My Roommate's Girl

by Julianna Keyes

  “Oh!” she exclaims, stomping on the brakes and nearly giving me whiplash. “I did it!” She puts the car in park and leaps out, running in a circle around it to admire her parking job. It only took nine tries.

  “I’m the best at this,” she says, dropping back into her seat. “I knew I would be.”

  I rub my neck. “So great.”

  “What’s next?” she asks. “Parallel parking? Highway driving?”

  I check the time on the display. “Lesson’s over. I need to buy sixty rolls of toilet paper, then we have to meet Jim in half an hour.”

  Aster consults her watch, in case I’m lying about the time. “Dammit,” she mutters, reaching for the gear stick. “Okay, let’s go shopping.”

  I reach over to pull out the keys. “You’re not driving near real people.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because even though you’re so great at this, it’s only been one lesson.”

  She thrusts out her lower lip and bats her lashes at me, but I’m not buying it.

  “Get out,” I order. “Time to trade places.”

  She harrumphs but does so, and when she tries to pass me in front of the car, I loop an arm around her waist pull her close.

  “Don’t forget to thank me for the lesson.”

  She’s trying to look angry, but her mouth twitches. “I’ll thank Wes when I see him.”

  “No!” I exclaim. “Don’t mention this to him. He doesn’t know I let my girlfriend drive his car.”

  Aster freezes and an endlessly long silence grows...and grows.

  “Also,” I say awkwardly, face flaming, “I...kind of...think of you as my girlfriend.”

  I see her gnawing on the inside of her cheek.

  “But do you think of me as a good driver?” she asks eventually.

  Something inside of me softens and warms as I look at her. As I fall just a little bit more. “Am I going to get laid later?”

  “Oh, yeah. Absolutely.” Her eyes sparkle. “Since you’re my boyfriend now.”

  I’ve never been anybody’s boyfriend; never wanted to. And never, in my plan to make Aster mine, did I ever imagine I would be.

  As a kid I’d wished on every star in the sky that my dad would stop gambling and we’d get our house back and our dog back and our things back. By the time I was twelve I knew wishes didn’t come true. I thought good things only happened to other people, people in the movies, make believe stories with a pre-ordained happy ending. I didn’t think happiness was real, and I definitely didn’t think it was tangible, something you could hold, touch, feel. But now, as I slide my fingers through Aster’s hair and press my lips to hers, I see that I was the best kind of wrong.

  41

  Aster

  “Aster, you’re the best,” Jim says, not for the first time.

  I preen in my seat, but beside me I can practically hear Aidan scoffing at the praise. Today’s meeting has been to show Jim the work we’ve done for our cooperation credits, and I’d typed up the interview with Lindo—our past component—and the questions for Aidan and myself—our present component—and organized them neatly inside a folder with color coded tabs and photographs.

  I’d spent way more time on the project than I should have, staying up too late, waking too early, working when I should be studying for finals. But it’s worth it. Every minute is a step toward the grants I’ll need to help pay for law school, and since Aidan doesn’t care about the money, it’s fine that he’s not doing as much work.

  “You too, Aidan,” Jim adds as an afterthought. He turns the page to a color photo of a cross section of a model house I used to show how the building blocks of the program paralleled Lindo’s success as a renovator, transforming homes as he’d transformed his life.

  Aidan grunts and I try to avoid his accusing glare. I hadn’t exactly shown him the finished project before we arrived today, but it’s not like I’m taking all the credit for the work, just half. I put both our names on the laminated cover page.

  “Okay,” Jim says, sighing happily as he sets the bound booklet on his desk. “This is really excellent. When I saw you two speaking at the meeting, I knew you’d be the perfect pair.”

  “Yeah,” Aidan says, tone bland. “Perfect.”

  I stiffen in my seat. Every time he’s in here he reverts to that old “I’m a badass” personality, and I lose sight of the guy I’m falling hard for. The guy who calls himself my boyfriend.

  If Jim notices Aidan’s attitude, he ignores it. “So,” he says, leaning forward to brace his arms on the desk. “What are your plans for part three, the future component?”

  “We haven’t quite gotten that far,” I admit. I’d lost more than a few hours’ sleep racking my brain for some brilliant idea to complete the project. But how can we talk about the future when we don’t even know who the new students will be or what the hell the future holds? “We’re still brainstorming.”

  “Sure,” Jim says, running his thumb over the spiral cord that binds the booklet. “You have two weeks until the deadline. Think you’ll get it done by then?”

  “Yes, absolutely. Do you think...” I trail off.

  “Do I think you’re well on your way to a glowing recommendation letter for every grant the school has to offer? Absolutely, Aster.” Jim glances at Aidan. “You too.”

  Aidan shoves himself to a standing position, boots clomping on the floor. “Awesome. Thanks. See you next time.”

  He strides out of the room, his heavy footsteps retreating at too fast a pace to be anything other than pissed.

  I thank Jim and hustle out of the office, following the sound of Aidan’s stomps to the stairwell at the far end of the hall.

  “Aidan,” I call, hurrying down the steps just in time to see him banging through the front doors, out into the sunlight. “Aidan!”

  He stops at the edge of the grass. “What the fuck, Aster?”

  “Why are you so mad? We did a good job.”

  He glares down at me, shoulders bunched, hands fisted at his side. “No,” he says through his teeth. “You did a good job. Where the hell did those answers come from? You only asked me three questions!”

  “I asked you a bunch of questions,” I retort, “you only answered three. And I answered some myself. You’re not the only voice in the equation.”

  “I thought we were going in there to talk about our progress, not win a fucking Nobel prize.”

  I picture him slouched and scowling in the office. “There’s nothing wrong with doing a good job, Aidan. With trying to be...better. I just want the grants.”

  I see his nostrils flare as he inhales, calming himself. “You should have told me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d care so much.”

  He scratches his chin. “Maybe I wouldn’t have,” he admits. “A few months ago, I wouldn’t have cared at all. But I do now. You pretended when you were with Jerry. You pretended with me when we first started hanging out. Don’t pretend now.”

  “I’m not. I promise.”

  “All right, fine.” He turns to resume walking, his pace slower. His tattooed knuckles bump against mine, and after a second he snags my fingers in his and holds my hand. If any of the people we pass notice or care, it doesn’t show. But to me it feels like a giant neon arrow lowering from the sky and pointing between us, telling everyone we’re together. We’re a couple.

  We’re okay.

  42

  Aidan

  When my phone buzzes for the sixth time in thirty minutes, Aster makes a point of slamming shut her Poly Sci text and glaring at me, then the phone, then me again. The message is clear: one of us needs to die.

  “I’m sorry,” I say in a hushed voice. I scan the library, but none of the other students seem to care about the interruptions. “Wes’s mom got worse and she’s back in the hospital. I told him I’d be available if he needed me. I can’t turn it off.”

  She sighs, irritated, and runs her hand through her hair. Normally sleek and shiny, t
oday it looks tangled and greasy. The dark circles under her eyes and the ever-present coffee cup in her hand tell me what she won’t: she’s working too hard. She refuses to admit it, but she’s overwhelmed by everything she’s got going on, and the fact that this afternoon’s brainstorming session generated zero ideas for the future component of our cooperation credit hasn’t helped. The program is great and it’s what allows us to attend school for free, but it’s basically an additional class on top of an already full workload, and for someone like Aster, who’s actually acing her classes, it’s critical mass.

  “Who is it?” she demands. “I don’t even care if you’re cheating on me. Just answer her.”

  “It’s not a girl. It’s Shamus.”

  “Tell him you’ll be at the tournament.”

  Our season-ending Frisbee baseball tournament is two weeks from now, right in the middle of finals, and Shamus is going crazy trying to wrangle enough players.

  “I did.”

  “Then what does he want?”

  I sigh. “He graduates this year. He wants me to run the team when he’s gone.”

  Her brows raise. “Really? You? Does he know you hate everybody?”

  “I thought he did. Maybe I haven’t been trying hard enough.”

  She snorts. “Just tell him you’re not interested.”

  “I did. He’s not convinced. He keeps sending me examples of why other teammates would do an even worse job.” I call up the most recent message. “Remember the time Missy called our volunteer umpire a little dick because he called her out on that double play?” I read. “It wasn’t as bad as the time she charged the third basewoman like a crazed rhinoceros and head-butted her into the stands.”

  Aster snickers. “I like Missy.”

  “Then you and Jerry have something in common.”

  “Look.” She presses her hands flat on the table. “Just tell him you’ll think about it. Then after the tournament, say you’re not up to it. He’ll graduate and be out of your hair. And maybe next year you can find a new extracurricular.”

  “I can’t find a new extracurricular. I tried four in my first year and got kicked out of all of them. They were all stupid.”

  “They didn’t like your positive attitude?”

  “I’m not a leader.”

  “You’re not exactly a follower, Aidan.”

  “I’m a lone wolf,” I say. “Like you. I do what I want, and I like to be left alone by everyone except you.”

  “Maybe that’s precisely why you’re the best person for the job,” she says, totally missing my point. “You’re not trying to sell anyone a bunch of bullshit. You show up, do your thing, it’s impersonal and effective, and then you go home. Aidan, I think you might be a...” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “...good example.”

  “Aster Lindsey, you take that back.”

  “No. Never.”

  “You know, if you hadn’t given me the blow job to end all blow jobs this morning, I’d break up with you right now.”

  “Don’t talk about blow jobs in the library.”

  “All right, let’s go outside.”

  She points a stern finger in my face. “I need to concentrate so I can get good grades and have my law school paid for. That’s my reason for being here. You may have a different reason for being—”

  “My reason is blow jobs.”

  She kicks me under the table, even as she tries to stifle a laugh. “You need a reason you can expect more than once every three months.”

  My jaw drops. “Every three months? Are you insane?”

  Her shoulders shake with laughter as she pointedly ignores me and reopens her textbook, good and evil and everything in between.

  And as I watch her work, it hits me.

  * * *

  The next day I drop by the PPP office without an appointment. The building is quiet, and when Becca glances up from her perch, she looks surprised to see me.

  “Hey, Becca,” I say. “Is Jim in? I was hoping to speak with him.”

  She checks her computer, confirms the visit is unscheduled, then slowly stands. “One second. Let me see what he’s up to.”

  Moments later Jim comes out from the back. “Aidan!” he exclaims. “Nice to see you.”

  I cram my hands in my pockets. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Of course. Come on through.”

  “Thanks.”

  I follow him to his office and take the same seat I’d sat in last time. This time, however, I make an effort not to be grumpy or resentful.

  “It’s about the cooperation credit,” I begin. “The future component.”

  “Mm hmm.”

  “I don’t think...” I scrutinize my tattooed hands, clutching my knees like a lifeline. “I don’t think it’s something just Aster and I can do.”

  Jim’s face falls.

  “It’s something everyone can do,” I venture cautiously. “I think we would all agree that this program is a wonderful opportunity, but not everyone knows what to do when something this great falls into their lap. It can be overwhelming.”

  “Okay...”

  “So I was thinking that the future component could be, like, a mentorship program. Where current students meet with new students on a recurring basis—maybe monthly—to check in with them. I know you try to meet with us, but there’s a lot of us and just one of you.”

  He looks interested. “Right.”

  “And instead of the mentorship meetings being just a basic meeting, maybe they could be, like, excursions or experiences. Something where we explore things a bit further. Not everyone declares a major first year, so this could be a chance to find a goal. Something to work toward.” I think of Aster. “Inspiration.”

  Jim nods, mouth turned down at the corners as he thinks, no doubt wishing Aster were here beside me, making everything better.

  “Well,” he says. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Aidan.”

  It takes me a second to comprehend that he’s agreeing with me. “You do?”

  “Yes. Of course. As you’re no doubt aware, the program is always short on funding, and I’ve been trying to fulfill the mentorship role myself, but there are only so many hours in the day. I love that your idea involves using resources we already have, and makes the idea of a ‘future’ something visual or even tangible for students, depending on the excursion.”

  “Ah, yeah.” I make a mental note of those words. Visual. Tangible. Resources.

  “Okay, wonderful. Can you put that in writing for me? You still have...” He consults the tiny flip calendar on his desk, pictures of cats in hats celebrating each month. “Four days,” he says. “Will you be able to submit a proposal in that amount of time?”

  “Yeah, definitely.” If I start now and do nothing else until it’s done.

  “Excellent. Thanks for coming in, Aidan. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “Okay. Will do. Bye.”

  I stand and hurry out of there, just as fast as I always leave, only this time I’m not fleeing, I’m running toward something. I’m running like there’s a fire lit under my ass, one that’s motivating me for the first time in forever.

  A spark, if you will.

  43

  Aidan

  I spend the rest of the day at the library, leaving only when they kick me out. It’s late when I get home, yawning into the crook of my arm as I hang my jacket over the banister. I have one foot on the bottom stair when I spot Wes and T.J. a few feet away in the living room, sitting on the over-stuffed chairs on either side of the coffee table, counting bags of white powder. Neatly bundled stacks of cash dot the floor and the unholy contrast between Pearl’s antique furniture, the two bulked up guys sitting on it, and the thousands of dollars in drugs almost manages to convince me I’m dreaming.

  But I’m not.

  I close my eyes, but when I open them they’re still right there, staring at me. Not even trying to hide it. I should go upstairs to my room, gather my measly b
elongings, and walk right back out. Except I have nowhere to go. Aster’s got her hands full with R.A. duties and school pressures and I don’t want to add to her stress, and I already paid this month’s rent and don’t have enough for another place. My last exam is in twelve days—if I can hold out until then, they’ll be gone and I’ll be living somewhere else.

  For weeks I’ve known they’ve been up to something, but I convinced myself it was just the situation with Wes’s mom and did my best to keep my head down and ignore it. And until now, they’ve done their best to let me. I made it clear I was in the program and intended to take advantage of the opportunity, and though I could see them silently mocking my sudden change of heart, they kept their contrary opinions—and their activities—to themselves.

  Until now.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, in spite of my better judgment.

  Wes rubs his hands across his face, his stress evident. “I’m in trouble, bro.”

  I jerk my chin at the table. “You sure?”

  “I’m short ten grand. I was short forty and I’ve been working my ass off to make up for it, but I got nothing left. I need help.”

  I shrug helplessly. “Dude. I sleep on an antique chesterfield. I own two pairs of pants and one pair of boots. Do you really think I have ten thousand dollars lying around?”

  Wes and T.J. exchange a look.

  “No,” I say, before they can speak. “Drugs aren’t my thing. Don’t involve me in this.”

  “I wouldn’t if I weren’t desperate,” Wes says, desperately. “I must have gotten robbed at one of the parties, didn’t know until I started counting the cash and saw that I was out. I have ten days left to make up the deficit or...or...”

  “Why did you even start up again?” I shout. “We had everything fucking handed to us—all you had to do was take it!”

  Wes flinches. “I know,” he mumbles. “I just... I fucked up. I didn’t fit in here, all these kids with their clothes and their cars and stuff. I just...wanted more.”