the Roommate Mistake

by Elizabeth Stevens

  the Roommate Mistake

  ALSO BY ELIZABETH STEVENS

  unvamped

  Netherfield Prep

  the Trouble with Hate is…

  Accidentally Perfect

  Keeping Up Appearances

  Love, Lust & Friendship

  Valiant Valerie

  Being Not Good

  The Stand-In

  Popped

  Safety in the Friendzone

  the Art of Breaking Up

  the Roommate Mistake

  No More Maybes Books

  No More Maybes

  Gray’s Blade

  Royal Misadventures

  Now Presenting

  Lady in Training

  Three of a Kind

  Some Proposal

  Royally Unprepared

  Royals in Dating

  Wishing You a Merry Misadventure

  Pithy Pooka Shorts

  the Romeo + Juliet Experiment

  Heaven & Hell Chronicles

  Damned if I do

  Damned if I don’t

  Damned if I know

  the Roommate Mistake

  ELIZABETH STEVENS

  Sleeping Dragon Books

  the Roommate Mistake

  by Elizabeth Stevens

  Print ISBN: 978-1925928570

  Digital ISBN: 978-1925928563

  Cover art by: Izzie Duffield

  Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Stevens

  Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights

  Worldwide English Language Print Rights

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Another one for Andy.

  To being friends first, and always.

  Maybe you’ll read this one :P

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Author’s Note

  Please, please note that this book is a work of parodical meta fiction, intended to be taken lightly. It revels in the ridiculousness of its situations and well as basks in the absurdity of its plot. Tropes have been taken to the extreme for comedic effect, fully knowing that’s what they’re there for. Please read this tongue-in-cheek tale with a grain of salt.

  I have taken a few liberties in regards to Australian driving laws to make the story work better, choosing to use the Learner system I got my license under a million years ago, rather than how it is now.

  This book is written using Australian English. This will affect the spelling, grammar and syntax you may be used to. It might come across as typos, awkward sentences, poor grammar, or missed/wrong words. In the majority of cases (I won’t claim it’s infallible, despite all best efforts), this is intentional and just an Aussie way of speaking (it took my US beta readers a bit to get used to). I can’t say ‘the’ Aussie way, since we seem to differ even within the same state. Just think of us as a weird mix of British and US vernacular and colloquialisms, but with our own randomness thrown in. I still hope you enjoy it, though!

  Chapter One

  No one likes moving schools. It sucks. It especially sucks when it’s a boarding school. And it most epically sucks when it’s at the behest of the grandparents you hate, who insist it’s what your dead dad wanted.

  Like he’d rather me shipped across the state instead of staying with my friends.

  But Mum wasn’t one to pass up the opportunity, or my grandparents covering the unnecessarily exorbitant fees.

  At least she was making the five-hour drive with me. All the better to remind me why this was a good idea.

  “You’re a legacy,” she was reminding me as she peered over the steering wheel, on the lookout for street signs among the vastness of Australian bush that spread on as though forever.

  “That’ll come in handy for all those clubs I won’t be joining,” I answered, my own eye scanning for landmarks the school had assured us existed. I pointed up ahead. “There.”

  “Thanks,” Mum said as she started breaking to take the dirt track off the highway. “I don’t want you just sitting in your room for the next two years, doing nothing and not making any friends.”

  “But I like doing nothing and not making friends,” I fake-whined. “Besides I won’t be doing nothing. I’ll read or game or, God forbid, do my homework on time.”

  Mum chuckled, then threw me as stern a frown as she could. “I’m serious, though. You have to join something. A club. A team. The Introverts United Guild. Literally anything so I know you’re not totally alone here.”

  “So, we’re admitting this is just for you.”

  She nodded. “It’s all for me. My peace of mind.”

  We were on the driveway now. Although, driveway was a rather lacking word for the track that wound through the muted green-grey foliage that surrounded us. Dappled sunlight flickered over the car as Mum made her way cautiously along.

  “Okay, I can guarantee I’ll join something.”

  “There needs to be at least two members.”

  I slunk down in my seat, grumbling to myself about how well she knew me.

  Not for long, though.

  The trail we were crawling along finally broke free of the undergrowth and trees the place was named for, and the great big main building – mansion, more like – rose up out of the scrubby grass to greet us.

  Acacia Academy.

  The country’s foremost boarding school. A place for those people, who lived too far away from the main cities, to send their kids even further away. Or a status symbol. A place that was supposed to spit out more elites than a country this size rightly knew what to do with. CEOs. Pioneers. Geniuses. Politicians. Top athletes. Award-winners. Artists. Australia’s crème de la crème.

  There was a part of me that appreciated and looked forward to joining them, to becoming an Acacia graduate. As much as I might not have cared for my grandparents’ snooty ways and snobbery, this would at least be a benefit to me in the long run. One presumed.

  “There it is,” Mum said reverently, pulling up alongside a whole bunch of other cars with equally stunned-looking children getting out along-side bored parents.

  We’d been told the new intake outside Year Eight was miniscule, so it didn’t surprise me that new kids in other years were given what appeared to be star treatment of being welcomed through the front doors of the main
building when the rest of the students would start to arrive around the back in a couple of hours’ time.

  “Okay,” Mum said as she pulled one of my suitcases out of the boot. “So, the welcome pack said we go in there to be greeted in the hall.

  I better-shouldered my satchel and took control of that suitcase so Mum could get the second one out.

  “Okay,” I said absently.

  I was looking around at the other kids getting out of cars. I was easily the oldest new kid. Despite my grandparents’ assurances that Year Eleven was a typical ingress point. Despite the fact I was probably one of the shortest – which said little about me and a lot about them. Despite the fact they all looked like they already fit in and I’d just tripped on the tiniest pebble. I just knew I was the only new kid in my year.

  “This is gonna be fun,” I muttered as Mum and I battled the gravelly carpark to get to the main building.

  “What?” Mum asked.

  I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  We walked into the building to be met by the greeters. All of them were dressed in pale green shirts with the Acacia Academy logo, khaki pants, and brown shoes. There were ten of them. One for each of us new kids. Plastered on their faces like they’d be whipped otherwise were giant, welcoming grins.

  “Elliott Hopkins?” one of them asked me and Mum.

  We nodded.

  “Yes,” Mum said. “This is Elliott. I’m Mary.”

  The greeter shook both our hands, directing all conversation to Mum. “Welcome to Acacia. We’re thrilled to have Elliott with us. We’ll send your bags on to your room, and I’ll give you the tour.”

  I was starting to feel overwhelmed. Not just from the pressure of starting in a new place, but from the sudden realisation of exactly what I was supposed to live up to. The entry hall was wood panelled in some rich-coloured timber. There were trophies and shields and portraits everywhere, showcasing the achievements of prestigious alumni. I felt the weight of it, but I was also hopeful that it was at least a good place to stoke my passion for knowledge.

  Already, I could picture my own little nook of the library where I could study to my heart’s content. It went a long way to easing the sudden pressure and overwhelmed sensation.

  “Leave your bags with us, and I’ll show you around.”

  I trailed around the school after the greeter and Mum, trying to remember where and what everything was. I had my campus map in my hands, aiming to follow our progress, but I got distracted by the sheer size of everything, the level of tech. Each classroom we passed had two smartboards, surrounded by a modern chic glass architecture. The Hall would hold twice the size of my previous school easily. Even the dining hall looked like it belonged in some early 2000s movie with its surprising space and taste.

  I found myself back at the entry hall to the main building and couldn’t remember what we’d just been shown.

  “So, usually at this point,” the greeter was saying, “parents head off and we let the students get settled in.”

  Mum let out a big breath. “Okay.” She nodded. “No. Okay. I can… We can do that, can’t we?”

  I smirked at her. “You can’t change your mind now. It’s way too late.”

  Mum put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. “I’m not changing my mind.”

  We’d had this conversation at home the night before. The ‘I’m going to miss you, but this will be good for you’ conversation. We’d got all the feelings out over lots of chocolate and pizza. But that didn’t mean that we didn’t have a bit of an emotional goodbye before I waved her back off down the long driveway.

  With nothing but my satchel and phone for familiar company, I looked around and wondered what to do. First things first seemed to be to see if I could find my dorm again on my own. It took me almost half an hour – most of that was just getting around the giant campus – but I finally managed it. I wasted another couple of hours unpacking the essentials I was going to need for the start of the year on Wednesday.

  My dorm allocation info told me my roommate was one Sasha Landry, but there was no sign of her yet. Her door was closed so I didn’t know if she’d even arrived or not. It wasn’t like I minded putting off meeting new people for a little bit longer.

  After that, there was still a bit of time before dinner, so what else was a girl to do but find the all-important library. It had been a major selling point for me. One of the main reasons I’d given in when Mum first told me my grandparents expected me to go to my dad’s old school. They’d shown me a picture of it and I’d fallen in love. All that was left was to actually live it in person.

  Finding it was easier said than done.

  I must have walked around for over an hour. In and out of buildings. Up and down stairs. Navigating my way around more and more students as the time passed.

  I saw the crowd parting up ahead of me. It wasn’t normally something I’d notice, but I was on the lookout for signage after all, so my eyes weren’t trained on the ground in front of my feet the way they usually were.

  Emerging from the crowd were five boys.

  It was like one of those slow-motion scenes out of a movie.

  Front and centre was clearly the leader of the pack. One of those ‘hottest guy in school’ types. Backed up by the way other kids ogled him as he passed them.

  He was tall I guess, but not enough to be ridiculous. He had dark hair, all up and to one side like it was some sort of unconscious tick of his to train it that way. He strode with the easy confidence of the inherently popular, that commanding presence that said he owned these hallways. Even from a distance, and not that it was turned anywhere near me, I could see the cocky smirk playing at his lips. It grew as he surveyed his kingdom and there went his hand through his hair, like he was making sure it stayed in the position he clearly spent a lot of time perfecting.

  Mr It was flanked by the required best mates to make up their little popular a-hole clique. The big blond like some kind of Viking had fallen into the wrong century. The shorter red-head in the stripey t-shirt. The tall, lanky one with the dark blond hair. And the slightly leaner one with the light brown hair. Between them, they ticked all the stereotypical boxes that made up high school.

  Nothing about them, as easy on the eyes as they may have been, was my type. The constant humour on their faces, like everyone and everything was a huge joke. The air of haughty better-than-you-ness that wafted off of them in waves that befitted a stormy sea. The hint of what would, in a few more years of effortless work, be rippling muscles that denoted the sporty. The general look of basic airheaded blankness that made me think there wasn’t a lot going on between their ears.

  I went back to my search for the library, determined to find it by my own devices.

  If I was in the right place, then the library was supposed to be…

  “Right here…?” I muttered to myself.

  I paused in the corridor to get my bearings. With my nose buried in my campus map, naturally I caused someone to bump into me. The someone just happened to be Mr It. Of course.

  “You right, newbie?” he chuckled.

  I looked up at him and felt the vague stirrings of appreciation that he was clearly anticipating. Shame that my brain was perfectly in control and I didn’t fall for it just because it was expected of me.

  “Yeah. Sorry,” I said, side-stepping to get out of his way, which was, in his defence, the middle of the corridor.

  “Only be sorry if you won’t tell me your name,” he said, all smooth and casual flirtation like it was the only language he spoke.

  I looked up at him through my eyelashes, feeling my heated look was more incredulous glare than it was flirty desire. I blinked once. “Does that usually work?” I asked.

  He also blinked, but his confusion was tinged with impressed humour. “It’s never failed me yet.”

  “Good for you,” I told him and at least two of his friends sniggered.

  Mr It didn’t
let my lack of awe put him off his game. “You need someone to…show you around, you let me know.” He gave me a cheeky little wink.

  I looked him over. “Helpful.”

  He shrugged with a sort of disingenuous modesty. “It’s my pleasure.”

  I locked my eyes with him. “I don’t doubt it.”

  By the way his friends reacted, my intended burn landed with a perfect ten out of ten. Mr It’s eyes were laughing too, even if his smirk was half-incredulity. He sucked his teeth and nodded.

  “All right, then,” he semi-chuckled. “Fair play. Can I at least aim your self-respect towards a particular destination?”

  I felt my eyes narrow, trying to deduce if he was actually trying to be helpful now. “I’m looking for the library…” I said slowly.

  His eyes scanned me from toe to top and I saw the lightbulb go off in his head: red alert; this girl isn’t your type. I saw his body language change. He was still cocky and flirty – clearly that was his default – but he wasn’t trying anything on now.

  “Up one more floor,” he said, pointing to the ceiling. “Otherwise, you’re in the right place.”

  I spared a look for his friends, then gave him a nod of thanks. “Cheers.”

  “No problem.”

  Mr It and I exchanged a glance for a heartbeat longer than I thought was strictly necessary, but there was something odd in it. Not like some lingering look you shared with the guy you crushed massively on while he was all oblivious. Not like the one you shared with the guy who you knew liked you but you were way too awkward to do anything about it.

  For a second, I half-entertained the idea of what dating him would be like. For half a second, I saw what it would be like and there was something vaguely intriguing about it. Then, the moment was over and I was more than happy to go on my way and let him go on his.

  Chapter Two