My mother audibly relaxes. “What’s going on? How is school?”

We text during the day most days, but it’s not the same as getting an actual phone call.

“School is good, classes are good—it feels like an eternity and I’m excited to get done, but everything is fine. I don’t hate it.” But I don’t love it. “I just got out of the shower and I’m snuggled in my pajamas.” Which are hideous, by the way.

I make up a few more things to appease my parents as they ask about track and extracurriculars and my workout routine, hurrying through because I know they had to pause their show and will be impatient to hit play again.

“Anyway, the reason I’m calling is to tell you I’m moving out of the dorm—I found a roommate, isn’t that great?” I force myself to sound peppy as I inwardly cringe, knowing what’s about to come next.

“Oh good! You’re able to break your lease with the dorm?”

“It’s not a lease with the dorm, Mom—it’s a lease with the school. Technically. And yeah I can break it. I filled out the form online before I called. It was really easy and they’ll send me a check for the months I’m not living here within fifteen days after the RA checks me out.”

I hear the popcorn bag crunching and crinkling as one of them digs their hand into it.

“Who are you living with, dear? Some girls from the team?”

I still haven’t told either of them about the hazing incident, or the fact that I can’t stand the captain.

“No, it’s not anyone from the team. It’s someone from class.”

I cringe when she asks, “Really? Who?”

“Well. That’s why I’m calling.” I clear my throat uncomfortably. “This is going to surprise you, but I want you to trust me.” Wait, that sounded horrible. “What I meant was, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“You’re not moving into a crack den, are you?” My dad laughs in the background because they’ve obviously got me on speaker, both of them sharing the joke.

“Dad,” I scold, waiting for the pair to stop giggling at themselves.

“Sorry, pumpkin. What were you saying?”

My stomach is a ball of nerves, and they’re not making it any easier by cracking jokes—I just have to spit it out and be done with it. Rip the Band-Aid off, as they say.

One.

Two.

Two and a half…

“My new roommate is a guy.” I blurt out the news, instantaneously holding my breath.

I hear the sound of chewing.

“Hello?”

“Oh,” Mom says. “We thought there was more to the announcement.”

More to the announcement? “So you’re not mad?”

Crunch, crunch. “Mad about what? Are you dating the guy?”

“No, I’m not dating the guy—I would have told you I was seeing someone.”

More crunching.

“Hello?”

“Sorry, Dad hit play and they’re installing concrete countertops in this old farmhouse. I was thinking we could do a bar in the basement…” Her voice trails off as the wheels in her creative mind begin to churn.

“Guys, I’m trying to talk to you.”

It goes quiet on their end as Dad hits pause on the remote.

“And go,” Mom says again.

I open my mouth, floundering. I shared my big announcement and they had little to say about it, so… “I just thought you’d be upset.”

“Do you want us to be upset?”

“No, I want you to be okay with it.”

“Is this one of those things you used to do in high school, where your friends would ask you to do something and you would say ‘My parents said I can’t go’ even though you never actually asked us if you could go?”

She’s chomping away on popcorn, chewing and chatting with her mouth full.

“Is Mom right, pumpkin?”

Er. Maybe.

Although I’m not quite sure what I would have done if my parents weren’t on board with me living with Ashley. Would I back out? Was I looking for a reason to?

“No, I’m glad you’re okay with it because he’s a decent guy. He’s really busy so he won’t be around much, and it’s a great house. My room has its own bathroom and a walk-in closet.”

“Oh that’s so nice, dear!” Mom croons absentmindedly, and I decide it’s time to end the call and put her out of her misery. She loves me to death, but she doesn’t worry about my well-being; they have faith in my common sense.

“When are you moving in?” Dad wants to know.

“Um, next weekend I think? Soon.”

“That’s great—we know you wanted to get out of the dorm. It will be nice to be out your senior year. Make some memories with your new friends.”

“I’m excited.” I think…

“Well good. If you need anything, let us know.”

“I will. Thanks for being cool about me living with a dude.”

“A dude? Are they bringing that word back again?” Dad asks.

Mom and I both laugh.

“I don’t think it left, Dad.”

Eleven

Ashley

Georgia is moving in with me.

Holy shite—I’m going to have a roomie, something I haven’t done since first moving to the States, living in a dorm for one whole semester before I decided I’d had enough communal living to last a lifetime.

I glance up at Andy Klein, the bloke spotting me on the bench press, then over at Stewart, who’s on the squatting machine.

“Can I borrow your truck this weekend?”

Stewart stops what he’s doing to stare at me, breathing heavy. “Sure, but…why? You having issues with yours?”

“No. Georgia is moving in and I don’t think all her shite will fit in mine, so it would be nice to have—”

Stew’s eyes bug out of his skull. “Georgia is moving in! You just started dating! Have you even been out yet?”

Shite, I forgot he thinks she and I are a couple.

“We’re not together anymore, but she needs a place to stay.”

Andy snorts. “You’re adopting strays now? Cool, I could always use an upgrade. I can have my shit out of my dumpy apartment tonight.”

I shake my head. “I’m not adopting strays, bugger off.”

Stewart still looks perplexed. “So you’re not dating but you’re letting her move in with you? How did she pull that off? I’ve been begging to live in your place for three years.”

“Because she has a set of tits.” Andy laughs.

“You think I’d let someone live with me because she has boobs?” They’re so immature. I shake my head, the weights still on the rack above it. “She’s clean—neither of you wankers pick up after yourselves.”

“I can try.” This from Andy, who’s nudging me to get on with the workout by lifting the weights off the rack so I’ll do my reps. “Give me a chance.”

“You’re not living with me, mate. I would have asked by now.”

I push up, puffing out a breath, the bar clenched in my grip, heavy.