Fresh

by Margot Wood

  “Yes, yes, yes, it’s great, now put that down and get over here. I hope you have nowhere to be for the next two hours because I’m making you watch The Matrix.” I pop myself up on the washer and pull up the movie on my laptop.

  “What—right now?”

  “Yes,” I insist. “Why, you got somewhere else you need to be right now?”

  “Nope,” she says with a smile. “Let’s do this.”

  I scooch to the side to make room for her on the washer and she hops up, adjusting her red silk robe as she settles in next to me. I offer her my fancy noise-canceling headphones while I take my shitty, in-ear backup pair. She slides the headphones on and her hair is so thick you can barely see them. She’s giving me that smiley-smirk again and for the first time, I notice when she smiles like that her dimples show. I smiley-smirk back at her and press play.

  “Annnnnd?” I ask as we take off our headphones and I put my laptop away. “What did you think?”

  She starts counting on her fingers. “Two things. One, why didn’t you name one of the mice Mouse after the character? It seems like a missed opportunity.”

  “Oh fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

  “And two, I’m not sure I understood it.”

  I let her off the hook. “Oh, no one ever gets it after the first viewing. To be honest, I don’t think I understood what it was really about until my fourth or fifth viewing.”

  “Fourth or fifth?” She jerks her head back and looks me over. “How many times have you seen this movie?”

  “Counting right now?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thirty-two times,” I confess.

  “Holy shit,” she says while laughing. “That is either very impressive or very obsessive.”

  “I prefer to think of it as impressive.” I nudge her with my elbow and suddenly, I am keenly aware that the sides of our bodies have been touching for the last two hours. How did I not notice that before? “So, um, what was your favorite scene?” I ask her, desperate for a distraction.

  “Hmm,” she hums. She crosses her right leg over her left and the slit in her red robe slips over her knee, exposing her leg. Either she doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because she doesn’t go to cover herself up. My eyes travel from her knee, up and up and up her thigh. Her skin looks like it would be soft to my touch. I almost forgot I asked her a question and jolt when she starts talking again. “Well, first I have to say that I absolutely love the costume design. It’s a unique intersection of goth and fetish wear—I don’t think I’ve seen another film with a look such as this. But if I had to pick a favorite part, I really liked the scene at the end when the woman, what’s her name—”

  “Trinity,” I choke out as I clear my throat.

  “Yes, Trinity. I loved how, in order to save Keanu, she unapologetically confesses and expresses her feelings for him. It was a nice juxtaposition against the whole computerized, soulless world. And besides, that kiss was hot.”

  “Of all the incredible scenes in The Matrix, including the opening sequence, and the lobby fight, and the slow-mo bullet limbo, your favorite was . . . the kiss?” I need to swallow because it seems my throat has gone dry.

  “Yeah, it was a simple kiss, but sexy.”

  And now I am thinking about the kiss.

  And her.

  And the kiss.

  And her lips.

  And what it would be like to kiss her on the lips.

  Oh.

  Oh my.3

  ***Let me just pause this scene for one second and clarify something.***

  Up until this very moment, I have absolutely, definitely, 100 percent never once thought about kissing my resident adviser, Rose. She’s my RA! She’s kind of a dick! And most importantly, she has a girlfriend! And while I may be open-minded, I am no homewrecker. I mean sure, I have objectified the hell out of her, but I do that to everyone! But now that the thought of kissing her has entered my head, I cannot stop thinking about it and shit fuck, I just looked at her tits and she saw me do it too and—ahhhh, goddammit. It is suddenly way too hot in this laundry room. My armpits are starting to sweat. I lightly pat my cheeks with the back of my hands in a fruitless attempt to cool myself down. I haven’t gotten my jollies off since Thanksgiving and suddenly it’s like I’ve forgotten what being horny feels like. Jesus Christ on a cracker, McHugh—PULL. YOUR. SHIT. TOGETHER.4

  The buzzer on the dryer goes off and I jump at the chance to put some physical space between us. I can’t be thinking about kissing Rose. I pop off the dryer, start pulling out the hot clothes, and stuff them into my hamper. “Right, so, anyways, yeah, thanks for watching that with me. It was a nice distraction, otherwise I would have spent the afternoon fretting over my please be my friend again speech for Lucy’s return tomorrow.”

  “Listen, it might take some time until she comes back, but your friendship will work itself out.”

  I stop what I’m doing and look at her. “What do you mean until she comes back?”

  Rose grimaces. “Shit, I thought you knew. Lucy called me this morning. She’s going to commute in for classes for a while.”

  Whoa. What?

  “What does a while mean?!?”

  “It means she’ll come back when she’s ready,” Rose says, but she senses my unease with this new information. “Give her time, okay? And for what it’s worth, you and Lucy are lucky. Most first-year roommates struggle to simply coexist and you two became instant best friends. I’m very jealous, actually. My first freshman-year roommate barely spoke to me and woke up at six every morning to practice her Irish dancing in our room. If I could get through that, you can get through this.”

  “And what if it doesn’t work out?” I ask her but then change my mind. “Never mind, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know the answer.”

  Rose slides off the top of the washing machine and gently rests her hand on my arm. “You got this, Elliot.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I usually am,” she jokes. “Now for real though, we need to get rid of those mice.”

  * * *

  1 Oh, and to those who are wondering—yes, my Uncle Bo is on the ATF’s People We Should Probably Keep an Eye On list.

  2 WHY DID I CHANGE THE SUBJECT TO MICE? WHY.

  3 Tender Chicken Mode has been activated.

  4 It has just occurred to me, just now, right this very moment, that I am incredibly thankful that I don’t get boners.

  CHAPTER 13

  I slept well last night. I really didn’t think I would. The news that Lucy is staying home until further notice was like getting slapped in the face with a slab of frozen bacon, and I’m constantly fighting every urge to text her ninety times a day, but Lucy’s return isn’t something I can control. And maybe it is Rose’s belief in me that I got this or maybe it’s leftover endorphins from running all over the floor chasing mice late last night, but I woke up today feeling energized—motivated, even. I’ve already submitted my course selections for the semester and it’s not even 8 A.M. yet. As I start syncing my new class schedule with my phone, it dawns on me that this will be my last chance until May to shower without waiting in line. This opportunity shan’t be wasted. I quickly strip off my nightie, wrap myself in a towel, and run out my door straight into Brad. Or more specifically, I run into Brad’s back and bounce right off it because Brad is shredded. In surprise, I take a step back and my ankle lands weird and I fall over, dropping the towel in the process.

  “Oh, hey, Elliot. Did you have a nice—” He starts to turn.

  “NO! DON’T TURN AROUND!” But he does and for a second he sees me sprawled on the floor. Naked.

  “Shit! Oh, uh, I’m sorry!” Brad blushes and quickly turns around but he does something unexpected. He moves in front of me to block any potential onlookers from seeing my goodies. “Are you okay?” he asks without turning his head. “Do you need help getting up?”

  “I’m fine!” I squeak as I frantically rewrap myself and get up. I try to
stand on my ankle but it’s too sore to bear any weight. “Ahhhh, shit balls. Brad? Do you think you could help me get to the ladies’ bathroom? My ankle seems to be uncooperative at the moment.”

  Brad turns his head slightly sideways. “Uh, yeah, sure. Are you decent?”

  “Yeahhhh, I’m decent,” I grumble. I lift my arm so he can put his shoulder under it to act like a crutch but instead he swoops one arm under my legs and another against my back, lifting me up, bride-over-the-threshold style. “While I appreciate the drama, you don’t need to carry me like this is The Princess Bride or some shit,” I tell him as he ferries me down the hall.

  “I love that movie!” he says.

  “Nuh uh, not buying it, no way.”

  “Yes way! We watched it in one of my film classes last semester. I really love it.”

  “Yeah, so do I,” I say in a daze. Huh. I did not expect a bro like Brad to love an old-timey romantic movie like The Princess Bride. “You’re a film major, right?”

  “Yep! I thought I wanted to be a director when I got here, but I think I like screenwriting more.”

  “I took Beginning Writing for the Screen last semester and was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. It’s the only class I didn’t completely bomb.” He sets me down gently in front of the bathroom door.

  “Yeah, I know. I was in your class,” he says and . . . huh.

  “You were?”

  “Yep.”

  Double huh. I think—no, scratch that—I know I’ve misjudged him. Sure, Brad exhibits all the symptoms of being a total tool, but I have never, not once, seen Brad be rude or callous toward anyone. Even when he told me I had man-hands, it wasn’t malicious—and he wasn’t wrong! I do have huge motherfucking hands! So maybe I need to add this to the list of things I need to do to make amends.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say.

  “No problem at all.” He pivots and walks back down the hall. I think about it for a sec and call after him.

  “Hey, Brad! We should hang out sometime—you, me, and the other Brad too.”

  His face falls. “The other Brad dropped out after the semester, actually.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah, he decided to transfer to a school closer to home.”

  “Well, shit, that sucks,” I say and he looks sad, so I try to rescue the moment. “Well, I guess it’ll just be you and me then.” It works, his face lights up in a cute smile.

  “I would love that.”

  Honestly, I did not think my second semester of college would kick off with me lying face down on a metal slab with my butt exposed to the world while I wait for a nurse to come and give me a shot in my ass . . . and yet, here we are.1

  Here’s a thing no one tells you when you go to college: Shaving your legs is a huge pain in the ass. I know. It seems as though this simple problem should have an equally simple solution, but the reality is vastly different than the theory. I am used to having a bathtub or a shower with very safe, very clean spaces to rest a foot in order to shave my legs. But in college, you don’t get that luxury. There is no safe space to rest your foot because everywhere is covered in mold. Thus, all year long I’ve been doing what Lucy, Sasha, and just about every other girl on my floor does—shave my legs in the sink. But then my collision with Brad happened, and while I could easily shave my left leg in the sink, I couldn’t put any weight on my left ankle and I needed a solution for my right leg. So instead, while showering in one of those tiny-ass shower stalls, I used my caddy to prop up my foot and bent over to shave my legs.

  And then my bare ass touched the wall. And now I have a motherfucking bacterial infection on my motherfucking ass. And that pretty much brings us up to speed on the whole lying-bare-assed-on-a-metal-slab situation.

  “Okay, Elliot, I’m going to need you to stay as still as possible.” A very old, very cranky, very unsympathetic nurse enters the room with a tray that contains the largest needle I have ever seen. “I have to inject the entire syringe slowly, so please refrain from clenching.”

  I honestly wish doctors and nurses wouldn’t tell me what’s about to happen, you know what I’m saying? I mean, think about it. If you know you’re about to be stab—AHHHH MOTHERFUCKING FUCK SHIT GOD SHIT FUCK. I glance over my shoulder and watch as the nurse pushes all the antibiotics out of the syringe and into my ass.

  When she’s done, she slaps a bandage over the injection site and pulls a paper sheet over my butt. “Please remain as you are for the next few minutes, then you’ll be free to go. And try not to bend over in the shower anymore, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I call out to her as she leaves the room. She kicks the door closed behind her, but it doesn’t fully close and I can clearly see out into the hall, which means people can clearly see inside this room. But I’m not allowed to move, so I just have to lie here and pray that no one walks by and sees my semi-bare ass—which, of course, happens IMMEDIATELY. I see someone blip by my room and at first I think I’m safe but then they double back.

  “Elliot? Is that you?” Oh, Lord. Why hast thou forsaken me? It’s Micah. Of course it’s Micah. I haven’t seen him in the Little Building yet, and we haven’t spoken since the night of the party.

  “Yeahhhh, it’s me.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Umm, honestly, please don’t. I’m kind of, uh, indecent at the moment,” I say, borrowing Brad’s delightful word for nudity.

  “What happened? Are you okay?” He asks from beyond the door. I think about lying to him, making something up that’s 99 percent less embarrassing, but who am I kidding. I didn’t choose the slug life, the slug life chose me.

  “Oh, it’s nothing, I just have a minor infection on my butt because I tried and failed to shave my legs in the shower. I’m fine. This is fine. It’s alllllll fine.” I hear Micah very diplomatically clear his throat to stop himself from laughing. “So what brings you to the infirmary?” Please, God, let him be here for an equally pathetic reason.

  “Free condoms, of course. Are you sure you’re all right?” He nudges the door open a little and starts to come in. “Look, I know we haven’t spoken since—”

  “NO! DON’T COME IN HERE!”

  “—that night at the party and OH MY GOD. THAT’S YOUR BUTT.”

  I bury my face in the crook of my elbow. “I warned you! I’m sorry, but you’ll never be able to unsee this now.”

  Micah keeps trying to look away, but unlike Brad, he’s no gentleman. He flicks my one non-diseased butt cheek. “Damn, Elliot. I never really noticed how much you were packing back there.”

  “Toss me my pants, please? They’re on the floor over there.”

  “I meant that as a compliment.” Micah gathers my sweatpants and tosses them to me.

  “I know, I took it as one.” I slide off the table and pull my pants up. “Can you do me a favor and please don’t put this in your Third-Floor Report.”

  Micah takes a seat on the nurse’s stool. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Do you have a sec?”

  “Sure,” I tell him as I gather my ID and phone. “But can we walk and talk? I need to get back to get my shit for class in half an hour.” The pain from the injection eventually subsides and I do my best to avoid clenching my butt as I limp back to the lobby. I think I prefer walking when having a serious conversation, it gives you an automatic reason to not look someone in the eye because you have to focus on what’s ahead of you instead.

  “Look, I want to get my facts straight about that party,” Micah says. His tone is more solemn and serious than usual. “I ran into Rose yesterday and she told me what I posted that night was wrong, but she wouldn’t say what really happened.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready to replay that night again,” I tell him as we get to the elevators and swipe our IDs. “I just want to put it behind me.” I know I promised to find a way to forgive him, but I’m still not sure I can trust him, and those are two very different things.

  �
��So something did happen then?”

  “Yes something happened, but not what you broadcasted to the entire school. Lucy read your post, you know, and now she refuses to talk to me. She hasn’t even come back to the dorms yet because she thinks what you put out there was the truth.” As we step out of the elevator, I turn right to go toward my room, but he stops me.

  “I know—I’m trying to fix that and apologize,” he says.

  I turn on my heel and confront him. “By pressuring me into telling you a story that you haven’t earned the right to hear?!” A couple of our floormates walk by and give us the side-eye, whispering as they pass by. I don’t need to get into a screaming match with Micah outside everyone’s rooms so I lower my voice. “I can’t do this right now, I have to go to class.”

  “I really want things to be okay between us, Elliot.” Micah looks desperate. “May I come by your room after dinner tonight?”

  I look down at my watch and realize if I don’t get going, I’m going to be late. “Fine, I’ll see you then.”

  I spend the next four hours fighting distraction and use every last ounce of mental energy to focus in my classes.2 Sitting in a lecture hall trying to listen and comprehend during back-to-back two-hour monologues on History of Media Arts and Principles of Sociology instead of letting my mind wander to my impending discussion with Micah requires so much effort on my part that by the time I get back to my room, I completely pass out and miss dinner entirely. I wake up only after I hear someone kick the bottom of my door. I slide out of bed and find Micah standing out in the hall, wearing one of those shortie silk robes, holding two mugs of coffee. He shoves one in my hands and lets himself in.

  “Nice robe,” I tell him as he takes up residence on Lucy’s vacant bed while I sit down on my own.