by Sandy Hall
I look over at her, trying to figure out what to say. I rub my temples, wincing when it pulls at the bruise around my eye.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“What do you care?” I snap.
She blinks at me.
“You’ve made it abundantly clear on multiple occasions that you don’t give a shit about me. So I’m not interested in your pity now.”
“Okeydokey,” she says without looking at me.
“That’s all you’re going to say?” I ask.
“What else do you want from me?”
-PAISLEY-
How dare he? Did I not step in between him and a behemoth of a man last night? Did I not walk him home? Did I not spend three dollars on overpriced peas so he could ice his face? Not to mention the two dollars on slushies. And now he’s giving me attitude? How dare he?
And yet, he dares.
On my way back to my room, I take the long hallway to the stairs instead of the elevator up to the sixth floor.
This path leads me past Carter’s room, which just so happens to be open and empty.
I need to use this opportunity.
I should take something of his.
I do a quick scan. One side of the room has a bunch of pictures stuck to the wall of people who look a lot like Ray. In fact, Ray is in quite a few of them. There’s also the fact that he has a Brazilian flag stuck to his headboard.
I turn to the other bed. It’s honestly a little sad-looking. Blue comforter, white sheets, no decor to speak of, minus Hula the unicorn sitting forlornly in one corner. I almost grab her.
But then the hum of the standard-issue mini-fridge clicks to a different frequency as if it’s telling me to look inside.
There’s not much in there. A slice of cake, a couple cans of soda, a Tupperware container of something, and of course, in the freezer, the bag of peas. I know Carter goes home a lot, and I would bet everything in my bank account (which isn’t much) that this is all his food. Especially since I know the peas are his.
I pull everything out of the fridge and make a slit in the bag of peas. I take a handful out and shape them into a smiley face in the freezer. It’s like my calling card. I’m sure Carter will be able to figure out it was me. But who cares?
I flee the scene of the crime, holding the stolen objects close as I run up the stairs. By the time I hit the sixth floor, I’m out of breath and almost start dropping things. I make it to my room and shove it all in our fridge, which is equally empty.
Also, the most important question of all: What am I doing? Why did I think stealing everything out of his mini-fridge was a good idea? I almost turn around and bring it all back, even if that means running into someone, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it. I want to force him to come upstairs. I want him to come talk to me. I want to see him get angry. I want something to point to, to know that he’s not any different. I hate admitting that, even to myself. But it’s the truth.
-CARTER-
When I return from the worst work shift of my life, all I really want to do is lay down and take a nap. But first, I decide to shower.
Standing under the water, I ruminate over the worst work shift of my life. It included fun things like stampedes of people on guided tours, babies crying, children puking (okay, just one puker, but it seemed like more), and a super pissy boss. On top of my hangover and the pounding ache surrounding my black eye, it was hell.
But now I’m here. My bed is close. I was even smart enough to pick up a sandwich on the way home so I won’t have to go back out to the dining hall anytime soon.
I eat the sandwich at my desk and scroll around the internet.
I wonder for a moment where Ray is.
I look over at his side of the room as I tear off my T-shirt and sit down on my bed. Hopefully he’s not coming home anytime soon. I don’t want anything to disturb my slumber.
Then it’s finally time for the nap to end all naps. I pull the blinds down, queue up the perfect sleepy-time playlist, and pop in my earbuds. I adjust my pillow and fall asleep. Fast.
Which is why my anger ignites when I’m awakened what feels like seconds later by Ray banging around the room.
“What the hell, man?” he asks, but his voice is muffled. I realize that I still have my earbuds in even though my playlist has stopped. I grab my earbuds out and sit up.
“Huh?” I ask.
“Where is everything in the fridge? I had a bunch of leftovers in there from yesterday. Luis and I went home in the afternoon. It’s all gone. Even the soda I put in there.”
I stumble out of bed and look into the mini-fridge.
“That’s so weird,” I say, my anger changing to confusion.
“Where the hell did it go?” Ray is obviously pissed off. “It was leftovers from my sister’s birthday dinner. Like birthday cake and everything.”
I open the little door to the freezer and there’s a smiley face made out of peas.
“I know what happened,” I say
-PAISLEY-
I know it’s Carter as soon as I hear the fist hammering at my door. I slide the chain and open the door as wide as it’ll go. I’ve spent the morning working on T-shirts. I need to get out and buy more supplies, but first I have to sell off a couple, so I have money for said supplies. I figure I’ll put what I have up online ASAP and send the link to Zoe. Maybe with a kindly worded email about sharing it with her friends.
“Yes, sir, how may I help you?” I ask in my most innocent voice.
His face is all red, and I am fully prepared to bear the brunt of his wrath.
“You stole my roommate’s food.”
“Hmm?” I ask, as if I couldn’t hear.
“You stole Ray’s food. They were leftovers from his mom. It’s fine if you want to get back at me. But you don’t have to bring Ray into it.”
“I just assumed it was yours,” I say, still keeping the door open only a few inches.
“Well, it wasn’t.”
“It’s just a harmless little prank. I’m sure Ray will understand.”
He puts his hand on his hip. “Yes. Totally harmless. Just enough to piss off Ray when we finally started getting along. So he’ll blame me and we’ll start fighting again. No big deal to you, though. Now please give me back his food. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
I close the door to slide off the chain and let Carter in with a sigh. This is not the outcome I was looking for.
“You don’t have anything to say?” he asks.
I go over to my mini-fridge without a word and hand him the food and sodas. I go to place the peas on top.
“Nah, I don’t want the peas. You keep them. You bought them.”
Ugh. I don’t say it, but I think it.
“It’s just that easy?” he asks.
I shrug.
“What was the point, Paisley?”
I don’t have an answer. I finger the hem of the T-shirt I was screen printing on my desk.
DON’T GET MAD, GET EVEN, it says.
“What are you so mad about?” he asks, reading the shirt.
“Everything,” I say.
“So, seriously, you don’t have a reason for stealing this stuff?”
“I walked past your room earlier, your door was open, and no one was in there. That’s about as far as the logic goes.”
“But you knew I wasn’t even home!”
I shrug for what feels like the millionth time.
“I don’t know what the point of your game is. Do you know what the point of your game is?”
For a split second, I feel genuinely bad. I think maybe it’s time for a truce, or at least a cease-fire.
“Somebody’s gotta keep you on your toes, Carter. I don’t want you getting soft on me. What if another guy slugs you in the face?”
“So, you giving me a hard time around every turn is because you don’t want me getting soft?”
“Exactly.”
“It’s for my own good.”
“You g
ot it now.”
“Doesn’t screen printing cost a lot of money? How do you always have the energy to make new T-shirts?” he asks, looking around the room, changing the subject.
“Oh, I don’t screen print everything. Only the special stuff. Most of my T-shirts are iron-ons. Not like you care, but I’m going to start selling them online.”
“That sounds”—he pauses and shakes his head—“completely pointless.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m just saying. It sounds like a lot of work for very little return. Senseless, futile even.”
“Well, who asked you?”
He shrugs. “Nobody. But it seemed worth commenting on. Good luck with your future endeavors.”
“Thanks so much,” I say, folding my arms.
He turns on his heel and leaves.
-CARTER-
When I get back to our room, Ray is doing something on his laptop.
I show him the armful of stuff I retrieved. “So, Paisley stole all of this from our fridge.”
“She did what now?” Ray spits out, laughing so hard he has to hold his stomach.
“Yeah, she said the door was open and no one was here so she stole it.”
“Man, that’s hilarious. I must have been down the hall for like three minutes, and that’s when she came in. Sorry if I sounded pissed at you. It’s actually kind of my fault.”
“No worries. Who would have guessed she’d do something like that? Or that anyone would do something like that.”
“She is really something else.” He puts his leftovers in the microwave. “You want some?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say. “Thanks.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Nothing?”
“I think you need to get even.”
“See, but I feel like that’s what she’s been doing. She’s been trying to get even with me for how she perceives that I wronged her in the past.”
“Well, you did wrong her in the past. But now she stole my food and I want you to get back at her.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you say she also pulled some shit at work?”
“Yeah. She got me in trouble.” I pause for a second. “I think she pulled a screw out of my chair so I fell over.”
“See? She’s gotten back at you again and again. It’s time to stoop to her level.”
“What are you thinking?”
-PAISLEY-
Why can’t things just be easy and normal?
Why do I spend so much time lately asking myself questions that don’t have answers? Why did Carter have to ask me so many questions that don’t have answers?
I spend the rest of the evening hanging out with Stef and having a Bring It On movie marathon. I’m not ashamed that I like all of them. I also have a lot of T-shirts to make. I created an online shop this afternoon and sent the link to Zoe, who promptly sent it to a bunch of her friends, and now I’m almost drowning in orders. That’ll show Carter. How dare he try to dampen my entrepreneurial spirit. I will put a T-shirt on every single person who goes to this school. Minus Carter. He can be left out.
On Sunday, I have the distinct urge to go out looking for Carter, so instead I put that energy into checking on Henry.
I call him, just for the fun of it.
“Why are you calling me?” he asks in lieu of hello.
“I’m calling to check on you. You seemed a little stressed out last time I talked to you.”
“Give me a second,” he says. “I’m studying in my room, but I don’t want anyone to hear me talk about this.”
I hear the distinct sound of a door closing and then some rustling.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m hiding in my closet. I figure the sound of my voice will be muffled in here.”
“And you said I was being dramatic.”
“So, what’s up, Paisley?”
“Nothing. I’m calling to find out what’s up with you, remember?”
“Ugh.”
“Ugh is not an answer, Henry. Tell me about this girl.”
He sighs. “She’s a woman. She’s twenty. She’s my Calc for Engineers TA. She is gorgeous. She’s really nice to me. She’s even Korean so my parents will love her.”
“Does she have a name?”
“Jana.”
“Nice. I like it. So what’s the problem?”
“It is ethically promiscuous.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“What if she likes me back?”
“Would that be … bad? I’m confused by your tone.”
“It would be terrible, Paisley!”
“But you have the control here. You don’t have to do anything if you’re this worried about her liking you back. You can avoid the subject.”
“What if she asks me out first?”
“Wait, has she officially asked you?”
“After class the other day, she mentioned how we had lunch together. And that we should do that again. And she was like, ‘Or even dinner. Or coffee. Or something.’”
I stifle a laugh because I don’t want Henry to think I’m laughing at him. But this is amazing! This woman might actually like him. Not that Henry is unlikable. Lots of girls liked Henry in high school. But he has this person on such a high pedestal he might not even notice.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I tripped over a chair and the subject was dropped.”
This time I don’t stifle my laugh. “Ah, Henry. That sounds about right. At least you didn’t go into a fugue state.”
“Small blessings.” I can imagine the rueful expression on his face.
“Well, I’m here to talk about this whenever you need to, but I’m pretty sure you have it under control.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. You totally do. You don’t have to do or say anything you don’t want to.”
“Right. You’re right. I know you’re right.”
“But?”
“But what if I want to?”
“You want to be ethically promiscuous?”
“Maybe?”
“Well, just keep it in your pants until the end of the semester and then make sure that you don’t take her section next time, if she’s still TAing. If she hasn’t been let go for being ethically promiscuous.”
He laughs this time, and I can sense that he’s feeling better.
Which in turn makes me feel better.
Maybe everything is going to be fine.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
-CARTER-
Everything is clearly the worst. Minus the fact that Ray and I are finally on good terms.
It’s Monday morning, and Paisley is wearing her DON’T GET MAD, GET EVEN shirt to class.
When she comes over to the desk, I show her the memo that had been posted.
“Have you seen this?”
It’s an employee memo about no public displays of affection or sexual congress of any kind in the fitness center by students, faculty, guests, and employees of the fitness center.
“What is it?” she asks.
“We have to uphold a standard of behavior in the fitness center. ‘If you are caught engaging in any type of sexual congress while on the clock, you will be fired,’” I read out loud.
“Certainly doesn’t have anything to do with us,” she says, her voice snippy.
“I thought maybe you’d heard something.”
“What, like gossip? You want to gossip with me, Carter?” she asks. But it’s obviously rhetorical because she doesn’t even wait for me to respond before opening her calc book and getting right into her homework.
I just don’t get her. And I’m tired of trying.
Our shift seems to drag on and on. And somehow, the classes we have together are even worse.
We’ve never sat next to each other in any of our classes, so it doesn’t really change anything, but for some reason today, her very presence in each room feels like a splinter someplace uncomfortable. Like under my fingernai
l or in my eye. Not a normal splinter.
We get our papers back in history. A paper we’ve been working on for weeks. We had to hand in a proposal, an outline, and a first draft. I thought I was doing pretty well on it, even though all the lead-up assignments were only graded pass/fail.
Turns out for once I was right. There’s a big red A on it. I can’t help glancing over to where Paisley is sitting a few rows up from me. Even from here I can clearly see a C on her paper. I smile down at my desk.
Back in our room later that afternoon, Ray is playing a drum solo on his desk with a couple of pencils. I’m about to throw something at him.
“So,” he says, keeping the beat on his notebook. “I’ve been brainstorming ways to get back at Paisley.”
“Oh yeah? Come up with anything?”
Ray scratches his head. “She lives up on the sixth floor?”
“Yeah, are you thinking of taking something?”
“Maybe instead of taking something, we leave something?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Like a condom full of conditioner.”
I laugh, but that makes me uncomfortable. I’m torn, though, because this is the most fun that Ray and I have ever had. At least since the first weekend of school.
He shakes his head. “Nah, that wouldn’t be cool. Funny but not cool. But something like that, you know? Something kind of annoying, maybe a little bit gross.”
I start googling.
He must think I’m going back to my work because then he says, “Yeah, we don’t have to do it now. We should probably get back to work anyway.”
“What?” I ask. “No. I’m looking up pranks! I’m not very good at that stuff, but I like the idea. We could come up with something at least. Just some minor payback.”
Over the next couple of days, ideas for pranking Paisley become something that we bond over.
Ray will send me a text or mention something to me in our room. We discuss a wide variety of typical college pranks to play on her, water glasses all over her room or nailing her furniture to the ceiling.
There’s something cathartic about even discussing the idea. Most of them I reject because I don’t want to piss off Stef. She doesn’t deserve to be pulled into Paisley’s and my shenanigans. Also, she seems like the kind of person who would not appreciate getting pranked, no matter how innocent it is.