by Anyta Sunday
He listened as the two moved about downstairs and then the front door shut and the house went quiet once more.
Will, now too awake to get back to sleep, showered and dressed. Once in the kitchen, he found the essentials to make a coffee and got one brewing.
Hot cup in hand, he sat at the table. He glanced at the glossy paper Heath had been working on and saw his name on a cue-card sitting on top. He dragged them both over. The glossy paper was a map of campus and the cue-card were directions of where to go to get ID and course approval, and where to find student accommodation services.
3 Freak Zone
Three weeks slid by really quickly. Like super-duper-freaking fast. Most of the time it felt like he’d been dodging Murky and by extension Heath, who seemed to always be by the dog’s side. Will was pretty sure it was deliberate—an effort to ward him off, but even if he wanted to he couldn’t leave. Student accommodation had told him they were tight for spaces and asked him how urgent it was, if he could hold out until something freed up.
He was thankful that he had so much other shit to organize that he didn’t have much time to spend hanging at the Wallaces’ place. Much to Vicky’s disappointment. She kept suggesting things they could all do together, like miniature golf or sea kayaking. She even urged him to come along to Heath’s basketball games, saying since he quit uni, it was the only thing he seemed passionate about. She’d looked so sad when she said that, he didn’t know what to say, but attending one of Heath’s games when he knew how much the guy disliked him just didn’t feel right.
Though the mere thought of the guy slick and shiny with sweat almost changed his mind. He might be a bit of a freak when it came to being clean, but if the guy was that attractive, he could be covered in mud and he’d not hesitate to do him.
There was always the shower for afterward. . . .
As was their tradition, Vicky got up early every morning and made him breakfast. She learned fast the way he liked things and was keen to please him. He liked the mornings best, just the two of them, bantering away.
“Head screwed on yet, William?” she asked, snapping the dishwasher shut as he dried up the pot she’d made porridge in—extra creamy with no lumps. “Or do you need another coffee?”
“The first two coffees did their job and more.”
“Then you ready to head in?”
“Just a sec, got to brush my teeth and grab a couple of things.”
Today he was finally being assigned a room with other post-grads doing their masters. He was told it would be a shared office with two to three others, and he was happy for the fact. He really needed to meet more people.
Nothing against Vicky, but some people his own age to hang with would be great. Heath had a couple of guys around once or twice, but the introductions had been brief, made shorter when one guy snorted and called him a poof under his breath. Will had just walked away, but not too long later he heard the front door slam. He didn’t investigate.
Taking the stairs three at a time to his room, Will grabbed the box with the pens and lined paper Vicky had given him, now holding more notebooks and USB sticks and an external hard drive for his laptop, and a few other pieces for his soon-to-be new office space. Slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder, he accidentally knocked the lamp, sending the poetry book that had been leaning against it to the floor. He placed it back on the desk, and chucking the box under one arm, he met up with Vicky exiting the house.
The doors to her much more respectable Toyota unlocked as she pressed her keys, and before he knew it, he was in the passenger seat, his stuff on his lap, and they were zooming down the hill.
“So, excited?” she asked as they waited at the longest traffic light he’d ever come across.
“Curious, more like. And a touch nervous.” He gave her a meek smile and she flashed him one back. Her gaze slipped from his face to the box on his lap and her smile diminished. Swinging her head back toward the road, she stared at the lights.
Some classical music Vicky always listened to was on, and Will thought he recognized it, the tune catching in his toes as he tapped to the beat. The lights finally turned green, and Will silently cried a hallelujah, then frowned when the car didn’t move forward.
Vicky sat there, still staring at the lights. Her face was unreadable, except that it didn’t show any of its usual chipper-ness. The smile-lines around her eyes suddenly appeared deeper, making her look her age for once.
“Daydreaming much?” he said. It was the first thing that popped into his head and so of course he said it. After, he bit his tongue, wishing he’d tried for something less snarky.
Vicky cleared her throat and snuck through the intersection just as the lights turned orange. It seemed she’d finished with her chit-chat for the day, barely saying goodbye when she dropped him off at the Commerce building.
He watched the car peel away almost leaving half the tires behind. Frowning, he headed up to the eleventh floor.
Without a doubt, the eleventh floor had to be the ugliest in the world. When the elevator doors pinged open he was met with grey walls with one plant-thing sagging in the corner, which looked like it hadn’t seen water or fresh air for weeks. The only great thing about the floor was the view—it really was spectacular, he could see half of Dunedin and the harbor today was glittering. Maybe it was a good omen—maybe it meant he’d make friends.
He knocked on his new office door and shyly cracked it open. “Hey,” he said, “I’m here to claim one of the free desks.”
A woman’s voice called him in, and when he swung the door all the way and did just that his mouth dropped open. In the back corner of the room, on a heap of old blankets, stood a huge canvas. One corner of it was smeared with thick greens and blues and along the window sill on old newspaper were tubes of oil paint. In front of the oil paints, at a desk, a red-haired woman flashed him a wicked smile.
“Welcome to the Freak Zone.”
He looked behind him down the hall. Had he come to the right level? But he knew he had; nowhere else had such a limp-looking pot plant as the eleventh floor.
“Ahh,” he started, resting his stuff on the nearest corner table. “I’m sorry, I thought this was IT.”
“Oh, it is.”
He looked pointedly at the canvas behind her.
She chuckled, running a hand through her hair and pulling it back from her face to reveal a heavy green smudge. “That’s my style of freak.” She stood up and shook his hand. “I’m Candice.”
“I’m confused, but you can call me Will.”
“Well, Will,” she said, “you have a choice.” She pointed to two desks, one across from her and one in the darkest corner of the room. “That spot, or that one.” Then she pointed to the last desk tucked into the corner closest to the door. “That’s Sig’s spot. Speaking of the devil.” Her gaze lifted over his shoulder, and he turned as he heard heavy footsteps crunch into the room.
He almost jumped when he saw the guy. It was seriously, the last thing he was expecting—even more than the canvas in the back of the office. Sig probably would have been noteworthy by his sheer height alone, but that’s not what had Will’s mouth hanging open. The guy was decked out in an ankle-length, deep purple wizarding-robe, long leather boots coming up to just under his knees, with a stenciled wooden staff in his grip.
In a practiced move, Sig threw the staff into his other hand and reached out to take Will’s hand. His voice was smooth and strong, exuding a confidence Will would have thought impossible dressed like that. But Sig seemed right at home in his attire, and his shake was firm but friendly. “I’m Sig. Welcome to the Freak Zone.”
Like, what the fuck?
He frowned, glancing between the two of them. Wait a sec. Was this some kind of joke? Was this some weird-ass initiation into the office? Was there a hidden camera somewhere documenting his expressions that they’d replay later and take the piss out of?
He shook his head, smiling. Like hell he was going to fall for this. “Ok
ay, okay.” He clapped. “Nice show. I have to say, the robe—that’s a fine touch. Do you do this to all the newbies?”
Sig stared at him blankly, and when Will turned to Candice, she was shaking her head. And it was at the third or maybe fourth swing of her head that he realized, shit, but they were serious.
Quickly, he jerked his head toward the floor and mumbled he’d take the desk opposite Candice.
Candice though, wouldn’t let him sink into embarrassment, she arrowed questions at him from where he was from and what his master’s thesis was going to be on, all the way to urging him to a party her flat was having Friday night that he just had to come to. She didn’t take no for an answer and that’s how he found himself booked into his first Dunedin student party.
“Fine, I’ll go,” Will said, finding he rather liked Candice for all her weirdness. “But I want to know what the canvas is for.”
She laughed. “Oh, they all do.” Then she winked at him. “Me and my canvas are the eleventh floor mystery. Only my supervisor knows what it’s about and he’s been sworn to secrecy.”
“So there’s no way of getting it out of you?”
She shrugged, glancing at the paints to her right. “Tell you what, if you guess correctly, I’ll tell you. If not, you’re out-o-luck, luv.” She paused, chewing her bottom lip in thought, then added, “Of course, you could try getting it out of me. But I imagine it’d take more charm than you have. So, good luck with that.”
Sig snorted behind them. “Dude,” he said to Will, “it’s not worth trying. If my charm doesn’t work on her, nobody’s will.” He gave a dashing smile, all straight teeth, and he winked at Candice. Candice rolled her eyes, but Will noticed a small quirk at her lips.
“It’s nothing to do with a double major?” Will threw out there. Damn, but he liked himself a mystery.
Candice laughed. “No-no. You don’t even get brownie points for creativity on that one.”
Will shook his head and set up his desk with smile.
This was so definitely a Freak Zone, and wouldn’t he just fit right in.
4 First Dunedin Student Party
A blur of a week and Friday night had arrived. Will dressed in a pair of black jeans and shirt, opting not to take a jacket he’d most probably end up lugging around. Which was a mistake. By the time he found Candice’s flat, having walked from Maori Hill, he was covered in goosebumps and his teeth were almost at the chattering stage.
He wished then he was the alcohol-drinking type, just to trick his body into thinking it was warm, because the idea of walking all that way back made him shiver. Literally.
Candice’s flat was crawling with people, and breezes carried the whiff of alcohol and puke to where he stood hovering at the gate. Gross. He was tempted to turn around and head right back home.
But another breeze blew up his sleeves, telling him to get his butt inside right now. He obeyed. It was too cold to dither outside; he’d go in—at least saying hi to Candice and Sig.
He found Candice fuming in the corner of the room next to a couch of hormone-crazed teens practically dry humping each other.
“I hate this,” was the first thing she said when she saw him. “This was not what I wanted my flat party to be! I’m gonna kill my flatmates for this. I can’t believe I invited my friends to this.”
“Yeah, looks pretty trashy.”
She snorted. “Ya think?” Storming over to the keg on a towel in the middle of the lounge, she pumped herself a drink, threw it back and poured another. When she came back, she shook her head. “I do not want to remember this night.” She skulled the second cup. “Also, if I’m drunk enough, I won’t physically be able to kill said flatmates, so this”—she tapped her cup—“is for them. Why I’m so considerate, I don’t know.”
“We could just ditch and go someplace else,” Will suggested, leaning over to shut the window behind them.
“Oh no-no, every few minutes I make a trip to my bedroom. I have to be here to make sure nothing unsanitary happens atop my grandmother’s quilt. Tomorrow I’m getting a lock put on that door.”
“Sounds like you need a new place to live too,” Will said. “Maybe we should scout around and find something together?”
The idea was sudden, but, yeah, it felt like a good idea. He reckoned he could live with someone like Candice all right. She was crazy enough to be interesting, but reasonable enough to keep things civilized. At least most of the time.
Candice sent him a smirk that would have had any sane straight guy melting a bit inside. “Already want to move in with me, do you? Am I that irresistible?”
He laughed, but it was edged with a little discomfort—he hadn’t actually told Candice or Sig he was gay yet, and honestly he couldn’t quite get a grip on what their reactions would be. So far the guys he’d seen here were real stand-offish and Heath’s friends hadn’t helped him feel comfortable about being so open.
He wished he had something to drink, but dammit, he didn’t. So he sucked it up, and rubbing one arm, just said it. “Er, living with you could be great, just to be clear though, I’m gay.”
“I know,” she said and then sighed. “No guy is ever that good-looking and straight.” She winked. “But humor me, would you? I’m bored and haven’t flirted in months, and if you’d turn up the charm right now,” she said looking past him across the room, “you’d be doing me a real favor. That bitch gets everything.”
He rung out a laugh, twisting to catch a glimpse of said ‘bitch’.
Candice helped him out. “She’s the one standing at the side table, opposite my flatmate Doug—look for a bushy beard.” He saw Doug and his scraggly beard first and then honed in on a curly blonde next to him. How did he not see her sooner? She was eying them up across the room with almost a scowl.
“Jeez, intense much?” he said.
Then, because he knew it meant nothing, he grabbed Candice and planted a kiss on her mouth, nothing extravagant, but enough to make it look real.
She laughed when he let her go. “Well, I think we can skip to the best-bloody-friend stage, eh,” she said him, and glancing at the bitch, she slapped his ass. Curly Blonde huffed and left the room. “Nice one, Will.”
A hefty blush warmed his cheeks. But damn, he would play this cool. “You’re very welcome, Candice. But you’re going to have to tell me the full story sometime.” He snapped his fingers. “Dammit, I should have used that as leverage.” He smiled, leaning in, “Say, Candice, can I make another friend of yours jealous in return for you telling me about that canvas-thingymajiggy?”
“Haw-haw. Hell no. I don’t give it up that easy. Not even to a fellow freak.”
“Hey, I’m no freak.” He flashed to his weird eating habits.
Well, maybe he was—but she didn’t know that.
“Oh, yes, you are. Now, back to the flat-hunting idea. . .” She bit the rim of her cup. “I’m locked into a six-month contract with my landlord, but how about next semester? It’ll be easier to find a place then too—heaps of students dropout or decide they don’t like living away from home—we could nab us a good deal.”
He held out a hand and she shook it. “Sounds like a deal to me.”
After sharing an extended smile, they chatted about random crap until Candice brought up Sig.
“What the heck is Sig short for, anyway?” he asked.
Before Candice could answer, a hand slapped down on Will’s shoulder and he spun to see the guy himself sans wizarding robe. Will’d discovered, over the course of the week, Freak Number Two only wore his robe on Mondays and every third Friday of the month for some role-playing thing he was into. Will couldn’t understand the interest, but the way Sig talked about it was like he was in love or something.
Standing before him now, dressed in jeans and a casual blue shirt, Will could only think: shit, this guy’s a stunner. Straight as hell and back again, one look and you just knew, but he was hot. And the best thing about him was that he didn’t know it. He didn’t seem to care wha
t he looked like, he was so cool with who he was.
Sig leaned on his shoulder, passing him a plastic cup full of beer. Will shook his head and Sig shrugged, offering it to Candice who took and downed it in one gulp. Jesus.
“Sig is short for Sigmund, of course,” he said, shaking his head. “Can you believe my folks did that to me? I don’t care if I’m half German, it’s not cool. Especially since my last name is Freud.”
He was so glad he didn’t have a drink, because he would have spat it out. “Sigmund Freud? Are you effing-kidding me?”
Sig stared at him, face blank, serious.
Holy crap that had to be the worst name—Candice cut off his thought with a snort that reverberated around her plastic cup.
Sig threw a scowl her way, setting Candice off into a bout of uncontrolled laughter—
Hiccup!
Will looked from the two of them, frowning, before realization hit him. “Shit, you were toying with me, weren’t you? You bastard.”
Sig’s face cracked into a laugh. “Yeah man, but you should’ve seen your face.”
Hiccup!
He glared at them both, but it quickly faded into a grin. “Well in my defense, with you two freaks it wouldn’t have been such a stretch to believe.”
Sig grinned, taking Candice’s empty cups and slipping them around his own. He perched himself next to her on the couch arm, equaling their height, and rubbed her back as she continued to hiccup.
There was something tender about the move, yet Sig seemed to be doing it on automatic. Like he didn’t realize how good-looking he was, he also didn’t realize how, well, sweet he was being. It was just him.
And Will knew, instinctively, this was a guy he wanted to be friends with.
“So,” Sig said, scanning the crowd, “either of you see Harriet? I thought I glimpsed her as I came in.”
Candice nodded. “Yeah, we saw her.” She mouthed ‘bitch’ to Will and he laughed.