undies. The guy is barely clothed as well--
just a pair of boxers arid lots of glossy sweat.
115
My mouth drops open just as Miss Smiley Sticker herself pauses a moment from licking down the length of his face.
"I'm so sorry" I blurt, my eyes practically popping out of my head.
"Didn't you see the sign?" she shouts. "We're a little busy in here."
"I'm sorry," I repeat. "I was in the shower."
"Come back in a couple minutes," her boyfriend tells me.
Janie frowns at him. "Make that an hour."
While they resume their activity, I avert my eyes, grab my book bag, pluck some clothes from the foot of my bed-- including Amber's knee-high sheepskin boots-- and head back to the bathroom to change. The worse part in this whole scenario-- aside from the fact that Little Miss Sticker is getting stuck in our room, making me have to evacuate the premises-- is that not only do I have to go to the library for real now (since that's the only place I can think of to go), but I also have to wear the ridiculous outfit Amber picked out for me, baby tee and all. I cannot believe these are the clothes I picked up. Thank god I also managed to scoop up my sweatshirt with the broken zipper.
So while Amber spends her Friday evening at some off-campus kegger, I spend mine dressed like a prostitute in a study carrel, raving it up with subjects like lipids, proteins, and narrative essays. The one saving grace-- my holistic health class. I know I'm technically already failing it, but I'm thinking it's going to be one of my better courses since I already know a lot of this stuff. I mean, it's actually interesting -- Ayurvedic principles of earth, fire, water, air, and space; 116
Tibetan herbal teas laced with yak butter; and Chinese healing rituals.
It's actually quite motivational, which is why I end up pulling an all-nighter. That and because when I call the room to check if Janie and her boy toy are finally done, she tells me that they aren't, but I'm welcome to sleep in our room anyway since it's "really no big deal."
Needless to say, it's a less-than-tempting offer-- one I don't even need to think twice about. So Saturday morning, in lieu of heading straight back to the room for a shower and some sleep, I forget that I'm still dressed like a prostitute and hop on the bus that will take me into town to pick up my prescription.
When I get back to the room, Janie's in bed-- alone, this time. So is Amber. I pop a pill, change into my flannel pj's, and set my dream box down on the pillow beside me. It's a small wooden box I bought at a flea market last year. Made of smooth golden pinewood with a chrome hinge and a matching clasp, I open it up so that it can catch my dreams. Jacob taught me all about dream boxes. He'd been keeping one since his freshman year of high school and found that when left open before bed, it enabled one to remember what they dreamed about, so they didn't end up forgetting as soon as they woke up.
Concentrating on Jacob-- on the time we painted henna on each other; on the night we did the spell to banish secrets, and how he held me right after; how we physically declared our love for one another-- I lie back in bed and close my eyes, the blissful memories lulling me to sleep.
117
117
I wake up with a start, several hours later. There's a knocking at the door. I look down at my dream box. It's still open, still sitting beside me on the pillow But I don't remember a thing.
I take a deep breath, wondering who's at our door. Amber and Janie are still in their beds, seemingly unaffected by the banging. So maybe I should ignore it, too. I roll over in bed, dragging a pillow over my ear to block out the noise.
That's when I hear Amber moan her annoyance. She gets up and staggers over to the door. "It's only ten-freaking- thirty in the morning," she whines. "Unless you're packing a serious bag of Skittles and looking for a good time, I don't want any." The next thing I know, the door creaks open and I hear Amber
just a pair of boxers arid lots of glossy sweat.
115
My mouth drops open just as Miss Smiley Sticker herself pauses a moment from licking down the length of his face.
"I'm so sorry" I blurt, my eyes practically popping out of my head.
"Didn't you see the sign?" she shouts. "We're a little busy in here."
"I'm sorry," I repeat. "I was in the shower."
"Come back in a couple minutes," her boyfriend tells me.
Janie frowns at him. "Make that an hour."
While they resume their activity, I avert my eyes, grab my book bag, pluck some clothes from the foot of my bed-- including Amber's knee-high sheepskin boots-- and head back to the bathroom to change. The worse part in this whole scenario-- aside from the fact that Little Miss Sticker is getting stuck in our room, making me have to evacuate the premises-- is that not only do I have to go to the library for real now (since that's the only place I can think of to go), but I also have to wear the ridiculous outfit Amber picked out for me, baby tee and all. I cannot believe these are the clothes I picked up. Thank god I also managed to scoop up my sweatshirt with the broken zipper.
So while Amber spends her Friday evening at some off-campus kegger, I spend mine dressed like a prostitute in a study carrel, raving it up with subjects like lipids, proteins, and narrative essays. The one saving grace-- my holistic health class. I know I'm technically already failing it, but I'm thinking it's going to be one of my better courses since I already know a lot of this stuff. I mean, it's actually interesting -- Ayurvedic principles of earth, fire, water, air, and space; 116
Tibetan herbal teas laced with yak butter; and Chinese healing rituals.
It's actually quite motivational, which is why I end up pulling an all-nighter. That and because when I call the room to check if Janie and her boy toy are finally done, she tells me that they aren't, but I'm welcome to sleep in our room anyway since it's "really no big deal."
Needless to say, it's a less-than-tempting offer-- one I don't even need to think twice about. So Saturday morning, in lieu of heading straight back to the room for a shower and some sleep, I forget that I'm still dressed like a prostitute and hop on the bus that will take me into town to pick up my prescription.
When I get back to the room, Janie's in bed-- alone, this time. So is Amber. I pop a pill, change into my flannel pj's, and set my dream box down on the pillow beside me. It's a small wooden box I bought at a flea market last year. Made of smooth golden pinewood with a chrome hinge and a matching clasp, I open it up so that it can catch my dreams. Jacob taught me all about dream boxes. He'd been keeping one since his freshman year of high school and found that when left open before bed, it enabled one to remember what they dreamed about, so they didn't end up forgetting as soon as they woke up.
Concentrating on Jacob-- on the time we painted henna on each other; on the night we did the spell to banish secrets, and how he held me right after; how we physically declared our love for one another-- I lie back in bed and close my eyes, the blissful memories lulling me to sleep.
117
117
I wake up with a start, several hours later. There's a knocking at the door. I look down at my dream box. It's still open, still sitting beside me on the pillow But I don't remember a thing.
I take a deep breath, wondering who's at our door. Amber and Janie are still in their beds, seemingly unaffected by the banging. So maybe I should ignore it, too. I roll over in bed, dragging a pillow over my ear to block out the noise.
That's when I hear Amber moan her annoyance. She gets up and staggers over to the door. "It's only ten-freaking- thirty in the morning," she whines. "Unless you're packing a serious bag of Skittles and looking for a good time, I don't want any." The next thing I know, the door creaks open and I hear Amber
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