“Please tell me you lied,” I said. I glanced over to the boys’ dorms, fully expecting Chris to emerge and look over and wave. He didn’t, of course. There were maybe five minutes until we were late for sign-in, so he was probably back in his room or in the lounge chatting with his dormmates.
“What? No. I told him we’d had a few classes together and that you were an awesome painter and came here last year. And that you were most definitely single.”
“And keeping it that way,” I said. Maybe a little too forcefully. Jane was one of those satellite friends—someone I knew and hung out with on occasion and joked with in studio. She didn’t know the finer details of my life, and my distinct aversion to the “dating” word. Her smile dropped the moment I spoke. “I mean, sorry. I guess I’m just trying not to get too attached right now, is all. End of term, college. Kind of bad timing.”
She nodded. “Still, though. He’s really cute. And talented. And he seemed pretty genuine, so I think he’s not one of those pervy creepers like in the drama department.”
It was well known that spring term last year, she dated a guy named Justin for a few weeks before learning that he was dating three other girls at the same time, one per department. Pretty certain the slap he received from her had been heard across campus.
The portrait she did of him and hung on the “works in progress” board in the vis arts hallway had been icing on the cake. It was in the style of those convicted felon posters, with the title Terrible Kisser.
For Jane, it was a vicious move. I’d always thought it was kind of endearing. I’d even asked her to make one for me, which had just made her blush and had garnered no definitive response. I was still waiting. I wanted my title to be Unfashionable Fashionista.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” I said, seriously hoping we never would. “He hasn’t mentioned anything to me.”
“Mhm. I think that’s because he’s nervous you’ll reject him. He asked if you were single a lot.”
I shook my head. There was a hopeful glint in her eyes that told me A) there was no talking her out of this, and B) no point trying to convince her I was totally okay being single. Better than okay. Brilliant. “Anyway, we’re almost late.”
“Right! Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Can’t wait to see your painting.”
“Thanks.” My stomach dropped a few inches. I’d always looked forward to Advanced Painting; it was my one chance to really zone out and focus on my work. But knowing Chris was interested in something beyond friendship? It made my stomach twist. How was I going to focus now? Especially since tomorrow was crits.
I gave her a quick hug and jogged up the steps to my dorm. The lobby was filled with girls in pajamas and sweaters and slippers, some with tea, others with books and soda. A few of them glanced at me and smiled or said hello, but to be completely honest, I didn’t really get along with anyone in the dorm save for Elisa. Okay, that sounds harsh—it wasn’t that I didn’t get along with them, more that I just never really gave anyone the opportunity to test out the waters. When I wasn’t with Ethan or Elisa, I was pretty much a hermit.
Which wasn’t a problem at Islington, really. Everyone here was a hermit in some way, even the theatre kids. We just liked to call it “focused.”
After initialing next to my name on the sign-in sheet, I went upstairs to my hall. For all the appearance of Islington being quaint and rustic, there was something almost clinical about the dorm halls—harsh fluorescent lighting, generic blue carpet, cinderblock walls, and wooden doors. But even in here the arts had pushed their roots through the cracks. No matter how many times they vacuumed, there were still traces of glitter in the carpet from the epic glitter fight we’d had the second week of term (and nearly all gotten detention for); every door was plastered with posters and pictures and magazine cutouts, and a few of the lights were decorated with (fireproof) plastic flowers and wilting balloons. My door was halfway down the hall, overlooking the woods that engulfed all sides of campus.
Elisa was already in her pjs, holding a bowl of popcorn that filled the room with the deliciously intoxicating scent of butter.
“I was wondering when you’d get back,” she said.
“Sorry,” I replied, slinging my coat over my chair. “Got a bit carried away with thesis work.”
“It’s okay. I found a really terrible zombie flick online involving pterodactyls. It is queued and ready.” Terrible horror movies were Elisa’s forte—she relished them as eagerly and excitedly as other people experienced five-course meals.
“Gimme a moment to clean up and I’m all yours, baby.”
She patted the bed beside her and blew me a kiss.