by Claire Adams
“Hi, Brooke,” I responded, leaning against the doorframe and subtly flexing my muscles just to mess with her.
“I, um, I brought your pot back,” she mumbled, suddenly thrusting the pot into my hands like an awkward schoolgirl. It was actually pretty adorable.
I took the pot just as my towel started to slip off my waist. She caught sight of it sliding down and her eyes widened. It was about an inch away from letting everything hang out when I shot a hand down and caught it.
“Oops,” I chuckled—sorry but not really sorry. “So, how was the curry?”
“Oh, it was, um, yeah, it was totally impressive,” she replied, still trying—and failing—to keep her eyes from wandering. “You're a very talented cook. Thank you so much for dinner.”
“Not a problem,” I replied. “I love cooking, especially Asian cuisine—Thai, Chinese, Japanese. I think I mentioned it when we first met, I've really been wanting to visit Japan. You lived there, right?”
“Yeah, I… Yes, I lived in Japan for over a year.”
She was settling down a little and didn't seem as flustered, but she kept sneaking appreciative glances at my body and running her fingers through her hair while she was talking to me. Something about it was kind of sexy.
“Cool. I'd love to chat sometime about places to see, things to eat, you know, all that stuff I should know that a tourist guide can’t tell me… if you don't mind.”
“Uh, yeah, sure, sometime.”
“I mean, we're lab partners now, so I guess we're gonna be spending some time together.”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess we are,” she replied, smiling at me for the first time. It was a great smile.
“So, I guess I'll email you about that,” I said with a wink, causing her to blush.
“Hey, Emerson, you want a beer? There are a few cold ones in the fridge, right?”
I spun around at the sound of Melissa coming inside from the balcony. When she saw Brooke at the door, immediately a venomous glare entered her eyes.
“Oh, it's your neighbor,” she said flatly. “Is something the matter?”
“No, everything is just great,” I said.
“I, um, I should be going now,” Brooke stammered, suddenly appearing uncomfortable and, if I was reading her facial expression correctly, a little jealous.
“Nice to see you again, uh, whatever your name is,” Melissa chided as she walked off into the kitchen to get a beer.
Brooke turned around and headed back to her apartment.
“Wait!” I called out after her.
She stopped and looked over her shoulder at me. “Yeah?”
Suddenly, I was at a loss for words. Why had I told her to wait? What did I want to say? I wasn't sure, really. It had been more of an instinctual reaction. I just hadn't wanted her to leave like that. I didn’t want her to have the wrong impression about me and Melissa. But somehow, I figured it may have been too late for that.
“I, uh, I just wanted to talk about chemistry class,” I blurted out as a last resort.
“Oh. Well, we have to finish reading chapters one and two by tomorrow morning. If you need any other information, you know where to find me,” she replied.
With that, she hurried into her apartment and closed the door behind her.
“Bye,” I said to the empty hallway before slowly closing my own door.
Chapter Nine
Brooke
“So, what did he say?” Leslie asked the second I walked through the door.
“Oh, uhhh, nothing. Or something. I dunno,” I replied.
“Huh? Why are you looking so flustered, Bee?”
“He, uh, he answered the door half-naked.”
Leslie's eyes widened and she let out a riotous laugh. “So that's why your cheeks are all red, huh? So how did he look without a shirt on? As good as I imagine he does?”
I grinned. “Better.”
We both laughed, then I changed my tone. I had to tell her what else I'd seen there. “So, that Melissa girl was there, too. And uh, he answered the door only in a towel, soooo yeah…”
“Oooh.”
“Exactly.”
“Sorry, Brooke.”
“Why are you sorrying me? I told you I wasn't interested in him. Granted, he's hot and clearly has a great body, but that's about it. I told you, I have to focus on my studies this semester. Besides, he's with blondie and totally off-limits. Seeing that makes it even easier than it was before to write off this ridiculous attraction.”
Leslie grinned. “So, you admit you’re attracted to him.” She gave me her I told you so look. “Are you sure he's with her, though?”
I raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Les, come on. He's in there naked with her, alone. What else could they be doing?”
I almost mentioned the noises I had heard but stopped myself. Leslie had been pissed enough the first time it had happened. If she knew it had happened again, she'd go over there and make a scene, which I didn't want.
“It might not be what you think. Don't jump to conclusions,” she said.
“Well, it seems pretty damn obvious to me.”
“Um, might I remind you of the Brandt Lucas incident our senior year? You said that was obvious, too. Just ask Emerson about it when you're studying with him or something!”
I shook my head. “Oh, my God, Les, I can't just ask him about that! What am I supposed to say?”
“Just ask?”
I put on my best male jock accent and tried to imitate Chris as best I could. “Yo, Emerson, bro, are you like, bangin' that fake-tittied Melissa bitch, dawg?”
We both burst out laughing at my silly impression.
“Regardless of what's happening with him and that Melissa chick, I hope you let Emerson know how much we enjoyed the curry chicken. It was pretty amazing, right?” Leslie said.
“Oh, my God, so good! The man knows how to cook.”
Something mischievous sparkled in Leslie's eyes. “I wonder what other tricks he's got up his sleeve?”
“Come off it, Les, I'm not interested. Just forget about it.”
“Alright, alright. For now,” she grinned and picked up the TV remote.
We were halfway through an episode of Mad Men when it started: a deep, intense thumping that seemed to rattle and vibrate everything in our apartment.
“What the hell is that?” Leslie exclaimed, looking around in surprise.
“I’m pretty sure it's bass,” I replied. “Sounds like a car with a really, really insane sound system.”
We paused the show and went out on the balcony to see if someone had parked their pimped ride outside and had started an impromptu block party on the street. However, the street was quiet. There wasn’t a soul around. The deep thumping of music continued, though. We walked back inside, wondering where the sound was coming from.
“Damn, that is loud,” exclaimed Leslie. “Like seriously, what's going on?”
I thought I knew. I turned and walked into my room, and as soon as I opened the door, the sound seemed to come through a lot louder. Just as I had suspected, the music was coming from the apartment next door.
Leslie followed me into my room and immediately came to the same conclusion.
“It's Chris and Emerson,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and shaking her head.
I checked my watch. “It's getting close to midnight, and it's a weeknight. This isn't right.”
“You're damn right it isn’t!” she announced, her eyes fiery with anger as her quick temper took hold. “I'm gonna go over there and give those two a piece of my damn mind!”
“Hold on, hold on. Let me go. You know how you get when you're uh, a little… upset.”
“I'll rip their damn balls off!”
“Annnnd my point is made. I'll ask them nicely first, okay? Just hold up. We don’t need to be rearranging people’s anatomy unnecessarily.”
She was fuming, but she nodded her head in agreement. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to step in and save someone f
rom Leslie’s wrath. It probably wouldn’t be the last, but it was a better idea to let me use a more diplomatic approach.
I stopped off in the bathroom to check my reflection in the mirror and then headed over. As soon as I got into the hall, the music got a lot louder. I wondered if I shouldn't wait and let some other resident do the complaining for me because, surely, someone else would be just as annoyed by the music as we were. But when I heard Leslie shouting profanities from within our apartment behind me, I knew it couldn't wait. If I didn't go now, she would, and then we'd have World War Three on our hands. I inhaled a deep breath and knocked.
The music was so loud that nobody heard me. I had to resort to balling my hand into a fist and hammering on the door so violently that it shook on the hinges.
After a few moments, the door opened and there stood a shirtless Chris, bleary-eyed with drunkenness.
“Woohoo, one of the babes from next door has come to join the party!” he roared. The stench of beer on his breath was overwhelming. Behind him in the apartment, some of the bimbos I'd seen with them before were all playing what I could only assume was strip poker, judging from the cards scattered across the coffee table and the state of undress some of them were in.
“Uh, I did not come to join the party, Chris,” I said. “I just wanted to ask if you could maybe turn the music down a bit.”
“What? I can't hear you, Lester,” he slurred.
“My roommate is Leslie, I'm Brooke,” I said, getting annoyed. “The music, could you turn it down?”
Just then Emerson stepped out of the kitchen, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs. He had a beer in his hand, and he looked a little on the drunk side, too. I couldn't help but stare; he was built like a Greek god. All the hours he’d spent at gym had paid off. However, now that I'd seen it before, I was able to keep my eyes more properly focused. Being annoyed at his obnoxious roommate helped, as well.
“Hey, Brooke!” Emerson shouted. He seemed very excited to see me. “Come on in! We're just playing some drinking games here! You'll have a great time, c'mon!”
“Uh, no thanks, Emerson.”
“What?” he questioned, his face crinkled as if he couldn’t understand me.
“I SAID, NO THANKS. LISTEN, COULD YOU PLEASE TURN THE MUSIC DOWN?”
“HUH?”
That was it. I pushed past Chris and walked into their place, squeezing past Emerson, as well. The girls all stopped their chatting and giggling and stared at me in surprise as I pushed my way past them, too. I headed straight for their sound system—a gigantic, expensive set of equipment—and began searching for the volume button. The music was absolutely deafening inside the apartment. It was almost like being inside an actual nightclub.
“HEY, THIS CHICK IS A DJ!” shouted Chris from the door. “SHE'S GONNA SPIN SOME TRACKS! HIT IT, GIRL! THAT'S MY NEW DJ SETUP! I'M LEARNING TO DJ, YO! SHOW US WHAT YOU GOT!”
I found the volume knob and quickly turned it down, dropping the sound level by half.
“I am not a DJ,” I stated firmly, suddenly feeling my cheeks starting to glow with embarrassment as everyone stopped what they were doing and stared disapprovingly at me. “I just wanted to ask you guys to turn the sound down a bit. The bass is going right through to our apartment next door, and it's so crazy that it's actually making everything literally shake inside our place. Please, guys, please just be a little more considerate, okay? Both of us next door have really long days tomorrow and we need to sleep. I'm not saying you can't party, but please, please just keep it down, alright?”
Chris looked like he was about to say something, but Emerson jumped in before he could. “I'm sorry, Brooke,” he said, looking genuinely ashamed. “We've, uh, we've had a few drinks and I guess we didn't realize how loud the music was. We'll keep it down.”
The girls were all staring at me with naked hatred in their eyes. I was now the bitchy, no-fun neighbor, for sure. Not that I cared, but I couldn't take their stares for a moment longer. I hurried out of the apartment without another word.
“Wait, Brooke!” Emerson called out after me, but I was done. I stormed back into my apartment and slammed the door shut behind me.
Inside, Leslie was waiting not so patiently. “How did it go?”
“Well, the music's quieter now, right?”
She glared at me with that knowing expression of her. She knew how upset I was. “Oh no, were they jerks about it?” she asked.
“No, well, Chris kinda was. Emerson wasn’t. But those girls they had in there—you know, the same group of airheads who were at their party before. Jeez, Les, they looked at me like I was the devil incarnate. They gave me these cold-hearted, bitchy stares like I was the one in the wrong.”
Leslie gave me a hug. “Aw, don't let the idiots get to you. They were being complete assholes. It's a good thing I didn't go over there because you can bet a can of whoop-ass would've been opened, especially if any of those dumb bitches had dared give me the hairy eyeball. I've got half a mind to go over there right now anyway and hand out a few ass-whoopins.”
“No, Les, let it go. I've taken care of it. The music is down, and I don’t think they’ll turn it up again. We don't need any more conflict tonight. Let's just go to bed.”
“Alright, if you insist.”
“I do.”
We both went to our rooms. I got ready and slipped into my bed, still feeling a little awful from the confrontation. I turned the lights off and fell asleep to the muffled thumping of dance music faintly coming through the wall next to me.
***
When I walked into chemistry class, the chair I had planned on making my usual seat was taken. The one next to it was open, however, so I walked into the lecture hall and sat down.
I didn’t recall seeing the guy sitting in my seat in this class on Monday, I had scoped everyone out since I was one of the first ones to arrive the first day of class. I’d have remembered him. He was really good-looking. Not as striking as Emerson, but like my neighbor, this guy looked like he worked out regularly. He had short-cropped, dark blond hair, a bit of rough stubble on his face, and the black-rimmed glasses he wore gave him an intellectual air, which I had to admit I found quite alluring.
He glanced across at me as I took my seat and smiled. “Hi,” he said. “Sorry, did I take your seat?”
“Um, yeah, actually you did. But it's okay, this seat’s fine.”
“Sorry about that. I just transferred into this class and didn't know if people had regular seats or what. I'll move, it's fine.”
“No, no, you can stay. Nobody sits in this chair, so I'll just stay here.”
“I'm Garrett, by the way,” he said with a smile, extending his hand to me.
I shook it, noticing immediately how strong and firm his grip was. “I'm Brooke. Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, likewise. So, tell me, Brooke, how are you enjoying this class so far?”
“Well, we’ve only had one class, but the professor is awesome. She's totally got a knack for explaining difficult concepts in a way that makes them easy to grasp. But I don’t know if you can go by me. Since I was a kid, I've always been fascinated with chemistry, so I might have an edge in understanding it.”
“Nice. When I was little, I used to mix all sorts of things together in jars, pretending they were beakers on Bunsen burners. My dad was pretty stoked about it because he's a physicist, but Mom wasn't too pleased. Probably because she always had to clean up the mess afterward.”
“Yeah, I'm sure she wasn't too happy about that.” I chuckled, then let out a yawn. It was early and I hadn't gotten enough sleep. Emerson and Chris had kept their party going until the early hours of the morning, and the music, although turned down, had still come through my wall and woke me up a few times.
“Late night last night?” Garrett asked.
“Yeah, but it wasn't by choice. My neighbors are two frat-boy types. One of them apparently just got a new sound system and they were playing loud music until the early hours of the m
orning. I couldn't get any sleep.”
“Oh man, they sound like real winners. Why didn't you call the cops on 'em?”
“Well, uh, that sounds a bit extreme. And, I'm sure the cops have more important things to attend to.”
“In this town? Nothing happens here, Brooke. Next time, call the cops. I promise it works. I lived next to this guy who used to get drunk and play drums until after midnight.”
“Drums? Oh man, that must have been terrible.”
“It was, trust me. He wasn't even a good drummer!”
I laughed. “Wow, so it was super bad, huh?”
“Yeah. One night and this was after he ignored me politely asking him to keep it down a few times, I’d had enough and called the cops. Like I said, they've got nothing to do in this town, really, so I think they were kinda excited to actually have something to deal with. They showed up five minutes after I called. I don’t know what they said to this guy, but he never played drums at night again. Not even once.”
“Really?”
“Really. So, I'm telling you, if your jerk neighbors start making a racket late at night again, don't even talk to 'em. Go straight for the phone. Get the cops around, and they'll shut those guys up in about two seconds.”
“Yeah, maybe I should.”
“Hey, Brooke, um, we need to schedule a time to do this week's practicals.” The familiar voice interrupted the conversation.
Emerson.
I froze. I could practically feel my face turn crimson. I wondered if he’d been sitting behind me the whole time. I had to assume he’d overheard the entire conversation. I prayed for the earth to open and swallow me up. Garrett, however, jumped right into the conversation.
“Oh, are you two lab partners?” he said, turning around to face Emerson.
“Yeah, we are.”
“Nice to meet you, man, I'm Garrett.” Garrett extended a friendly hand to Emerson.
I sat and watched in mortified silence as Emerson took Garrett's hand and shook it. I wondered if he was going to tell him that he was the “jerk neighbor.”
