gave good advice, and, at times, we were more like sisters.
In fact, that had been my biggest worry about moving to Santa Barbara for college missing mom. But I had been too busy to think about home, never mind miss it. And, much as I loved her, I liked the independence, the feeling of being an adult, of being able to set my own schedule and of not being answerable to anyone although that wasn’t entirely true, I had a boss at work, and professors to satisfy. I also had, well not exactly a boyfriend, but a guy I’d been dating on and off.
There was a knock at my dorm room door. Fresh from the shower, with a towel still wrapped around me, I called out, “Who is it?” even though I knew it could only be one person.
“Like, duh, it’s a serial killer,” Kishani shouted from the other side of the door.
I had met Kishani on my first day, and we had pretty much become inseparable since then, although I wasn’t exactly sure why Kishani had made the decision to befriend me. Unlike me, Kishani didn’t have to work a job. Her father, who’d grown up in Sri Lanka but gone to college at Harvard and married into a pretty WASPY New England family, was some big-shot corporate attorney in LA. Not that Kishani’s life hadn’t been without its bumps. While Kish dripped money, and drove a brand new baby Beemer, she had confided to me that at her preppy private boarding school in Massachusetts, her mixed parentage had ensured she was still something of an outsider. No matter our differences, we had bonded. When I wasn’t working, or studying, I was with Kishani.
I opened the door, and Kishani swept in, waving a bottle of Jaegermeister and two shot glasses. “Party time, bitch!”
Like a lot of the rich kids I had met at UCSB, Kishani dropped more cuss words than a longshoreman. It was as if college was everyone’s chance to leave behind the person they’d been back at home and Kishani had embraced the opportunity with vigor.
Kishani immediately crossed to my IPod docking station, scrolled down to a playlist of party tunes, and cranked up the volume. She set down the two shot glasses, poured a double shot of Jaeger into each, handed one to me and took one for herself.
We clinked glasses. “I am so going to fuck some poor guy’s brains out tonight,” Kishani said.
I tossed back my drink in a oner. Big mistake. I’d forgotten how much Jaeger tasted like cough medicine. Plus I’d skipped lunch. And dinner. What the hell, I thought. Even if I wasn’t a big drinker, I had no classes tomorrow, and no work until the evening. If I ended up with a hangover it would be mostly clear by then. I could feel the hot rush of the alcohol as it made its way into my stomach. I was already relaxing, loosening up, getting into party mode.
Kishani shook her head from side to side at the taste of the Jaeger as well. She slammed her shot glass down on the desk. “Another shot?”
“Shouldn’t we wait until we get inside the club?”
Kishani pouted. “Party pooper. But, yeah, you’re right. I’d be bummed if we got turned away at the door. You have your ID, right?”
“Of course,” I told her. Pretty much everyone we knew had a fake ID. Some of the clubs could be pretty strict about carding students, and if you couldn’t get into the clubs it made a serious dent in your social life. Plus, it was ridiculous that you could vote, and drive a car, and even get married, but you couldn’t legally buy a beer. I fished my ID from my purse and held it up in front of Kishani as proof.
“Cool,” she said, turning her attention to my wardrobe, opening it up, and flicking through the clothes hanging from the rail. “So what you gonna wear? Let’s see. I think tonight calls for something slutty,” Kishani grinned.
Three
“I can’t go out like this. Seriously, Kish, I can’t. I look like a hooker,” I protested, as Kishani put the final touches to my outfit.
“Oh. My. God. You sound like my Dad. That’s like one of his
In fact, that had been my biggest worry about moving to Santa Barbara for college missing mom. But I had been too busy to think about home, never mind miss it. And, much as I loved her, I liked the independence, the feeling of being an adult, of being able to set my own schedule and of not being answerable to anyone although that wasn’t entirely true, I had a boss at work, and professors to satisfy. I also had, well not exactly a boyfriend, but a guy I’d been dating on and off.
There was a knock at my dorm room door. Fresh from the shower, with a towel still wrapped around me, I called out, “Who is it?” even though I knew it could only be one person.
“Like, duh, it’s a serial killer,” Kishani shouted from the other side of the door.
I had met Kishani on my first day, and we had pretty much become inseparable since then, although I wasn’t exactly sure why Kishani had made the decision to befriend me. Unlike me, Kishani didn’t have to work a job. Her father, who’d grown up in Sri Lanka but gone to college at Harvard and married into a pretty WASPY New England family, was some big-shot corporate attorney in LA. Not that Kishani’s life hadn’t been without its bumps. While Kish dripped money, and drove a brand new baby Beemer, she had confided to me that at her preppy private boarding school in Massachusetts, her mixed parentage had ensured she was still something of an outsider. No matter our differences, we had bonded. When I wasn’t working, or studying, I was with Kishani.
I opened the door, and Kishani swept in, waving a bottle of Jaegermeister and two shot glasses. “Party time, bitch!”
Like a lot of the rich kids I had met at UCSB, Kishani dropped more cuss words than a longshoreman. It was as if college was everyone’s chance to leave behind the person they’d been back at home and Kishani had embraced the opportunity with vigor.
Kishani immediately crossed to my IPod docking station, scrolled down to a playlist of party tunes, and cranked up the volume. She set down the two shot glasses, poured a double shot of Jaeger into each, handed one to me and took one for herself.
We clinked glasses. “I am so going to fuck some poor guy’s brains out tonight,” Kishani said.
I tossed back my drink in a oner. Big mistake. I’d forgotten how much Jaeger tasted like cough medicine. Plus I’d skipped lunch. And dinner. What the hell, I thought. Even if I wasn’t a big drinker, I had no classes tomorrow, and no work until the evening. If I ended up with a hangover it would be mostly clear by then. I could feel the hot rush of the alcohol as it made its way into my stomach. I was already relaxing, loosening up, getting into party mode.
Kishani shook her head from side to side at the taste of the Jaeger as well. She slammed her shot glass down on the desk. “Another shot?”
“Shouldn’t we wait until we get inside the club?”
Kishani pouted. “Party pooper. But, yeah, you’re right. I’d be bummed if we got turned away at the door. You have your ID, right?”
“Of course,” I told her. Pretty much everyone we knew had a fake ID. Some of the clubs could be pretty strict about carding students, and if you couldn’t get into the clubs it made a serious dent in your social life. Plus, it was ridiculous that you could vote, and drive a car, and even get married, but you couldn’t legally buy a beer. I fished my ID from my purse and held it up in front of Kishani as proof.
“Cool,” she said, turning her attention to my wardrobe, opening it up, and flicking through the clothes hanging from the rail. “So what you gonna wear? Let’s see. I think tonight calls for something slutty,” Kishani grinned.
Three
“I can’t go out like this. Seriously, Kish, I can’t. I look like a hooker,” I protested, as Kishani put the final touches to my outfit.
“Oh. My. God. You sound like my Dad. That’s like one of his
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