. She studies and goes to class. I don’t remember her ever having a boyfriend. She’s a girl, so by default, she’s going to be cleaner than most dudes. Plus, Knightley Hall? I’d get my own room. I’m a senior, for fuck’s sake. I need my own room.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re coming off as super high maintenance right now.”

Every one of the stupid underclassmen roommates who didn’t work out noted the same thing, but I can’t help it. Living with these assholes is too much. It’s impacting my sleep, and more than anything, student athletes need sleep. “Fine. When should I stop by your place with all my shit? We’ll be cuddle buddies.”

“Fuck no.”

Then I better get Nor on my side and fast.

I pullmy beanie around my ears. Sweat clings to my skin from my afternoon workout, the cold air drying it on my face while I stare up at Knightley Hall.Man, this place is fantastic.No loud music blares from the windows. There isn’t a constant stream of screaming and laughing underclassmen spilling out the front doors or milling out on the quad.

One deep, hopeful breath later, I open up the main entrance to the possible solution to my nagging problem. One step inside the quiet, calm place and I already feel rested.

The truth is, I could’ve put my name down for the available spot without talking with Nor first. By all rights, the room is mine. I just need to claim it before another eligible senior snatches it up, and since I got the call from Karen at Student Housing this morning, time is slipping away.

I didn’t want to start off our roommate relationship like that, though.

Taking the stairs two at a time, my feet move quickly until I’m standing in front of suite five and knocking. Shifting from foot to foot, several long seconds pass. Movement sounds from inside, but no one answers. She’s probably on the other side of the door, waiting for me to go away.

I try again, knocking a bit harder and saying, “Nor, it’s me. It’s Zaiah. Or Isaiah. Whichever.” I can’t remember which she called me or if she ever said my name at all, to be honest. She was always so quiet.

“What are you doing here?”

I try to keep my cool, tapping my foot against the carpeted floor. Thecarpetedfloor. Just the idea of not having footsteps echo off tile and concrete at all hours of the night spurs me on. “I’m not here to talk about Trish. I promise. Come on, open up.”

There’s another pause until the sound of metal sliding across metal meets my ears and the door cracks. She steps back, the available space to peer inside widening in her absence.

The smell of cleaning products wafts toward me. From what I can see, the suite is neat and tidy, and Nor is as she ever was. Clear glasses frames sit on the bridge of her nose. Her dark blonde hair, now up in a messy bun, sticks out above the crown of her head, and two-sizes-too-big clothes that look suspiciously like pajamas hang from her body.

Ah, yes. I remember now. Trish’s shy friend was very much into lounging and being extremely comfortable. Baggysweatshirts. Loose pants. Hair tied back—or up—basically styled in any way where it was out of her face.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she says, distrust lacing her tone. She even takes a step back and crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“Sorry I accosted you in the middle of the hallway earlier. I need to talk to you.” She stands there, not quite letting me in, so I tack on, “May I?”

She peers behind her. “I…guess.”

I don’t wait for her to change her mind. I push past her, scoping the place out. As expected, Nor is organized. Peering over at the open door of what must be her room, I spot a made bed with a teal comforter and throw pillows. There’s nothing on the floor anywhere, and it doesn’t smell like stale beer.

I’m in love.

“So, what have you been up to?” I ask as I take the liberty of sitting on the gray couch. It’s pretty comfy. A little springy, but who knows how many students it’s supported over the years. I can live with it.

Nor stares at me through the lens of her glasses. “This is weird. Are you okay?”

I chuckle, feeling a little off myself. The desperation clinging to me is making me force this, but I’m not going to say that. “What about it is weird? We were friends.”

She scrunches up her face, and I’m with her on that one. I’m taking liberties with the wordfriend. We were acquaintances at best. She was just around when I was with Trish. The third wheel. The girl who tagged along to some dates. In fact, on occasion, I found her presence annoying, but Trish felt bad leaving her behind.

Or so she’d said.

“I haven’t spoken to Trish, so if that’s why you’re here…”

“It’s not,” I grind out. If I never hear another word about her, I’ll be happy. “That’s not it at all.”

Nor tentatively takes a seat on the other end of the couch before folding her legs up underneath her. “Help me understand, then. I haven’t seen you since…”

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