Georgia: I don’t BATHE in my room.

Me: Right. You shower in a communal room wearing thongs.

Georgia: I don’t wear a thong in the shower!

Me: Shoes. Shower shoes.

Georgia: Oh—is that what you meant by thong?

Me: Yes.

Georgia: Touché, touché.

Me: I’m not jesting.

Georgia: Sorry, you sprang this on me out of nowhere; I’m still not convinced this isn’t a prank.

Me: Do I look like I’d pull an elaborate stunt like this? You’re the one who’s into hazing—I haven’t done it since secondary school.

Georgia: Gee, way to keep bringing that up.

Me: The truth will set you free.

Georgia: I’d only consider living with you if rent was equal to or less than what it’s costing me now, plus utilities. I’m really…strapped for cash.

Strapped for cash.

Is that slang for broke?

Must be.

I’m too lazy to google it though.

Georgia: I don’t know what it comes out to per month, I’d have to do some math. And I’m terrible at math.

Me: Okay.

Georgia: Um. What did you have in mind for rent?

Me: I hadn’t gotten that far ahead in this grand master plan of mine.

Georgia: LOL. Well when you have it figured out, let me know.

Me: Okay. In the meantime, do some math.

Georgia: **eyeroll**

Me: You better cut that out—you’re going to eye roll yourself into another dimension.

Georgia: **winks** See you in class.

Ten

Georgia

I’m chatting with Nalla and Priya when Ashley plops down in a seat behind me, long legs smacking the back of my seat.

His legs are spread—he has to spread them or he wouldn’t fit—his knees so high above my seat back I’d bump my head against them if I leaned back.

Priya nudges me with her foot, brows raised.

Scribbles on a sheet of notebook paper and slides it in my direction.

He’s all up in your business.

I roll my eyes. No he’s not—what would make her say that?

Oh yeah—I left the party with him last Friday. Not that anything happened…but girls and their active imaginations.

When I tell them he invited me to live with him, they’re going to freak.

In the past few weeks since classes started, I’ve gotten closest to these two, not wanting to spend any more time with my teammates than I have to.

When the professor begins her lecture at the front of the room and we all give her our full attention, I’m still well aware of Ashley’s presence behind me.

It’s like sitting with my back to a wall, except one that’s breathing and staring holes into the back of my head.

I know he’s watching because I can feel it.

Me: Stop staring at the back of my head.

Ashley: I’m not.

Me: Okay, what did the professor just say?

I don’t know what she said either because I’m also not paying attention, but he doesn’t have to know that.

Ashley: Something about business.

Ha! I knew it. He’s not listening.

Me: LOL quit staring at the back of my head. Do you think I’d want to live with a creep who does that? I can imagine waking up and finding you in a chair in the corner of the room watching me sleep.

Ashley: That’s fucking weird and wouldn’t happen. Plus all the bedrooms have locks.

Ashley: Maybe I’d have to look out for YOU. How do I know you’re not a pervert?

Me: You don’t.

I snicker. That’ll give him something to think about.

And besides, I’d worry less about me being a pervert and more about me potentially being a murderer. For all he knows, I’m a few screws short of a full tool box.

I sit ramrod straight, staring ahead, doing my best to listen to the lecture. The professor and her TA are giving us an assignment to work on in our groups—we have to take an everyday object that we all use and create a business plan to market it—and I scribble notes.

I don’t hear a pen behind me or laptop keys, so I crane my head around. Does Ashley not care that we have specific things that need to get accomplished for this project?

“Why aren’t you taking notes?” I hiss, sounding like a nag.

He pulls a face. “I took a picture with my mobile?” He holds up his cell, flashing me the screen. “Isn’t that what everyone does?”

He has indeed taken a photo of the notes the TA has popped up onto the wall with the projector.

Oh.

Well.

I guess that would make life easier—much more so than painstakingly writing it all longhand like my mom had to do when she was in college.

I blush, embarrassed by my own naivety.

I’ve always done it this way, never once having considered taking a picture of the stupid board at the front of the room so I wouldn’t have to take actual notes.

Ashley snickers behind me.

Ashley: Hey.

Me: What?

Ashley: Have you looked into breaking your lease with the university?

Me: Um. Not yet.

Ashley: Good thing I googled it for you. Figured you’d be lazy about it.

Me: Gee thanks.

Ashley: I wasn’t wrong tho, was I.

Ashley: All you have to do is put it in writing and fill out a termination contract 30 days in advance, and they have to approve it. There are fees, but they’re not horrible. I could knock those off your first month’s rent.

Why is he doing this?

Why does he even care?

It’s almost like…now that the idea is in his head, he’s not going to let it go and he’s hell-bent and determined to make it work.

Me: Um. Is that it?

Ashley: Other than cleaning and going through the checklist. Seems pretty cut and dried.

Ah. Well then.

Easy for him to say—he’s not the one potentially moving. He’s not the one who has to tell his parents he might be moving in with a guy.

My parents…

Completely forgot about them and how they’d react, although they trust me so it might not be a big deal?

I’ve never been boy crazy. Spent most of my time concentrating on sports and school rather than my love life, which for the past two years has been virtually non-existent.

Freshman year I briefly dated a Calvin but broke things off when he began pressuring me to have sex with him.

Freaking Calvin—just couldn’t let things progress naturally.

Jerk.

I won’t be making that mistake again, and I can’t be distracted. God forbid I get stuck at this university longer than necessary because I allow myself to lose focus.

Tragic.

Ashley: The fees would be worth it to be temporarily broke for a bit and to live in an actual house rather than stay in the dorms.

I spin around in my seat to gawk at him. “Could you stop googling things that pertain to my living situation?”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“No, you’re trying to help yourself to a new roommate.” I don’t want to tell him I cannot afford rent and fees on top of that if I move out of the dorms. The words are too embarrassing to say out loud.

Ashley is privileged—anyone with a set of eyes looking at him can see that, and it’s not just the proper speech. It’s the posture and the mannerisms and now that I’ve been to his house…