He gives them a nod. “Ladies.”
“Join us?” one asks, as though I’m invisible and Crosbie’s dining alone. Seems to be the theme for today.
“Sure thing,” he answers, watching them giggle and make their way to a corner booth.
“You just went off track pretty easily.”
He laughs and swipes one of my fries, since his are gone. “I’ll get back on track tomorrow. Nice talking to you, Nora.”
“Yes,” I agree. “It’s been fantastic.”
*
Most people hate moving, but for me it’s really no big deal. All of my earthly possessions fit into a pair of large duffel bags and two pilfered milk crates, all of which I strap to my bicycle and painstakingly wheel over to Fir Street the day before Labor Day.
It’s strange to see Burnham bustling again after it was a virtual dead zone all summer, but today is the official first day of move-ins, and campus is buzzing with new and returning students. Everywhere I look there are tearful parents and anxious sophomores, everyone doing their best to put on brave faces. Frosh leaders wear obnoxious neon Tshirts and carry megaphones, rallying their nervous young troops with promises of the best years of their lives.
I keep my head down and maneuver my unwieldy load through the crowds, breathing a sigh of relief when I make it to the shady pathways that wind around the edge of campus. It’s quieter here, the canopy of old trees dotting the pavement with light and shade. The sun found its way back to Oregon and it’s warmer than it has been, enough so that even in jeans and a tank top, I’m sweating when I reach the apartment.
I pause on the sidewalk and take in my new home. The apartments are more like tiny townhouses, each with a door that opens onto a tiny front lawn. They have red brick faces, green doors, and a single window on the second level. It’s…homey.
The home I’ll be sharing with Kellan McVey.
The front door bursts open and Kellan and Crosbie elbow each other as they stumble out, dressed in sneakers, shorts, and matching Burnham Track Tshirts. They stop when they see me, and I smile uncomfortably and wheel my bike up the short path to the front door.
“You got more?” Kellan asks, taking in my load.
“This is it.”
“That’s it?” Crosbie looks perplexed. “Where’s your bed? Your desk?”
“They’re coming,” I say. “I was in residence last year, so I don’t own any furniture. It’s supposed to arrive on Tuesday.” Today’s Sunday and tomorrow’s Labor Day, so that’s the earliest it could get here. I don’t mention that it’s coming from Ikea, so odds are I won’t figure out how to get everything built until the following weekend, if ever.
I wave off their offers to help bring the stuff in, but they insist, and after one short trip, my bedroom is fully equipped with two milk crates of books, and two duffel bags of clothes and toiletries.
“Home sweet home,” I say when they linger.
“You, uh, want to come for a run?” Kellan asks. “We were just leaving.”
I definitely do not. Athletics are not my forte. “Thanks,” I say, “but I have to be at work in an hour. I’m just going to hang some stuff in the closet and head out.”
“Oh yeah?” Crosbie asks. “Where do you work?”
Though Kellan already knows this from our email exchange, I tell them about Beans, located in the center of Burnham’s tiny downtown.
“I’ve been in there a bunch of times,” Kellan says. “I don’t think I saw you.”
I do my best not to roll my eyes. I’m invisible. I get it. “I must not have been working.”
“They have open mic nights, right?” Crosbie asks, looking interested. “Like, for any type of talent?”
Kellan makes no effort to hide his eye roll. “Dude. No.”
I’m expecting him to make a joke about his lap dance talent or something, so it’s a total surprise when Crosbie says, “Do you ever have magicians perform?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Magicians? Er, no, not that I’ve seen.”
“Huh.”
“No one has time for your tricks,” Kellan mutters, clearly embarrassed for his friend. But Crosbie doesn’t appear to care. “Illusions,” he says. “You don’t have time for my illusions.”
I’m too surprised to laugh, but I do make a strange sound that’s half snort-half snicker. Kellan looks at me in confusion, but Crosbie grins and I feel my mouth twitch. Anyone who can quote Arrested Development can’t be all bad.
“There’s a sign up book at the register,” I tell him. “Come in any time and put your name down.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Kellan pleads, dragging Crosbie from the room.
“No encouragement necessary,” Crosbie says. Just before he lets Kellan win the tug of war he adds, “We’ll see you.”
That would be a first, I think, watching them go.
*