Maybe that's what dancing is for, Liz thinks. Like a human mating ritual. It's getting more erotic by the moment, and Liz is starting to feel just a little hot and bothered.
Suddenly feeling like a voyeur, Liz turns away, flushed. With a start she realizes it's not just the make out dance. It's that the dance made her think about Ethan. Because she's half hoping Ethan will magically arrive.
Wait a minute. Where did that thought come from? Ethan. Huh. Ethan.
Like that isn't the last thing she needs. It's a good thing he isn't here. Except a bit of reflection makes her realize he's the real reason she allowed herself to be talked into coming. That she had the idea Ethan spends most evenings here. With the other stoners. Serves her right to be wrong.
But what on earth is she thinking? Well. Apparently she isn't. Thinking, that is. Well, not with her brain, anyway.
Being back in school isn't like she thought it would be, that's for sure. In some ways its a chance to be a kid again, without having to relive the hell that was high school. But everything happens so fast, who has time to think? Hmmm. But Ethan? She knew he made her smile, but, apparently that's not all he makes her feel.
At least he's older than Jake. Liz wonders what it would be like to feel the way Elsie and Eric do. Those two are so obviously in love. Wonders how dancing like that feels, wonders how dancing with Ethan like that would feel. Again her eyes are drawn back to the lovers dancing in total disregard of the rest of the world. The world that doesn't seem to exist for them.
An acrid mix of cold air and smoke gets up her nose, and Liz looks up as Miese leads several smokers in from the cold. Miese is another Fyfield housemate, inevitably nicknamed “Mouse.” Liz wonders momentarily if it bothers her that no one calls her by her real name. But Mouse is perpetually cheerful, the kind that takes everything in stride.
Liz doesn't know any of the other smokers settling in at the adjacent table until she spots Ethan bringing up the rear. Liz feels an involuntary tingle at the sight of the guy she's just been entertaining impure thoughts about. She looks away, afraid he'll see her telltale blush. Where's Jake. Or Natasha? She needs distraction.
Liz has no idea why she has a crush on Ethan. It makes no sense. But then, maybe it's because he is so different. Relaxed. Liz herself is anything but. Ethan is a housemate, and he's a fine photographer, just not in Jake's league. But then, who is? And Ethan is Professor Mol's teaching assistant, so at least he's a bit older than most of them. But Liz doesn't really know him, just something about the guy makes her mouth go dry. She'd like to run her fingers through his wild and curly mop of hair.
She glances furtively over but he looks up just as she does and catches her eye. Ethan winks right at her, inspiring another tingle. As she turns away in embarrassment it occurs to her that part of what makes the wink so great is the sexy dimple it brings out in his cheek.
Doesn't really matter anyway. Liz has been too tall for most guys since the second grade, and now she's too old, too. But that's good, right? She doesn't need complications. She's not here for romance, she's here for a degree. But then Liz is a little surprised to realize that Ethan is sitting over there juggling. Juggling. How cool is that?
Liz pinches herself under the table. She's got to stop this, it's getting ridiculous. Any minute now she's going to haul Ethan onto the dance floor. Which would be nuts because she really can't dance. It would be fun to be able to do a make out dance except that she has no rhythm. None at all. Maybe she just wants to make out.
Jake sets a glass in front of her and Liz grins in relief.
Sipping innocuous ginger ale, she glances nonchalantly over and sees Ethan has finished juggling and is now listening to one of the computer geeks. What's so striking is that that Adam guy is about as far from being a druggie as you get. Even dressed casually his neck cries out for a power tie. Yet somehow Ethan puts him at ease. Relaxed.
Boris and Natasha come back to the table, and Liz tubs her eyes, realizing now she can leave without it looking like she's ditching Jake. As she slips on her jacket, Natasha asks, “Heading home?”
Liz nods.
“You want us to come?” asks Natasha.
Liz shakes her head. “No, that's alright. It's just a little loud for me. The quiet outside will do me good. See you later.”
“Wait a minute,” says Jake. “Why don't we all blow this pop stand. There's this guy I want you all to meet, and since it's so mild, tonight would be perfect. There might not be another chance for a while.”
“Who is this guy Jake?” asks Boris.
But Jake is already heading for the door. “It's a surprise.”
Following, Natasha says, “I love surprises.”
Boris and Liz trail after, Liz happy they're using the rear exit because it saves her walking past Ethan. As she pulls the door shut behind her, Liz glances back and sees Ethan is still talking with Adam; as oblivious to her departure as he is to the solitary figures of Eric and Elsie dancing slowly through the pools of coloured light.
Just as well.
Liz follows her friends into the night, part of her wishes Ethan was coming, part of her relieved he's not.
chapter 3 . . . friday
Maggie and Amelia sip coffee at the big table in the Fyfield House common room when a bleary eyed Liz comes down. She wasn't kidding when she said she wasn't a partier.
Maggie's make-up bag is open with pots of this and tubes of that scattered everywhere. Amelia reads from a very thick paperback. Maggie looks up from applying mascara to give Liz a big smile. “Look what the cat dragged in. Where were you 'til all hours last night Miss Lizzie?”
Liz pauses long enough to say, “Star gazing,” flash a smile and continue on to the kitchen. She gets out a cup then starts a fruitless search of the fridge for milk.
There is milk.
Liz knows there is milk.
Because she bought a litre yesterday and hasn't even opened it. But where is it? It is not here. It's gone.
She feels herself tensing, then takes a deep breath and opens the cupboard where the disgusting powder cream substitute lives. Funny how that never runs out. She sighs and pours herself some coffee.
Liz can't stomach black coffee at all but she sure needs coffee this morning. The gritty powdered cream she dislikes is better than nothing. Sighing, she adds it to her cup then takes the disgusting concoction back out to join the others.
As always, Amelia's nose is in her book. Focusing on the title, Liz sits down and says with a smile, “Don Quicks-Oat? Sounds like a breakfast cereal.”
Maggie looks at Liz with a creased brow, then realizes Amelia is reading Don Quixote and Liz is talking about Amelia's book. Amelia looks up, then she gets it too. Amelia and Maggie share a look and begin to smirk . . . then splutter . . . then howl.
Liz watches them. Irritated.
“What?” she says. Amelia and Maggie just laugh harder.
“What!?” Liz says again in frustration.
Amelia is laughing, hugging herself trying to draw breath. Maggie brushes the tears of laughter away and says “Don Quicks-Oat,” then doubles over again.
Liz purses her lips, folds her arms and sits back, watching. Any trace of her normally sunny disposition is gone.
She waits.
Finally they start calming down, getting under control.
Maggie grins at Liz and says, “Lizzie, you have just provided the laugh of the day.” Catching a glimpse of her raccoon eyes in the makeup mirror Maggie says, “Shit, I'm gonna have to start over.”
Liz narrows her eyes. “Wanna let me in on the joke, Mary Margaret?” Venomous.
Maggie scowls. “There's no call to get mean.”
Liz can't believe it. The urge to slap Maggie is strong.
“Slow down,” says Amelia, realizing Liz is not a happy camper. “It's funny. Truly. The name is Spanish. The book is Spanish. You pronounce it 'Don Key-Ho-Tay'.”
Liz rolls her eyes, getting it. “You mean the crazy old man and Sancho Panz
a? Man of La Mancha.”
Nodding, Amelia says “That's the one, yeah. I know, I know, you've just never seen it written down. Part of what made it so funny is I remember the first time I saw it written. You're not the first one to sound it out English style.”
“Okay,” says Liz, “but tell me this. You're an English major. Why study Don Quixote if it's Spanish?”
“It's thought to be the first novel, and we're studying the novel form. Before this there were only epic poems and theatre.”
“Oh.”
“The musical is great, but the novel is the story Cervantes tells in the jail during the play.” Waving the thick book she grins. “There's an awful lot more of it for one thing. The musical is about Cervantes being arrested for writing his seditious book Don Quixote during the Spanish Inquisition.”
Maggie pipes up in perfect mimicry of the Monty Python faux Spanish accent, “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!” and the three girls crack up. Together this time.
When they're quite done, Liz stirs her coffee and takes a sip. “My mom took me to see that show on Broadway when I was in high school. It was so great.”
“That sounds awesome. Wanna trade moms?” asks Maggie. “Mine would never do anything like that.”
Smiling, Liz thinks maybe Maggie isn't so bad.
“It was just us girls. It was fun taking the train to New York and then staying in a hotel. My Dad wouldn't go to a musical to save his life, so he stayed home with the boys. And it was great, but I was bawling my eyes out by the end, though.”
“Wow,” Amelia smiles, “I'd love to see it done live.”
“The music was beautiful but it rocked visually, too. The set was amazing, I mean it was a dungeon and all but it was like. . . um . . . grotty, but artistic. And the lighting was amazing.”
“Broadway.” Amelia says almost reverently. “That is so cool. The closest I've come is the Peter O'Toole movie.”
Maggie asks, “Peter O'Toole?”
“He's an old movie star my Mom likes,” says Liz. “He played Orlando's dad in that movie Troy.”
Maggie nods, “Okay, yeah.”
Amelia says, “He was good as Quixote but you could tell his singing was dubbed. You know, the play is as fictional as the novel, but I think the musical was a way to make points about the importance of free speech.”
Maggie asks, “Isn't free speech always important?”
Amelia says, “I think so, yeah, but more so when it's in danger of being taken away. The original play was a TV broadcast during the McCarthy witch hunt in the 1950's. The play showed how nasty the Spanish Inquisition was, so they could imply that the McCarthy 'Un-American'crap was just as bad.”
“Kinda like that Wikileaks business now,” says Liz.
“Oh yeah, lots of similarities, out of touch government, erosion of civil liberties, like that. The irony is that there's no evidence Cervantes was ever jailed.”
“It's still a good story,” adds Maggie.
“Absolutely.” Liz smiles, mostly restored to good humour, until she looks at her coffee and grimaces.“You know, I swear I bought a litre of milk yesterday and now there isn't any.”
“Oh, that's right,” Maggie nods, “Mouse got a care package from her mom with weird sugar cube things called Annie's blocks.”
“Anise? I've seen that in the produce section but don't know what it's for.”
Maggie says, “Yeah, that one. Annie's blocks are licorice sugar cubes you dissolve in warm milk.”
Liz says, “Well, I like licorice. But putting it in milk?”
“I can't stand the stuff, and that's what it smelt like. But you know Mouse. Everybody had to try it and that was pretty much it for your milk.”
Liz rolls her eyes, thinking about a year of powdered cream. Maybe she'll get used to it.
“Guess you don't like ouzo either,” says Amelia.
Maggie shudders. “No way. Disgusting stuff.”
Liz grimaces as she finishes her coffee. “Now I know why people buy those over priced mini fridges for their rooms.”
“If you decide to get one,” says Amelia, “you might want to make sure to get one that comes with a lock.”
Liz stares at her in surprise. “What, I can't even trust my own roomie?”
Amelia laughs. “Yeah, you can trust me. But we're neither of us very good about keeping the room locked. There wouldn't be any point in having a private fridge without a lock.”
“Nobody swipes my knickers, just my food.”
Amelia laughs. “Probably because you're the only one who goes shopping on a regular basis. You've gotta realize that most of us are used to having magically filled fridges.”
“When you live alone you darned well learn there aren't house elves filling your cupboards at night. It's annoying when stuff gets swiped, not to mention hell on my budget,” says Liz.
“So,” says Maggie, pretending nonchalance as she peers over the top of her glasses at Liz. “What's this star gazing deal? I haven't heard about any stars being in town since they shot that Justin Bieber video last month.”
Amelia's eyes widen. “Justin Bieber, you've gotta be kidding right? That boy looks like he's twelve years old.”
“Yeah, but what can I say, I like his music. So sue me.”
“Wrong kind of stars,” explains Liz, pleased to know something Maggie doesn't for once. “You know, ones in the sky. The Seven Sisters, Betelgeuse, Mars, the Big Dipper. Like that.”
Maggie looks aghast. “Its one thing to lay out under the stars in summer but at this time of year? Baby it's cold outside.”
“Maybe that's why God invented winter coats.”
“Meow,” says Maggie swiping her talons through the air.
“What was it like?” asks Amelia.
“Pretty cool actually.” Liz raises her eyebrows in Maggie's direction, “although not in a temperature kind of way. Jake's friend built his own telescope.”
Amelia says, “Mars is a planet, not a star, though.”
“Wait a minute, Jake?” Maggie turns to Liz. “You mean that little guy could pass for Justin Bieber's younger brother? The one looks all of 14?”
“Yeah, Jake. He may look young but he's an amazing photographer. Ferociously smart too.”
Maggie says, “You're not . . . I mean . . .” rarely at a loss, Maggie stumbles, and Liz suddenly understands the question.
“No, we're not dating if that's what you're getting at. We're friends. If its any of your business, it wasn't just me and Jake. There were other shutter bugs too, like Natasha and Boris.”
“Mmmm. Boris is pretty hot,” says Amelia.
“Way too many muscles for me.” says Maggie. “But I'd walk softly there 'cause Boris and Natasha are joined at the hip.”
“I took some pretty cool shots of Mars through that telescope. They actually came out better than I thought. Not as good as NASA shots, but still, how cool is getting to take my own picture of Mars. Jake's friend Larry thinks the visibility is better this time of year. You should see his telescope, it's huge. Almost as tall as I am. Larry told me the mirror alone cost hundreds of dollars.”
Maggie says, “Sounds like a mirror for Barbie.”
“Barbie? Like the doll?” asks Liz.
“No, like the pre-med student.”
“Barbie? There can't possibly be a real live girl who actually goes by the name ‘Barbie’? Not in med school? No way.”
“Way.” Maggie nods. “In pre-med. Can you believe it? She's even blonde. Boobs out to here, perfect skin, teeth, big blue eyes. Kate saw her file. It's not a nick-name, it's her honest-to-god name. I ask you, what kind of parents would name their kid after a doll?”
“Luckily, not mine,” says Liz, “Never saw the point in those dolls myself.”
“Yeah, talk about weird shaped.” Amelia nods, “I mean forget the physics of how wide her bra straps would have to be just to hold those babies up. Have you looked at those feet? The damage to those poor little doll feet is as bad as
that Chinese foot binding thing. Barbie doll feet look like they are in major pain. Can you imaging having to walk on tiptoes forever?”
“Physics?” asks Liz. “What do you know about physics?”
Amelia nods. “I was a Physics major last year. Just I lost my way in the math, so I kinda flunked out. Only other choice was English.”
“That's a big jump.” says Maggie.
“Not really. The plan was always to be a science fiction writer,” Amelia tells them. “You know, maybe Barbie's mom is one of those crazed Barbie doll collectors you hear about.”
“But a blonde,” Liz snorts, “named Barbie. I mean, what kind of place IS this. I'd have shopped around for another school if I'd known what kind of students came here.”
Amelia says, “You can't hardly hold it against her, Maggie. Her parents named her, and if she's pre-med, she must be smart.”
Liz shudders. “I dunno, if my folks saddled me with a name like Barbie I'd have legally changed that sucker by now.”
“Yeah really. Me too. Or at the very least told everybody my name was something like ‘Moonbeam’or ‘Peaches.’ You know something with a bit more credibility.”
Liz snickers. She especially likes ‘Moonbeam.’
“There's a reasonable probability Barbie may not actually be pre-med smart,” says Maggie. “Nick thinks Barbie is in med school to shop for an MD, not become one.”
“You mean marry a doctor?” asks Liz. “For real?”
“God. I thought we stopped doing that generations ago,” grumbles Amelia. “Don't you need good grades for pre-med?”
Maggie says, “Not as good as you need to get into the U of G Veterinary College but still . . .”
“You need better marks to be a vet than a people doctor?”
“Absolutely. The smart ones become vets.” says Maggie.
“Bet you wouldn't say that if Kate was here.” says Amelia.
“Of course I wouldn't.” Maggie rolls her eyes. “I want to live, don't I? Doesn't mean it isn't true though.”
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