getting noise complaints!” Randall dropped his tray at the head of the table, slid his Prada bag off one shoulder, and flounced down into the chair. He brushed gelled spikes back from his forehead with one hand as he looked from one glowering girl to the other. “Alrighty, then,” he mumbled.
April rose from her chair, scooping her book bag up off the floor by one strap. “I’ve got a lab,” she mumbled, already several feet away from the table by the time she slid the straps over both shoulders.
Randall was respectfully silent as she departed.
“She treats me like I’m her baby sister,” Kathryn finally said.
“She’s got a chip on her shoulder the size of the Korean peninsula. Don’t let yourself be her whipping girl.”
“What’s she so pissed about?” Kathryn asked.
Randall chewed a bit of salad slowly in thought.
“Maybe she is trying to convert you.”
“I’ll be sure not to tell anyone at the GLA that you said that.”
“Please. Why do you think their latest campaign is against Atherton’s . heterosexist housing policy?”
“Because all gay people end up being attracted to their roommates?” Kathryn retorted.
Randall looked up from his plate. “Well, if their roommate is as fine as you are, how can they help themselves?” He grinned, revealing even, white teeth, remarkable, Kathryn thought, for such a heavy smoker.
Kathryn managed a weak smile, noting the ease and speed with which Randall had ducked the obvious implication of her question. How attracted are you to the studly walking dick you sleep five feet away from every night? she wanted to demand. “Did you talk to your parents?” she asked instead. .
“About what?”
“Thanksgiving,” Kathryn said. Randall looked up, fork halfway to his mouth. “Boston,” she added.
He shook his head. “Not yet. My dad’s in Japan right now and whenever he leaves the country my mom kind of. . He lifted one cupped hand as if chugging from a bottle.
Kathryn tried a sympathetic grunt. “It’s not that big a deal,” Randall cut in quickly, as if embarrassed he had laid his drama on her. “It’s only when Dad’s gone. When he’s home he’s like .. . her anchor.”
“It still kind of sucks,” Kathryn said sympathetically, but trying to prod him for more.
Randall’s face went blank, his eyes on his plate as he shoveled another forkful of salad into his mouth. Kathryn decided to let it go. Still, she wondered if maybe it was Randall’s parents who didn’t want him home for Thanksgiving. A style victim of a gay son who disdained them might not be their idea of someone to be thankful for. New York was three hours away and they had never visited, and Kathryn couldn’t recall ever coming into Randall’s room when he was on the phone with them. She searched for a new conversation topic. Given her spat with April, she thought Lauren Raines’ shift in sexuality was taboo, so she dislodged her sliver-thin copy of the Atherton Herald from under one corner of her tray and slid it across the table to Randall.
“Check this out,” she said. Randall’s eyes alighted on the black-and-white photograph of Lisa Eberman. “Friday night Tim was bitching about how he hated writing for the Herald , and today he’s page one. He even got the headline.”
Randall picked up the paper, chewing slowly as he read it. She watched his face go grave. The grim photo of Lisa Eberman had struck her as well, but not as completely as it did Randall; her thought was that they could have at least shown some respect for the woman by running a picture of her smiling. But the candid shot showed a dour-looking woman, disturbed by the camera’s intrusion. A barrette held her black hair back on her head in a flat pleat. Crow’s-feet framed slanted, dark eyes above pinched lips.
“Are they
April rose from her chair, scooping her book bag up off the floor by one strap. “I’ve got a lab,” she mumbled, already several feet away from the table by the time she slid the straps over both shoulders.
Randall was respectfully silent as she departed.
“She treats me like I’m her baby sister,” Kathryn finally said.
“She’s got a chip on her shoulder the size of the Korean peninsula. Don’t let yourself be her whipping girl.”
“What’s she so pissed about?” Kathryn asked.
Randall chewed a bit of salad slowly in thought.
“Maybe she is trying to convert you.”
“I’ll be sure not to tell anyone at the GLA that you said that.”
“Please. Why do you think their latest campaign is against Atherton’s . heterosexist housing policy?”
“Because all gay people end up being attracted to their roommates?” Kathryn retorted.
Randall looked up from his plate. “Well, if their roommate is as fine as you are, how can they help themselves?” He grinned, revealing even, white teeth, remarkable, Kathryn thought, for such a heavy smoker.
Kathryn managed a weak smile, noting the ease and speed with which Randall had ducked the obvious implication of her question. How attracted are you to the studly walking dick you sleep five feet away from every night? she wanted to demand. “Did you talk to your parents?” she asked instead. .
“About what?”
“Thanksgiving,” Kathryn said. Randall looked up, fork halfway to his mouth. “Boston,” she added.
He shook his head. “Not yet. My dad’s in Japan right now and whenever he leaves the country my mom kind of. . He lifted one cupped hand as if chugging from a bottle.
Kathryn tried a sympathetic grunt. “It’s not that big a deal,” Randall cut in quickly, as if embarrassed he had laid his drama on her. “It’s only when Dad’s gone. When he’s home he’s like .. . her anchor.”
“It still kind of sucks,” Kathryn said sympathetically, but trying to prod him for more.
Randall’s face went blank, his eyes on his plate as he shoveled another forkful of salad into his mouth. Kathryn decided to let it go. Still, she wondered if maybe it was Randall’s parents who didn’t want him home for Thanksgiving. A style victim of a gay son who disdained them might not be their idea of someone to be thankful for. New York was three hours away and they had never visited, and Kathryn couldn’t recall ever coming into Randall’s room when he was on the phone with them. She searched for a new conversation topic. Given her spat with April, she thought Lauren Raines’ shift in sexuality was taboo, so she dislodged her sliver-thin copy of the Atherton Herald from under one corner of her tray and slid it across the table to Randall.
“Check this out,” she said. Randall’s eyes alighted on the black-and-white photograph of Lisa Eberman. “Friday night Tim was bitching about how he hated writing for the Herald , and today he’s page one. He even got the headline.”
Randall picked up the paper, chewing slowly as he read it. She watched his face go grave. The grim photo of Lisa Eberman had struck her as well, but not as completely as it did Randall; her thought was that they could have at least shown some respect for the woman by running a picture of her smiling. But the candid shot showed a dour-looking woman, disturbed by the camera’s intrusion. A barrette held her black hair back on her head in a flat pleat. Crow’s-feet framed slanted, dark eyes above pinched lips.
“Are they
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