Page 14 of Dirty Martini
“Get dressed,” I snap, spinning on my heels quickly toward my own room. “I’m leaving in ten minutes, whether you’re with me or not.”
I practically scramble to my room, slamming the door shut behind me, and probably leaving Everest wondering what he woke up to. Closing my eyes, I breathe out deeply until I feel a bit more settled. A part of me wants to delve into why seeingEverest like that triggered this type of reaction, but I pull an ‘Elton’ instead.
Sweep that shit right under the rug where it belongs.
“We’ve been standing herefor ten minutes.”
I can’t keep the impatience out of my voice. It’s too crowded in here and that’s coming from someone who works at a nightclub. There’s a sort of twitchy energy in the air that can only be caused by fifty freshmen crammed into one room in a gladiator-style fight for books in the best condition. Because I’m trying to play nice, I’m holding all the books Everest has already picked out. Just from the covers, I can guess that he’s taking classes to fill a semester’s worth of general requirements.
If I was a better person, I’d feel bad at the wide-eyed way he’s staring at the bookshelf in front of him. It’s like the titles are written in a different language, even though there’s a clear label on the shelf that reads‘Introduction to Accounting.’
“Why are there so many options?” Everest asks, nibbling on his bottom lip as he shifts on his heels. “Seriously, though. Why can’t there just be, like, one main textbook?”
“I don’t know,” I say through gritted teeth.Play nice. Play nice. Play nice.
“Why do we still even need textbooks in this day and age? Everything should be online now.”
“Mhm,” I hum, trying to hold back my annoyance. Again, if I were a better man, those down-turned lips and general air of lostness would get to me, but I refrain from saying anything remotely kind. Is it petty? Absolutely. Do I give a fuck? No, especially when my arms feel like they’re going to fall off and I’m hungry as shit.
“Everest, for fuck’s sake, grab the damn books,” I growl and adjust the weight in my arms, when someone reaches from beside me to grab one of the books Everest is looking at. “They’re all going to be gone by the time you’re done doing whatever the hell this is.”
He looks over his shoulder, an expression of deep concern on his features. “Which one am I supposed to pick?”
“How about the one on the syllabus?”
He doesn’t seem to hear the sarcasm in the question and holds it up in front of him. “It says to either chooseIntroduction to Debits and CreditsorBusiness Reconciliation.”
“Okay, so choose one.”
“But how do I know if I get the right one?”
Jesus fucking Christ.I’m never going to get out of here.
Out of complete self-interest, I shove all his books in his arms, pushing him to the side as I yank his syllabus from his full hands. I read over the course introduction quickly, scanning for keywords and topic focuses. After a second, I grab the first book and stack it on the pile in his arms.
“There. Was that so difficult?” I snap as I start to walk away. “Let’s fucking go.”
He follows behind me as we head to the front to check out, and I can’t hide my groan when I see how long the line is to pay. We get in the very back, silent as we wait for our turn. Once again, I look at the pile in his hands, and try not to let my curiosity get the best of me. In the end, I can’t help the question I want to ask. “How many credits are you taking this semester?”
He looks a little shocked that I’m speaking to him, eyes widening just a touch as they skim between me and the books. “Eighteen.”
“Why so many?”
“That’s how many Elton took his first semester.”
“What the hell?” That makes me snort. He throws me a questioning look, obviously not getting what’s so hilarious about that, and I relent. “No, he didn’t.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, growing a bit flustered as I continue to laugh at him. I can’t help it. He’s so fucking pathetic, it’s laughable. “What?”
“Elton didn’t take shit his first summer,” I explain as we move up a step in the line. “He was too busy chasing after a lifeguard for the entire month of August to study.”
He wrinkles his nose in confusion. “But Mom and Dad?—”
“Aren’t your brother. Did you even ask him what he took?” At his silence, I scoff and roll my eyes, choosing to walk forward instead of pointing out what a piece of shit that makes him. But I can’t help a retort. “Didn’t think so.”
“Do you think it’s too many classes?” he asks, now looking at the books with a mix of disinterest and apprehension.
If it were me, probably not, but I love learning. I overdid it my junior year of high school and signed up for extra classes I didn’t need that didn’t even count toward graduation, just because I wanted to. I have no idea whether Everest has a good work ethic and, frankly, I don’t care. “Up to you.”
