“Sure, yeah. Thanks.”
Without hesitation, she tossed aside her magazine, grabbed one end of the desk, and began walking backward as I struggled to keep up.
“I’m Grace, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, out of breath. The name suited her.
“Do you have a name?”
“One more,” I said, gesturing with a nod.
“Your name is One More? That’s kind of unfortunate, but it does make me wonder how your parents came up with it.” She grinned.
I let out a nervous laugh. She was stunningly beautiful but she was also kind of goofy. “I meant we’re one room away.”
“I know, silly. I’m still waiting on that name.”
“Matt.”
“So Matty One More,” she said after she stopped in front of my room. “What’s your major?”
“Photography.”
“Ah, so I must recognize you from Tisch?”
“Nope. This is my first year.”
She looked puzzled. I reminded her of someone. I was hoping it was someone she liked. After we set the desk down, I moved past her to unlock the door. With my head lowered, I spoke to my Vans. “Yeah, I transferred from USC.”
“Really? I’ve never been to California. I can’t believe you left USC to come and slum it at Geezer House.”
“It wasn’t my scene.” I turned around and leaned against the door before I opened it. Our eyes met for a few seconds too long, and we both looked away. “I had to get out of California for a bit.” I was nervous-talking but I didn’t want her to leave. “Do you want to come in and hang out while I unpack my stuff?”
“Sure.”
She propped the door open with a stack of books and then helped me as I carried the desk inside to place in the corner. She hopped on top of it and sat, legs crossed, like she was going to meditate or levitate. I looked around my room again for the second time that day. It came complete with the standard dorm furniture: one metal extra-long twin bed, a desk that I could use for my camera equipment, an old stereo on the floor that the last person had left behind, and one empty bookshelf. The large box I had brought contained some of my favorite records, books, CDs, and photos. My best work from USC was matted inside a leather portfolio. Grace immediately grabbed it and began flipping through the pages. There were two long, narrow windows that bathed the room in sunlight, illuminating Grace’s face perfectly. It was as if the light was coming from her.
“Wow, this one is amazing. Is this your girlfriend?” She held up a photo of a gorgeous girl with devilish eyes, the curve of her naked body exposed.
“No, she wasn’t my girlfriend. Just a friend.” This was true, but it was also true that she had mouthed Do you want to fuck me? right before I snapped the photo while my friend—and her boyfriend—watched us silently. Like I said, USC wasn’t my scene.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “Well, it’s a great photo.”
“Thanks. The light in here is fantastic. Maybe I can take a couple of you?”
I saw her neck move as she swallowed. Her eyes widened and I realized she thought I wanted to photograph her naked. “Um, with your clothes on, of course.”
Her expression lightened. “Sure, I’d be happy to.” She continued to stare at the photograph. “But I think I could model for you like this girl, if it’s done like this.” She turned her green eyes on me. “Maybe someday, after we’ve known each other for a while. You know, for the sake of art?” She smirked.
I tried not to picture her naked. “Yeah, for the sake of art.” And a work of art she was. She wore a man’s white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, with the top two buttons open. Her pink toenails caught my eye before my gaze moved up to the skin peeking out from a hole in the knee of her jeans. I watched as she began to braid her long blonde hair over her shoulder. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her and she noticed, but instead of saying something rude she just smiled.
“So why did you call it Geezer House?” I asked as I turned to unpack the large box. I needed to distract myself so I’d stop staring at her.
“Because it’s really fucking boring here. Seriously, I’ve been here a week and already I feel like my soul is dying.”
I laughed at the dramatics. “That bad, huh?”
“I haven’t played the cello once since I moved in; I’m afraid people will complain. Oh, by the way, you’ll have to let me know if my playing gets too loud for you. Just bang on the wall or something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m in the room right next door. The practice rooms are too far away, so I’ll probably end up practicing in my room a lot. I’m a music major.”
“That’s really cool. I’d love to hear you play sometime.” I couldn’t believe she was in the room right next to mine.
“Anytime. So, not very many people choose dorm life their senior year. What’s your excuse?”