by Claire Adams
The professor wrapped up her lesson by addressing the class.
“As you all know, we're going to be doing a lot of practical lab work this semester,” she started. “And, that means that every student in here is going to have to have a lab partner. Now, what I don't want is for you to be working with your friend or someone you already know well. That, I'm afraid, will lend itself to fooling around in the labs and wasting of valuable time. So, I've taken the liberty of running all of your names through a computer program which has randomized partners. I'm going to read the list of names and who you are partnered with, and I want you to make a careful note of who your lab partner is going to be for the rest of the semester. Now, unless there is an extremely prudent reason that you cannot work with the person you've been assigned to — and I'm talking serious issues here, people, serious issues. Not 'I don't like them' or 'they're not fun' or any other wishy-washy nonsense like that — you will be partnered with this person for the entire semester. Understand?”
We all mumbled monosyllabic responses of affirmation.
“Good. I'll start.”
She began reading out the names. I sat bolt upright in my seat, wondering with suspense who I was going to be stuck with for the rest of the semester. My pulse began to race as soon as she read out the first name and it happened to be mine.
“Emerson Reed, your lab partner is Brooke Baker. Could you both raise your hands please?”
I thought my heart was going to explode, my pulse was hammering so hard in my chest. Brooke and I both raised our hands, but she didn't even turn around to look at me.
“Good. Next, Jonathan Biln, you're with David Henderson. Could you two raise your hands? Yes. Fran Corleone, you're with-”
The professor's voice began to fade out as I thought about what had just happened. Brooke, the Ice Queen, was going to be my lab partner. This was gonna be interesting.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brooke
As soon as the professor said Emerson’s name with mine, my blood ran cold. What the hell? I mean, seriously, what the hell? Of all the names her computer program could have randomized, it had to put me with the one person I'd been trying to avoid like the plague.
As if it hadn’t been enough of a shock to see him walking into the lecture hall and taking a seat right behind me. I'd imagined a jock like Emerson would be taking business or marketing or sports management classes — anything but advanced chemistry. But there he was. And so, for the rest of the class, I'd had to sit there, feeling super uncomfortable, with him literally breathing down my neck.
After the professor dropped her bomb, there was absolutely no way I could avoid contact with him. Not only did he live next door to me, but he was also my lab partner for the semester. The entire semester. Absolutely perfect. Why couldn't life have been kind and just partnered me with the uber-nerd a few rows down — the one who looked like he weighed about ninety pounds soaking wet in his Star Trek t-shirt with coke bottle glasses, a bad case of acne, and a mop of mousy hair. You know, someone who I'd have absolutely zero attraction to. Not the cover model jock from next door. The same jock who made me weak in the knees every time he looked at me.
And, I hated admitting that. I hated that I couldn’t stop myself from feeling that way about someone I barely knew. All it did was make my life more complicated. In so many ways, I felt as though the Andrew debacle was still hanging over my head. For that reason alone, I didn’t need complicated. I needed logical. Simple. Clear-cut.
Being lab partners with the one person on campus who I wanted nothing to do with, well, it was none of those things. As the professor kept rattling off names pairing lab partners together, I tore off a scrap of paper from my notebook and scribbled my email address on it.
That's all Emerson was going to get from me. Just an email address. Not my Facebook, not my Snapchat, not my Instagram, and definitely not my phone number.
Not that any of those would have really made much difference considering he lived on the other side of my bedroom wall. A bedroom wall that I wasn’t so sure he wasn’t desecrating with a slew of bimbos on a regular basis. My thoughts suddenly flashed to the noises I'd heard on Friday night and Saturday morning. Had it been him or had it been Chris?
An unwarranted and bizarre concoction of sensations ran through me — hostility, repulsion, annoyance, and as much as I hate to say it, jealousy. Maybe even a little arousal.
I shook my head to rid it of the thought. No. Hell no! There's no way, there's just no way…
“That's all, class,” the professor announced, snapping me out of my trance. “If you didn’t see who your partners are, a few students were absent today, so that could be the case. Just come see me and we will get you in contact with your partner during the next class. Anyway, you have your reading assignments to do before Wednesday, so please see to it that you do them, or you'll quickly find yourself in over your head. I don't slow this class down for slackers and have no sympathy for lazy students who don't do their assigned readings. Now, if you have any questions, you have my email. Don't hesitate to contact me if there's anything in your reading you're having trouble with. Alternatively, if there's something serious you need to discuss, you can find me in office 15C on the third floor of this building. Class dismissed.”
I briefly considered heading straight to office 15C to see if something could be done about this practice partner situation. But I thought about what the professor had said — lab partners could only be switched for very serious issues. I was fairly certain that an unwanted attraction to my lab partner, as serious as that might be to me, would not be seen as such by the professor.
With everyone getting up and leaving the hall, I hastily packed my bag and turned around to leave, as well. I handed the scrap of paper with my email on it to Emerson — practically shoving it in his face — and spoke in a tone as cool and emotionless as I could manage while avoiding eye contact.
“Here, Emerson. If you need to ask about anything for class, here's my email since we're lab partners now. Otherwise, well, you know where I live.”
He took the paper, looking strangely confused. For a moment, it looked as if he was about to say something, but I cut in before he had a chance.
“Well, that's it, I gotta run now. See ya.”
I pushed past him and hurried out of the lecture hall, hoping he hadn't seen the blush spreading across my cheeks or picked up on the nervous, awkward way I was walking as I passed him. I merged into the river of students in the hall and headed on to my next class which was one of the electives I had chosen — astrophysics.
I hoped I wouldn’t see him in that class, as well, but with the way things had been going, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
***
After a hectic first day of classes, I sipped green tea and watched the sun as it sizzled on the horizon, hanging just below the tips of the distant hills. I leaned out off the edge of the balcony and glanced to the side. Thankfully, Emerson's balcony wasn't within view, so I could relax without having to worry that he or Chris would walk out, shirtless most likely, and start bugging me while I was trying to unwind. Homework for the evening had been completed. Dinner had been cooked, eaten, and the kitchen cleaned, leaving a plate for Leslie when she got home from her meeting. She’d told me what it was for, but I couldn’t remember for the life of me. But if I’d had a long first day, her day had been longer. I settled into one of our patio chairs and took in the evening.
From inside the apartment, I heard the front door open.
“Hello?” Leslie called out, shuffling in with both of her hands full of bags bulging with groceries.
“Hey, I'm out here,” I said glancing into the apartment from my perch. “You need a hand with those?”
“Nah, I'm fine. Just gonna drop 'em off in the kitchen, then I'll join you out there.”
A minute later, Leslie walked out onto the balcony, carrying a small, potted plant in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.
“Violet
s,” she said as she put the plant down. “Our first flowers for the apartment. It's up to you to get the next one. Sound like a plan? We take turns getting plants for the balcony until we've got enough to fill it up and make a real garden out here.”
I smiled; I'd always loved gardening and growing things.
“Yeah! Sounds perfect. And, we can get a few herbs growing for the kitchen, maybe some cherry tomatoes and chilies, too.”
“I like the way you think.” Leslie plopped down in the seat beside me. “So, tell me, how was your first day? Good classes? Any hot guys?” she said with a wink and a cheeky smile.
I sipped on my tea and shook my head. “You will not believe what happened.”
I proceeded to tell her about the unusual events in chemistry class and the situation with Emerson being my lab partner that existed because of said events.
“Oh my God, Brooke! You’ve got to be kidding me. Wait. Are you serious?”
“Not even joking a little bit, Les. I have been partnered with our hot neighbor and it really looks like there's no way out of it. Like, none. At all.”
She chuckled and shook her head.
“Fate,” she said softly.
“What?”
“Fate, girl,” she echoed. “Something is telling you that you should be paying a bit more attention to the man next door.”
“Oh, come on. It was just a coincidence, nothing more. Seriously.”
“A coincidence would have just been him being in your chemistry class. Being lab partners, put together by a randomized process on a computer? Nope, that's way beyond mere coincidence. That right there? That's fate. You two are meant to-”
“Stop right there, Leslie Marie. Do not say that I'm meant to be with that douchebag.”
“Aww, come on, Brooke. Don’t ya think that's a bit harsh? I know he's a bit of a party boy, but it seems a bit too soon to be judgmental like that. I mean, you don't really know the guy-”
“You saw the strumpets at their apartment for their party over the weekend, right? There was enough silicone in that pack of skanks to keep the Titanic afloat. Have you never heard the saying about how you can judge a person by the company they keep? Applicable here, Les, very applicable.”
“First of all, strumpets? Who even says that?” she laughed. “Second, it kinda feels like you're shutting him out without even giving him a sliver of a chance.”
“Look what happened last time I gave a guy a chance.”
She put a sympathetic hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“Bee, not every guy is gonna be like Andrew. You gotta let that go. It's really messing you up by holding on to it like this. C'mon, Brooke, you're gorgeous, you're crazy smart, and you're such a sweetheart. It's a waste seeing you build these walls around yourself and not letting anyone in just because you’re afraid they'll hurt you. You can't live your life like this — especially your college years! You're supposed to be out meeting new guys, having fun, living life! I know you're serious about your studies and that's great! It doesn't, however, mean you can't also have a social life, you know? There are plenty of students who get their 4.0 who also go to parties once in a while and even have romantic partners. It's all about balance, BeeBee. Balance.”
“I'll get over Andrew in my own time, in my own way, okay?”
I sipped my tea and turned my eyes away from Leslie; I didn't want to have that conversation. I wasn’t ready for it.
“You've been getting over him for the last nine months, Brooke,” she said quietly. “Or, at least, so you say. I don't see much getting over going on.”
“Can we change the subject already?” I requested, almost snapping at her. I immediately felt guilty about how aggressive my tone was.
“I'm sorry, Les,” I insisted. “I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I know you've got my best interest at heart. You really are my best friend. I really love having you around, it’s just that…”
“Aw, don't worry about it, Bee! That situation with Andrew was just… Look, I know how bad it was. I was there with you, remember? And, I know betrayal like that is ridiculously hard to get over. But he doesn’t deserve any more of your time or grief. I just want to see you happy again. That's all. I just want my best friend in the whole world to be happy.”
“Awww. I so love you! Come here,” I commanded, and I gave her a big, tight hug.
“You’re right. No more of my time. So, enough about me,” I insisted as I let Leslie loose from my grip. “How was your day?”
“It was okay. How would you like to act in a TV show like The Walking Dead?”
“Horror would be such fun to do! But I wouldn’t be opposed to a little rom-com action with a hot guy,” I said with a laugh. “Why? Where did that question come from?”
“Well, I may have a part in a student film coming up. Some sort of slasher flick, plenty of blood.”
“Nice! You'll kill it. Pun fully intended.”
We both chuckled.
“They might need some extras if you’re interested,” she added.
“That might be fun. Keep me posted.”
“You know I will.”
“Alright, Les, I need some sleep,” I said. “I left you a plate from dinner in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
“That sounds awesome. I've got a long day again tomorrow.”
“Yeah, me, too – I’m gonna grab a shower and hit the sack.”
“Night, Bee.”
“Night.”
I stopped by the kitchen to rinse my cup then headed to my bathroom for a hot shower. It was just what I needed to wind down before bed. After a lingering in the shower for a while, I shut the water off and proceeded with my bedtime routine. I dried my hair just enough that I could put it into a braid and it would finish drying while I slept.
The moment I stepped into my room, I could hear it.
That noise again. Yep, that noise coming from the other side of the wall. Muffled grunts, groans, moans, and the rhythmic thumping of a headboard against the wall growing faster and faster.
“Oh my word, again? Really?”
I stood in silence for a few moments, not quite knowing what I should do. Well, not in silence exactly; it was kind of hard to block out the sounds coming through the wall.
I ran through the options in my head. Should I tell Leslie? Should I knock on the wall? Should I maybe knock on their door and confront them? Or write a note and slide it under the door? Should I put on some headphones and listen to music to drown out the sound?
As the noises grew more and more intense, I felt the same uncomfortable flush of emotions washing over me as I thought about Emerson having hot, passionate sex with the bleached blonde floosy, as my granny would have called her.
I decided not to tell Les. She was way too fiery, and she'd almost certainly get in their faces and turn the situation into a confrontation, which was definitely not something we needed. Also, there was no way I could face them after revealing that I was privy to the extracurricular activities going on. It would be way too awkward. I couldn't leave a note, either. While it wasn't as direct as talking to them about the commotion, it would still make for more awkwardness, considering I'd have to see Emerson regularly for chemistry.
With a resigned sigh, I headed to the kitchen for a glass of wine to take my nerves back down a few notches. I needed a good night's sleep to get through all the classes I had to face the next day, and with what sounded like Horny College Sluts 3 being filmed in the room next door to mine, there was no way I'd be able to sleep without something to help.
I poured a glass of wine and washed it down, then made my way back to my room, slipped in my earphones and put on some soothing tunes. I crawled into bed and tried to focus on the ambient vibes of the music, allowing it to drown out the muffled sounds from next door, and waited for the wine to kick in and work its magic.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Emerson
I woke up with a pounding throb hammering pulse after pulse through my head.
My mouth was dry as a desert in midday sun, and my stomach felt like it was twisted in knots. I struggled out of bed and hobbled over to the bathroom, where I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet, expecting to puke. I hovered there for a while, but nothing happened, so I pushed myself to my feet and stumbled to the shower to get cleaned up.
The shower made me feel a little better, but it wasn’t enough. I needed a breakfast that wasn’t going to leave me praying to the porcelain gods and a powerful shot of caffeine to get me back to something that resembled a human. I couldn't believe I had been weak enough to let Chris talk me into drinking. Hell, it had been a Monday night. I'd felt bad for turning him down on Sunday. Still, Monday night drinking of any kind was a terrible idea. He'd said it would just be one quiet beer, but I should have known better. The promise of just one beer had quickly turned into an arm twisting — just one more, then after that, just one more. When ten o’clock rolled around, I finally put my foot down and called it quits. When I texted Chris at midnight, he hadn't even left the bar yet. Because we'd started early, I hadn't even eaten dinner, so I now felt ravenous.
I opened the fridge and groaned. There was absolutely nothing aside from a bottle of ketchup, two bottles of Gatorade, and a takeout tub of Chinese food that had been in there longer than I cared to admit. I was pretty damn desperate, though, so I took out the tub and gingerly opened it — and then immediately regretted the decision. An unearthly stench blasted my senses. I would almost wager that whatever had been living in there was on the verge of creating a new civilization. I quickly tossed the tub into the trash. With my stomach paining for food, I rifled through the rest of the kitchen — nothing. We were totally out of things to eat. So much for leaving it to Chris to pick up the groceries.
I considered going to get something, but that would make me overly late for class. The way I saw it, I had two options: be late for class or appeal to the kindness of my new neighbors. Maybe if I offered to cook them dinner in exchange for breakfast, they’d take mercy on me. I could also use the opportunity to maybe chat with Brooke about chemistry class. That is, if she’d talk to me. I got the impression she wanted to avoid me for some reason. She’d acted rather strange in class, shoving her email address into my hand and then pretty much running away. Asking my neighbors to help me out might end up being awkward, but I was desperate enough for food that I was willing to risk it.