Page 35 of Burn Bright
I mentally file it away, which is too easy considering Ben is occupying about 80% of my brain right now.
Once I’m on foot and in the old apartment complex, I take the elevator to the fourth floor, and I think about himagain.
I want to tear him out of my head, but then I don’t. Because I like this weird, feather-light feeling swimming through me every time I remember and recall and replay. Memories aren’t always worth revisiting in my experience. Most of the time they bring an uncomfortable swelter that feels like I’m being cooked alive.
Not these, though.
These ones, I think I really like.
“Why don’t we take the same class?”
My lips twitch, aching to rise higher. Having a friend in a class is like gaining an instant advantage. We can share notes. We can study together. We can discuss lectures and help each other with assignments. The only time I ever have this perk is during classes that assign lab partners.
Humanities don’t have labs. I’d normally never have this advantage. I’d have to slog away alone.
Yet, Ben offered it to me like it was nothing.
And why—why couldn’t my initial thought be one of elation and utter happiness? Instead, I kept thinking,he’s going to get sick of me.
We’re working the same shifts. We’re bound to spend more and more time with each other.
And now we’ll be in a class together.
I’ve been told that my mere presence drains people like a battery sucking vortex. And that was from my own mom. I’m not trying to ruin this friendship before it leaves the starting line, but I just worry that Too Much Harriet will likely wear down even the mightiest of extroverts.
I haven’t determined where on the extrovert scale my new roommate Eden Marks lands. She has a dramatic chin-length bob suited for the streets of Paris. Nearly black hair, pale-white skin, and a freckle-less, clear complexion like she hibernates during the summertime. A denim overall dress, frilly white top, and Mary Janes remind me we are on two different scales of the style spectrum.
She’s going into her fourth year and majoring in accounting, which means we won’t have any classes together. It’s better this way. No risk of having Too Much Harriet here.
When I’m barely two steps through the door, Eden asks me to take off my shoes. “I’m sorry, it’s like a personal thing.”
“It’s fine,” I say, not caring at all. While I unlace my boots, I try to work my jaw out of its normal resting place.Smile, I hear my mom in my head, as well as her next words,but not like that.I return my jaw to its OG position.
Eden is busy bustling around, clearing stray dishes off the butcher-block countertop and starting a pot of coffee in thecramped kitchen. Which is home to the world’s skinniest stove and fridge. No microwave, no dishwasher.
The tiny, but cute, one-bedroom apartment is under 500-square feet. I haven’t really contributed to any of the furniture here. Not that there’s room for much. A lumpy lime-green sofa faces a small TV on a wooden media console, and an orange armchair sits beneath the only window. I get the sense that Eden likes to thrift anything from the ’70s. Her brown-and-orange-rimmed dishware even looks authentic.
My mom would rent this place fully furnished as is. She’d add Fleetwood Mac vinyls on the walls. Her obsession with the band led to my middle name beingStevie.After Stevie Nicks.
I probably adopted a love of music from her, but not her love of the ’70s. The décor isn’t really my taste, but I’m so far from picky where my housing is concerned right now. Eden could have a thing for stuffed rabbits or toenails in jars, and I would deal with it.
What’s noticeably not from the ’70s: the black-and-white photographs framed on the brick walls. Eden’s family photos, I’ve deduced, from the beachy posed pics where she’s gathered with her mom, dad, and four siblings near a sand dune.
Several others are of a gorgeous couple suntanning on a dock. The girl snuggled against the guy is clearly Eden. “That’s my boyfriend,” she claimed him proudly, and he’s smoking hot so I can see why. Apparently, the photos were taken on their summer vacay at Lake Champlain.
I’m shocked she didn’t ask himto move in, considering he’s made the family wallandhis abs are displayed for all to see. She briefly mentioned it was “too soon” for that commitment since they’d only been together for four months. I guess it’s easier to trash a photo if things go bad. Not as easy to kick someone out of your place.
As I slowly untie my laces, I stare dazedly at her family photos, and my stomach clenches with bits of envy. I’d almost rather she had an addiction to taxidermy, but it’s good—this is fine. She loves her family, and I don’t even know her, so I’m not going to wish her a deadbeat dad and a shitty mom.
Dishes clink as Eden sets a daisy-embellished plate in the cupboard. “I’m actually so glad you answered me on the Valley Boards,” she says. “For a second, I thought I wouldn’t have any takers this semester.”
Valley Boards are ways for MVU students to connect with each other. Locating study partners, announcing new intramural sports, and even posting for roommates. I’d been quick to contact Eden as soon as my transfer to MVU was accepted.
Her ad was simple:Pull-out couch, shared bathroom, and parking spot all yours for just $700 a month! (Ten blocks from campus.)
The parking spot was the real get for me. My car has been my lifeline since I was sixteen, and trying to decide what to do with it when I moved here had been the biggest thorn in my side.
It’s also startlingly cheaper than the price of on-campus dorms. That luxury would cost an arm, leg, kidney, and possibly the spleen of my firstborn.
