Page 12 of Ruthless Chaos
Her four-poster bed is decked out in black and red lace sheets, and almost the entire wall is covered in posters from various rock bands. She’s got a bookshelf filled with books, some of them with bare-chested men on the cover. There’s a human skull on her desk too, and a chill runs up my spine because there’s a good chance it’s real.
Tara’s green eyes twinkle. “Too spooky for you?” She walks over to the skull and picks it up. “I can put it away if it freaks you out.” There’s the hint of an accent when she speaks. Spanish, if I had to guess.
I shake my head quickly. “No, it’s just different, that’s all.” I never got the chance to go shopping for my room decor ever, so I don’t even know what I like. “I think it’s cool.”
What I mean to say is that I think it’s cool she knows enough about herself to express it that way.
She grins, putting the skull back.
My side of the room is bare but clean. The bed is comfy and the white sheets smell fresh. That’s all I really need right now. I open my backpack and start arranging my toiletries on the nightstand.
“So, Allie…” Tara flops onto my bed. “Where are you from?”
Ever since Uncle Laurent told me I would have to lie about myself, I thought of how I would answer this question. The last lie I told was almost a decade ago. My father made sure I never told another one—I have the scar on my leg to prove it.
If Allie Clarke is the character I must play, I’m going to make it fun.
“Vermont,” I say, focusing my attention on making sure my perfume bottles are symmetrical.
On the way over here, I figured that the easiest way to get through this was to tell people the almost truth, like saying I’m from the state beside the one I’m technically from.
I hold my breath, but Tara doesn’t seem to even realize that I’m uncomfortable.
“I’m from Cartagena,” she says. “Colombia.”
I make a sound like I’m in awe. “Do you miss it?”
On the ride over, Uncle Laurent told me that the best way to distract people from asking you questions was to ask them about themselves first.
Everybody likes talking about themselves.
Tara nods hard. “It gets colder than a polar bear’s tits here in winter,” she grimaces. “I hate it. Do you know how annoying it is to see the sun shining but still have to wear three layers?”
“I’m used to the cold,” I say. “It gets pretty chilly in Vermont.”
I move to my suitcase and start transferring my clothes to the closet beside my bed. Silence stretches between us, I can feel Tara’s eyes on me. So far, she doesn’t seem mean but I’m a little uncomfortable with her attention.
This is the longest conversation I’ve had with a stranger in years.
“You’re not who I was expecting when they said a freshman would be my roommate this year.”
I pause in the middle of putting a t-shirt on a hanger.
“Who were you expecting?”
Tara props herself up on an elbow. Her long caramel-colored hair pools on the bed.
“Freshmen rarely get placed on Hemlock. I was expecting someone a little less…” she pauses, looking me over with a finger on her chin.
After a few heartbeats when she doesn’t finish her sentence, I speak.
“A little less of a mongrel?”
Her jaw slackens a little, and I see the embarrassment wash over her features. It’s blunt of me, but I think we should get it out of the way. If my roommate is racist too, the sooner I know the better.
“No…I,” Tara stumbles over her words. Her cheeks look like tomatoes. She pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’m guessing you ran into some sisters on the way here.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes,” I huff.
