THE NEXT MORNING Steph is not in her bed. I would like to get to know her, but that might be difficult if sheâs never around. Maybe one of the two boys that she was with was her boyfriend? For her sake, I hope it was the blond one.
Grabbing my toiletry bag, I make my way to the shower room. I can already tell that one of my least favorite things about dorm life is going to be the shower situationâI wish each of the rooms had their own bathrooms. Itâs awkward, but at least they wonât be coed.
Or . . . I had assumed they wouldnât beâwouldnât everyone assume that? But when I reach the door, sure enough, there are two stick figures printed on the sign, one male and one female. Ugh. I canât believe they let this kind of thing happen. I canât believe I didnât uncover it while I was researching WCU.
Spotting an open shower stall, I skirt through the half-naked boys and girls quickly, pull the curtain closed tight, and undress, then hang my clothes on the rack outside by blindly poking one hand out of the curtain. The shower takes too long to get warm and the entire time Iâm in there Iâm paranoid that someone will pull back the thin curtain separating my naked body from the rest of the guys and girls out there. Everyone seems to be comfortable with half-naked bodies of both genders walking around; college life is strange so far, and itâs only the second day.
The shower stall is tiny, lined with a small rack to hang my clothes on while I shower and barely enough room to stretch my arms in front of me. I find my mind drifting to Noah and my life back home. Distracted, I turn around and my elbow knocks into the rack, knocking my clothes to the wet floor. The shower pours onto them, completely soaking them.
âYouâve got to be kidding me!â I groan to myself, hastily cutting the water off and wrapping my towel around myself. I grab my pile of heavy, soaked clothes and rush down the hall, desperately hoping no one sees me. I reach my room and shove the key in, instantly relaxing when I push the door closed behind me.
Until I turn around to see the rude, tattooed, brown-haired boy sprawled across Stephâs bed.
Chapter four
Um . . . Where is Steph?â I try to sound authoritative, but my voice comes out as more of a squeak. My hands are clenched around the soft fabric of my towel and my eyes keep darting down to make sure itâs actually covering my naked body.
The boy looks at me, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, but doesnât say a word.
âDid you hear me? I asked you where Steph is,â I repeat, trying to be slightly more polite this time.
The expression on his face magnifies and he finally mumbles, âI donât know,â and turns on the small flat screen on Stephâs dresser. What is he even doing in here? Doesnât he have his own room? I bite my tongue, trying to keep my rude comments to myself.
âOkay? Well, could you like . . . leave or something so I can get dressed?â He hasnât even noticed Iâm in a towel. Or maybe he has but it doesnât impress him.
âDonât flatter yourself, itâs not like Iâm going to look at you,â he scoffs and rolls over, his hands covering his face. He has a thick English accent that I didnât notice at first. Probably because he was too rude to actually speak to me yesterday.
Unsure how I should respond to his rude remark, I huff and walk to my dresser. Maybe he isnât straight, maybe thatâs what he meant by âitâs not like Iâm going to look.â Either that or he finds me unattractive. I hastily put on a bra and panties, followed by a plain white shirt and khaki shorts.
âAre you done yet?â he asks, snapping the last bit of patience I held.
âCould you be any more disrespectful? I did nothing to you. What is your problem?!â I shout, much louder than I had wanted to, but by the surprised look on his face, my words had the intended effect.
He silently stares at me for a moment. And while I await for his apology . . . he bursts into laughter. His laugh is deep and would be an almost lovely sound if he didnât come off so unpleasant. Dimples indent both of his cheeks as he continues on, and I feel like a complete idiot, unsure what to do or say. I donât usually like conflict and this boy seems like the last person I should start a fight with.
The door opens and Steph bursts in.
âSorry Iâm late. I have a hell of a hangover,â she says dramatically, and her eyes dart back and forth between the two of us. âSorry, Tess, I forgot to tell you Hardin would be coming by.â She shrugs apologetically.
I would like to think me and Steph could make our living arrangement work, maybe even build some sort of a friendship, but with her choice of friends and late nights, Iâm just not sure anymore.
âYour boyfriend is rude.â The words tumble out before I can stop them.
Steph looks over at the boy. And then they both burst into laughter. What is it with people laughing at me? Itâs getting really annoying.
âHardin Scott is not my boyfriend!â she spits out, nearly choking. Calming down, she turns and scowls at this Hardin. âWhat did you say to her?â Then, looking back at me: âHardin has a . . . a unique way of conversing.â
Lovely, so basically what she is saying is that Hardin is, simply, at his core, a rude person. The English boy shrugs and changes the channel with the remote in his hand.
âThere is a party tonight; you should come with us, Tessa,â she says.
So now itâs my turn to laugh.
âParties arenât really my thing. Plus I have to go to get some things for my desk and walls.â I look at Hardin, who, of course, is acting as if neither of us is in the room with him.