Rikki

by Abigail Strom

  * * *

  “God, you look so happy,” Tamsin said that night. We’d gone down to dinner together and were talking about the first day of classes.

  “I am happy. It’s wonderful.”

  Tamsin shook her head, but she was smiling. It was an indulgent smile, as though I were an adorable toddler who’d just discovered the wonders of Play-Doh, but I didn’t mind.

  And then, all of a sudden, Tamsin transitioned from jaded twenty-five-year-old to teenage girl.

  “Okay,” she said. “Make this casual. Look over your right shoulder at the table by the door. There’s a guy there with long hair and ear gauges.”

  I did as requested and saw the guy she meant. He had those spacers in his ears, the kind you use to stretch your earlobes, going gradually up in size until the holes are big enough to drive a car through. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to do that to myself or wanting to date someone who would do that to himself, but as Jane Austen so pithily said, ‘One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other.’

  “Okay, I see him.”

  Tamsin pushed her tray to the side and leaned toward me, her forearms on the table. “His name is Oscar and he’s in my drama class, but he doesn’t live in Bracton. He lives in Eckerson and he has two roommates.”

  I nodded. “Good to know.”

  She hesitated. “I invited him up to my room tonight so we could practice a scene together. If that’s okay?”

  I shrugged. “Sure. I’m going to the library for a couple of hours, and if he’s still there when I get back it won’t bother me if you guys are rehearsing or whatever.”

  Tamsin patted my arm. “Dear, sweet, innocent Rikki. Let me explain. When I say I invited him up to practice a scene, there was subtext there.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Did you see that thing I did? The suggestive eyebrow thing?”

  I sighed. “Yes.”

  “Okay, then. I guess it’s time we work out some kind of signal. You know, the female equivalent of putting a tie on the doorknob.”

  This conversation was providing a stark contrast between my naïveté and Tamsin’s experience, but I was unexpectedly relieved that the guy she’d invited up wasn’t Sam. Not because I was jealous, of course, but because it would have been awkward.

  “Some kind of code on the whiteboard?” I suggested.

  “Okay, sure. What?”

  “‘The rooster crows at midnight.’”

  “Funny girl. Fine, we’ll go with that. Once Oscar’s gone I’ll erase it.”

  I checked the time. “When’s he coming up?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Okay. I’ll get my stuff after dinner and head to the library.”

  “Bless you, my child. My nether regions are in your debt.”

  “Don’t mention your nether regions ever again and we’ll call it even.”

  * * *

  I got caught up in my work, and when I emerged from the study fog it was after eleven. That had to be enough time for Tamsin and Oscar to do their thing, right? Tamsin knew I had an early class the next day.

  I gathered up my stuff and moseyed back to the dorm, and by the time I stood outside our door it was eleven-thirty.

  The rooster crows at midnight.

  Damn.

  I was tired and ready for bed. Was it possible that Tamsin had just forgotten to wipe the board?

  I put my ear to the door, listened for a second, and jumped back three feet.

  Either Oscar was still in there or Tamsin was having a very good time with something battery-operated. Either way, it wasn’t something I wanted to see.

  I didn’t want to go all the way back to the library, so I headed downstairs to the common room. There was a TV in there in case I didn’t feel like reading.

  I could already hear the television going as I walked through the lobby. It sounded like Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

  It was. Sam, Andre and Mena were sitting on the big couch laughing at John Cleese.

  “Hey,” I said, sitting down on one of the overstuffed armchairs. “Is it okay if I join you?”

  “Of course,” Mena said.

  “Andre’s never seen Monty Python,” Sam explained.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Alas, no.”

  The movie ended twenty minutes later. When it was over we quoted from it, Andre and Sam and I trying out British accents while Mena groaned, and then Andre said goodnight and headed upstairs.

  It was after midnight now. Would it be safe to go back to my room?

  “What’s wrong?” Sam asked. He and Mena were on the couch and I noticed for the first time that he had an arm around her shoulders. Of course I knew it was just a friendly gesture, since Mena was gay, but seeing them physically close like that gave me a funny ache behind my breastbone. Sort of… vulnerable. Empty. Sad.

  And then, suddenly, I missed my parents so much it hurt. I missed the way Charlotte would hug me for no reason and I would pretend to be annoyed.

  I missed my high school friends, too—especially Melinda, who was a hugger like Charlotte. I hadn’t realized until then that most of the physical contact in my life was initiated by other people.

  “Nothing’s wrong.” I hesitated. “Well… actually, I’m not sure what’s going on in my room.”

  “What do you mean?” Mena asked.

  “Tamsin’s up there with a guest.”

  “Ah.”

  I looked toward the stairs. “The thing is, I have to get up early tomorrow and I’m tired. I want to be a good roommate, but—”

  “How long have they been up there?” Sam asked.

  “Since eight o’clock.”

  “That seems like plenty of time. Did you have some kind of signal?”

  I nodded. “A code phrase on the board.”

  “Maybe she just forgot to erase it.”

  “No, he’s definitely still in the room—or he was when I came down here. There were, um, noises.”

  “He might be gone now,” Mena said.

  “Maybe.”

  “And if he’s not, you’d certainly be justified in knocking on the door and kicking him out.”

  “I couldn’t do that. Seriously. Not in a million years.”

  “So what are you going to do if he’s still there?” Sam asked.

  I shrugged. “Come back down here, I guess.”

  “But you said you were tired.”

  “I am.”

  “You said you have an early class tomorrow.”

  “I do.”

  “You can’t sleep down here. I mean, I guess you could, but it would suck.”

  “I know.”

  “Why don’t you let her use your extra bed?” Mena asked Sam.

  “You have an extra bed?” I asked, confused.

  “His roommate hasn’t shown up yet,” Mena explained. She shifted on the couch, staying in the circle of Sam’s arm but turning to face him. “How about it? You can’t let Rikki sleep down here.”

  There was something going on between the two of them that I wasn’t grasping.

  “I was kind of hoping you might stay with me tonight,” he murmured.

  Wait.

  What?

  Mena.

  And Sam.

  Together?

  I had to keep my face from showing that this revelation had hit me like a Mack truck. There was absolutely no reason for me to feel this way—blindsided and bruised—and through the sudden torrent of inexplicable pain I clung to one cogent thought: neither Mena nor Sam could have any idea that I was having any feelings about this at all.

  Mena was shaking her head. “I told you before—I’m more comfortable in my own space. I don’t like to sleep in anyone else’s bed.” She gave him a very private kind of smile. “Fool around, yes. Sleep, no.”

  I was working really hard to look at the two of them objectively, as though this unexpected intimacy had nothing to do with me at all—which it didn’t. I hadn’t made much progress internally, but externally I
was successful enough that when Sam turned to me and said “You can crash in my room if you want to,” I was able to answer “Thanks for the offer, but I’m sure it’s all clear by now,” in a voice that sounded impressively matter-of-fact.

  Sam nodded. “Okay. But if you change your mind, I’m in room 214.”

  The three of us climbed the stairs to the second floor together, where Sam said goodnight after giving Mena a quick kiss on the lips. Then she and I went up one more flight.

  “Can I ask you something?” I blurted before Mena could continue up to the fourth floor.

  “Sure,” she said, pausing with her hand on the banister.

  She was planning to be pre-med, I remembered. She had coal-black eyes and coal-black hair, and she was one of those people who seem incredibly put together no matter how late it is or what they’re wearing. Right now she looked cool and crisp in a white Oxford shirt and jeans, and it was easy to imagine her as a doctor.

  “I thought…”

  No. I couldn’t ask. It was none of my business.

  But the words came out anyway. “I thought you were gay.”

  Mena didn’t look offended, which was a huge relief. “I’m usually attracted to girls, but every so often a guy comes along who does it for me. I don’t want to close myself off to that experience.”

  “Oh.”

  “Especially when it’s someone like Sam,” she went on, leaning against the banister with an almost dreamy look on her face. “The first time we kissed, I thought my panties would melt right off.”

  When I noticed that my hands had clenched into fists, I very deliberately relaxed them.

  “Well, great. That’s great.”

  “He’s a really decent person, too. If you do need to crash in his room, he won’t take advantage of the situation.”

  “Oh, no. I mean, that never occurred to me.” I felt vaguely resentful that Mena was talking about Sam like she had insight into his character when I’d known him for six years. How long had she known him? Six days? “I know Sam’s a good guy. We went to high school together.”

  Mena’s eyebrows went up. “You did? But you seem…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. A bit stiff around each other?”

  “We weren’t friends.”

  “Oh. Well, I think he’s lovely. Do you think you’ll be friends now that you’re at university together?”

  She thought he was lovely.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” I paused. “Well… good night,” I said, trying not to sound grumpy. I liked Mena, and the fact that she liked Sam was no reason to change my opinion.

  “Good night,” she said.

  It was late and the dorm was quiet. I stood there for a moment, listening to Mena’s footsteps as she climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. As the sound faded away I let the loneliness of an empty hall, fluorescent lights, and echoing silence seep into me.

  Comparing myself to Mena felt even worse than comparing myself to Tamsin. Mena was quiet and self-contained and yet so open about her sexuality, so comfortable with who she was. I couldn’t imagine her giving into fear or anxiety or self-doubt.

  Finally I started toward my room. I prayed that Oscar was gone, but I could see the code phrase on the whiteboard when I was only halfway there.

  The rooster crows at midnight.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  I couldn’t face listening at the door again. Even if it was quiet, that wouldn’t guarantee Oscar wasn’t in there. He and Tamsin might have fallen asleep or something. Naked.

  There was no way I was taking a chance on finding out.

  That left me with two choices. I could go downstairs and crash on the couch in the common room, or I could take Sam up on his offer and sleep in his spare bed.

  I walked back the way I’d come, trying to make up my mind.

  By the time I reached the head of the stairs I hadn’t decided. When I got to the second floor I still hadn’t decided.

  I stood there for a minute, looking down the corridor where Sam’s room was.

  If I did go down to the common room, there wouldn’t be a lot of coming and going at this hour. I might even get some sleep.

  I started down the stairs to the first floor, made it to the landing, and stopped. Then I came back up to the second floor and went down the hall to room 214.

  I knocked softly, figuring he wouldn’t hear me if he was asleep, in which case I could—

  The door opened.

  “Hey,” Sam said.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He’d been wearing jeans and a button-down in the common room, but now he was in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt.

  I was very conscious of the way his chest and shoulders looked under the thin white cotton. Had Mena noticed that, too?

  “Is that what you sleep in?” I asked.

  “Yeah. So I guess there’s still action in your room?”

  I nodded. “But if you’ve changed your mind I don’t have to—”

  “I haven’t changed my mind. Come on in.”

  I hesitated a moment. Then I crossed the threshold into Sam’s room and looked around.

  It was nice. I wasn’t sure why it surprised me so much that a boy’s room could be this nice, but it did. It was a lot neater than mine and Tamsin’s, for one thing… but then Tamsin and I were both pretty messy.

  Half the walls had been decorated. Music and movie posters, Escher prints and Da Vinci drawings, and pictures of what looked like galaxies and nebulas.

  The bookcases were full and I wanted to go over and look at the titles, but that seemed too nosy for my first two minutes in his room.

  His laptop was open on the desk. He was a Mac guy, which surprised me. Somehow I would have figured him for a PC guy.

  His bed, the one closest to the windows, looked neat and comfortable. The sheets were navy blue and the quilt was handmade—squares of denim all different shades, some brand new and some faded almost to white.

  Sam was over by his closet, pulling something down from the top shelf. When he turned around he was holding a set of sheets, navy blue like the ones on his bed.

  “I can do that,” I said, coming forward to take the sheets from him.

  He shook his head. “It’s easier with two people,” he said, handing me one side of the fitted sheet.

  We put it on the bare mattress of the spare bed, followed by the flat sheet. I stuffed the pillow in the pillow case while Sam went to the closet for a comforter. Once we got that spread out we were finished.

  We stood there on opposite sides for a moment, and then Sam backed up a few steps to sit down on his bed. I took off my shoes, climbed onto the bed we’d just made, and sat cross-legged in the center.

  “I really like your quilt,” I said, before the silence could go on for too long.

  “My grandmother made it,” Sam said. “She asked everyone in the family to give her a pair of jeans, and then she cut them up and made this.”

  I was impressed. “That’s really cool. Charlotte makes quilts, but I don’t think she’s ever done one with denim. I’ll have to tell her about that.”

  Sam nodded, and that seemed to do it for the quilt portion of the conversation.

  Say good night, Rikki. Say good night right now. Whatever you do, don’t ask him about—

  “So you and Mena, huh?”

  As soon as the words were out I wished I could unsay them.

  “Yeah, not talking about that,” Sam said.

  A moment before I’d wanted to take back the question, but now I was pissed off.

  “Are you kidding? After your whole thing with Jason last week?” I shook my head. “You jumped all over me for having bad taste in guys, and now you’re saying I can’t ask you about your love life?”

  Sam frowned. “Wait a minute. Are you saying I have bad taste in women?”

  If only I could say that.

  “No,” I said, wishing I didn’t sound so grudging. “I think Mena’s great. All I meant was that yo
u had no problem asking me about Jason, and now you’re being all reticent.”

  A smile lifted one corner of Sam’s mouth. “Reticent?”

  “Yes, and it’s an unfair double standard.”

  Sam leaned back and rested his weight on his elbows. “Okay, fine. What do you want to know?”

  Everything… and nothing. Did I really want the details?

  I knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose, but lying back like that he looked like Mr. October in a Hot Studs on Campus calendar.

  I cleared my throat. “When did you guys hook up? Or whatever it is you’re doing.”

  “A few days ago. We were playing basketball and she threw an elbow. When I told her she’d given me a fat lip she said she’d kiss it and make it better.” Sam paused. “Then she did.”

  Okay, that was a really cute story. Once again I felt that sad, aching emptiness in my chest.

  “Are you guys dating?”

  He shook his head. “Mena’s not traditional like that. She doesn’t want a relationship.”

  Sam had always struck me as the relationship type—or at least the monogamous type. He’d dated in high school but he’d never been a player.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  There was a pause.

  “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “It’s too soon to tell.” He sat up straight again and got to his feet. “It’s kind of late, so…”

  “Right,” I said quickly. “We should get some sleep.”

  I started to get under the covers.

  “Don’t you need something to—” He stopped.

  “Something to what?”

  “Something to sleep in.”

  I’d been planning to sleep in my jeans and T-shirt. “No, I’m fine.”

  Sam went over to his bureau, opened the bottom drawer, and came back with a pair of blue pinstripe pajama bottoms.

  “Here,” he said, handing them to me. “You should at least change out of your jeans. You won’t be comfortable sleeping in them.”

  Was I supposed to change with him there?

  “Um…”

  “I’m going to the bathroom to brush my teeth. It’ll take me a few minutes.”

  His toothbrush and toothpaste were on top of his bureau. He grabbed them and left, closing the door behind him.