by McKinley May
"Nah, V. Of course she does. Everyone does."
I give my brother a petty 'ha-ha' look and his cerulean eyes lurch towards the ceiling in response.
"Alright, Sydney." Cameron rubs his chin as he addresses me. "Lemme see what I can come up with for you."
He looks me over with careful consideration, squinting as he studies every inch of my face.
I don't question the process; I just try to keep still as he does his thing.
It sorta feels like I'm a painting in an art gallery.
When his intense scrutinization lands on my irises, he immediately snaps his fingers together. "Got it."
"And?" I prompt. "Don't leave me hanging."
"Vaughn's nickname is Blue, right? And y'all both have some seriously unique shades of sapphire going on in the eye department. There's really only one option." He leans back in his chair, arms crossed casually over his chest. "You gotta be Baby Blue."
Vaughn snorts and I cock my head.
"Baby Blue?" I try it out for size and give a nod of approval. "Cute."
"Cool." Cameron grins as he grabs his empty tray and rises. "It's official, then. You've got yourself a Collins alias."
And with that declaration, he offers us a quick goodbye and heads out.
Vaughn shakes his head. "Cam missed a golden opportunity. Def should've called you Steel Stomach. How the fuck did you eat all that food?" He points at my licked-clean plates.
I pat my torso and smile. "I was hungry."
A loud laugh bursts from his lips. "Yeah, no shit. You ready to go, Mini-Me?"
"Ready."
He takes both of my empty dishes and balances them on his tray as I follow him out of the crowded cafeteria, lost in thought.
Baby Blue.
It is cute, and I always appreciate a solid alliteration, but it reiterates something.
A fact that my bro must subconsciously pick up on because he's not peeved at the nickname—not even at the use of the word baby to refer to me.
Something that needs to be added to that list from earlier...reason #4 why Cameron will never take me seriously.
He doesn't see me as anything other than his best friend's kid sister.
5
Thursday brings cloudy weather, more syllabus explanations, and balloons.
Lots and lots of balloons.
When I open my door in the morning, an Up-sized bundle of them smacks me in the face, <3 Rayne on the tag.
In the girls' locker room is a massive soccer-ball-shaped one tied to my cleats. The entire team lets out a collective "You blow us away!" when I spot it. They're a punny bunch.
Perhaps the most unique inflated gift comes during my Algebra class. A delivery dude wearing suspenders and a red-nose interrupts the lecture, asks if there's a Sydney Steel in the house, and proceeds to make balloon-animals for three minutes straight. The moment the guy starts singing 99 Red Balloons, my professor barks at him to give me the creations and take a hike.
It's embarrassing and cheesy and makes me laugh out loud.
Yeah...that one is definitely from my brother.
So what's the deal with all the balloons?
No, it's not National Helium Appreciation Day—it's just my birthday.
The start of my final teenage year.
But turning nineteen isn't one of the "cool" birthdays, like "I can drive! Vacate the roads!" 16, "Officially legal!" 18, or "Yep, this is totally my first shot of alcohol ever!" 21.
And although my big day falls on a Thirsty Thursday, a drunken, all-night celebration is out of the question. Our first game of the season is tomorrow, so I'm gonna be a responsible gal and forgo the bars.
That's fine with me.
A few of my teammates do insist on taking me out for a treat after evening practice. We hit the local frozen yogurt joint, gorge ourselves on the heavenly swirl flavor, and chat until the place closes.
It's currently 10 p.m. and one of my fellow forwards, Tanya, just gave me a ride to the dorms. Before I exit the car, she thrusts a heaping platter of vanilla cupcakes into my arms.
I might not be big on birthdays, but I am big on cupcakes.
As I step into the elevator, I lick the cream cheese frosting from the top of the biggest one. The #11 she piped in blue frosting to represent my jersey number smears into an unreadable blur. I hit the button for floor 5 and stick my tongue out at the mirrored walls, cracking up at my blueberry-colored mouth.
I might be nineteen, but my maturity levels are stuck in 1st grade.
The lift begins to rise and I decide how I'm going to spend the last two hours of my special day—I'm gonna untie those balloons, suck down near-toxic amounts of helium, and record a dozen TikToks of my squeaky mouse voice.
Maturity just got demoted to kindergarten.
But when I hop off the elevator and turn down the hall, my plan goes out the window.
A flurry of excitement rushes through me when I see my door propped open by four cardboard boxes: a sure sign of someone moving in.
The roommate conundrum is finally solved.
After hopping over the belongings, I spot the girl I'll be sharing close quarters with for the next 9 months. Her side profile is to me as she digs through a large suitcase, an impressive amount of curly black hair flowing down her back.
"Hey!" I greet her cheerfully. "I'm Sydney. I was wondering when you were going to show—Ahhh!"
My introduction morphs into a petrified yelp as she turns to face me square-on. Half of her face, the previously concealed part, is painted to resemble a skull.
An extremely realistic skull.
"Hello, Sydney," Skeletor says calmly.
My eyes somehow detach from the creepy makeup and travel down the just-as-freaky outfit she's wearing. She's got on a body suit with an anatomically-correct skeleton printed on it, a blood red tutu on her hips, and a pair of bedazzled ballet slippers to complete the look.
I'm scared, confused, and intrigued all at the same time.
After gathering myself, I respond.
"Uh, hi." I set the cupcakes on my desk. "Are you going to a costume party?"
"Not tonight." Skeletor's head slants. "Why do you ask?"
Is she for real?
Before I can point out the obvious, an older woman wearing a string of pearls and a pink sweater-set enters the room. She shakes the black plastic bin in her arms.
"Meredith, where would you like me to put thi—"
"I'm sorry," my new roommate interrupts. "I don't know anyone named Meredith. Are you in the wrong room?"
The lady emits a long, tired breath. A vein on her forehead pops as she forces a smile.
"Crimson," she grits out through clenched teeth.
Skeletor looks satisfied.
"Yes, Mom?"
"Where would you like this box?"
"By the closet, please. And be careful. My crystals are in there."
As her mother obeys her wishes, a light bulb goes off in my head.
"So you go by Crimson? No wonder I couldn't find you online."
"Crimson Persephone Rose," she amends. "The name change should be legal in another week."
"That's very...whimsical," I say politely. "But Meredith's a pretty name as well."
She gives me a solemn stare. "Meredith's dead to me."
Alrighty then.
Is Granny Gossman still an option?
I take a seat on my bed, bouncing slightly on the lumpy mattress. "Where have you been?"
Her mom answers before she can.
"Crimson here took off with a group of misfits a few weeks before the semester began." Her thin lips bow into a frown. "It took her father and I longer than expected to track her down."
"It wasn't a group of misfits," Crimson argues. "It was a traveling circus."
A tick of disapproval comes from her mother's mouth. "It was absurd is what it was. Ditching university for the circus of all things. What an utter—" Her phone chimes, cutting off her rant. She pulls it from her purse and thumbs
the screen a few times. "Your father is waiting in the car. It's late and we've both got work in the morning. Can you and your roommate handle the rest of these boxes?"
Crimson produces a disinterested shrug, then stands there like a bump on a log as her mom gives her an awkward hug. The moment her mother's out the door, she mumbles "finally" and grabs a massive rolled-up poster from the floor. She whips it out like a dusty rug, and I'm tempted to scream again at the hellish clown picture staring at me.
The sinister smile and unnerving blood-shot eyes on this creature put Pennywise to shame.
I'm hoping this is going in the back of her closet or some location that's out of my sight, but no such luck. Crimson snatches a roll of tape and begins to hang the poster on our cinder-block wall...directly across from my bed.
Nooo!
Is there a respectful way to ask "Could you please move that nightmare-inducing image somewhere that won't give me a heart attack every morning when I open my eyes?"
I'm just about to tell her clowns and I don't mix when a throat clears in the hall.
My pupils dart to the door. Mrs. Gossman's eyes are wide as she curls a finger, surreptitiously beckoning me out of the room.
After sneaking a peek at my occupied roommate, I quickly jog over to see what her poor mom wants.
"Do me a favor?" Her voice is barely above a whisper as she offers me a Post-It note, a phone number scribbled on the neon-pink paper. "If Mered—Crimson goes missing for more than a few days, would you please give me a call?"
I grab the sticky note, black ink smudging onto the pads of my fingers. "Uh, okay."
"Thanks, dear."
I stuff the paper into my left pocket and shuffle back into the room.
In the mere sixty seconds I was gone, Crimson's transformed her half of the residence into a witch's lair. There's a black comforter embroidered with shimmery spider-webs on her bed, an elaborate dreamcatcher hanging from her headboard, and a creepy stuffed raven on our shared nightstand.
My white-and-yellow color scheme looks even more sunshine and daises when contrasted with her Halloween decor.
"Could you help me out with these?" Crimson asks, shaking some purple and orange fairy lights.
I nod, pull off my sneakers, and step onto the bed with her.
As we hang the string of tiny bulbs, I try to get to know my strange new roommate.
"What's your major?"
I swear I ask and get asked that question twenty times a day. It's the quintessential college small-talk starter.
"Undeclared."
"Same here," I say as I place a command strip on the wall. "Do you have any idea what you want to do post-grad? Or will you figure it out over the next four years?"
"Oh, I know precisely what career I'm going to pursue," she states adamantly.
I glance at her out of my peripheral. "What is it?"
"I'd like to own and operate a haunted house."
I really shouldn't be baffled by her response, all things considered, but it's just so out there I can't stop my jaw from going slack.
"Wow, that's very...I've never met someone who wanted to do that before. It sounds interesting."
"It's my ultimate dream," she reveals before a scowl turns her lips. "But Windhaven doesn't have a degree for running horror attractions. I found that quite surprising."
"Yeah, shocking." I chuckle, but her harsh glare lets me know she wasn't being sarcastic. My laughter cuts off and I quickly continue. "I mean, maybe some type of business degree would be your best option? Management or something?"
"Perhaps. I'll have to consult my crystals and the tarot about the subject, of course."
It takes a lot of restraint to bite back the sardonic 'of course' that threatens to leave my mouth.
A few minutes later, we finish the curtain of lights and sit cross-legged on her bed. She grabs a pillow adorned with a black widow spider and drags a razor-sharp red nail over the pattern.
"I got a job at Midnight Massacre Haunted House," she reveals.
The abandoned-warehouse-turned-spook-show I was dragged to a few times in high school comes to mind.
"The one off of I-35?"
"Yes. I'll be assisting the owner with his tasks and observing how everything works. They also want me to help out in the costume and makeup department."
"You'll be awesome at that," I say with conviction. "And it sort of sounds like an internship opportunity. A paid one. That's a great 'in' to the job field for you!"
"Mhmm." Crimson nods before a knowing glint sparkles in her gaze. "It also means I'll be sticking around for a while, so you can lose my mother's number if you wish."
She waves a hand over my left pocket.
Both of my brows instantly go sky-high.
There's no possible way she saw me out in the hall...is there?!
"How did you—"
"I know many things, Sydney." The villainous smile that spreads across her lips looks beyond freaky with the facepaint. She kicks at a box overflowing with what appear to be dress-up clothes. "Would you like to help me hang up my wardrobe?"
Her wacky collection of costumes is sure to be one for the books, so I nod right away.
Maybe my response was a little too enthusiastic, though, because she crosses the line with her next suggestion.
"And afterward, we can break out my ouija board."
"Jeez, uh, I don't know about that," I say hesitantly. Part of me wants to scream 'Hell to the no!' but I don't want to stir the pot on our first night as roommates. "I'm not really into scary, ghostbusters type of stuff. Not my cup of tea."
"But Sydney." With wide eyes, she juts her head a few inches from mine. "Aren't you curious how many students have passed away in this very room?!"
Good God.
I take a massive scoot away from her. "I can honestly say the thought never crossed my mind."
"You'll enjoy it." She waves off my reluctance. "Lost souls are wonderful to chat with."
"I bet they are."
She blatantly ignores my sarcasm, instead taking my response as a resounding Yes! Let's talk to the dead!
With a heavy sigh, I decide to just go with it.
And that's how I end up helping my new skeleton-ballerina friend put away her witchy wardrobe before we attempt to summon spirits together.
Holy crap.
College is so freaking weird.
I wake up a few hours later to something grazing my forearm.
The feather-light touch is barely decipherable—probably a stray hair or piece of string. I let out a half-asleep groan and shake my arm to relieve the tickle.
"Shhhh...." A soft, serene voice whispers into the black night. "Be still."
When a hand grabs my wrist and pins my arm to the mattress, I'm instantly wide-awake.
I knew playing with that ouija board was a terrible idea!
But when I yank the chain to the table-lamp and a dim glow illuminates the space, I notice it's not a spirit who's interrupting my precious slumber.
It's my roommate.
My roommate who is now dressed-up as a broken marionette doll, bright pink blush on the apples of her cheeks and creepy puppet mouth included.
The sight is so horrifying I don't even give a second thought as to why she put on a new costume in the middle of the night instead of getting some zZz's like a normal person.
"Crimson!" I shout as my heart continues to beat a million miles per minute. "What the hell are you doing?!"
She's pulled her desk chair right next to my bed, caging me in. I spot a strange-looking pen in her hand as she hunches over my left side.
"Marking you," she states as the tickling sensation begins again.
"What?" I immediately jerk my arm from her grip.
I'm too frazzled to give the "marking" anything more than a quick perusal; instead, I'm just freaking the hell out.
My eyes flit around the dark room, almost like I'm searching for something to calm me down.
Ha.
No
t a damn thing in this dorm of horrors is relaxing.
I turn my gaze back to the life-size Annabelle doll giving me a vacant stare. The orange and purple bulbs behind her slowly blink on and off, creating strange, delicate shadows that dance across her skin...
I gotta get out of here.
Now.
My covers are thrown to the floor, my bare feet hitting the ground shortly after. I grab a bag and toss in a toothbrush, deodorant, and some clothing in ten seconds flat.
With a frenzied wave, I slip my feet into my flip-flops and rush out the door.
"Wait!" Crimson's confused voice echoes after me. "I'm not finished!"
Uh, yeah you are!
After I rush down the hall and stab the Down button numerous times, I pull out my phone.
Time for an episode of Vaughn to the Rescue!
Me: Good news—my roommate showed up.
Me: Bad news—she's FREAKING ME OUT!! :0 :0
Vaughn: Haha oh shit. You're one of the unlucky ones. That sucks
Vaughn: Crappy b-day surprise, huh?
Me: Yep. Even worse than the balloon animals :P
Me: Any chance I could crash at your place tonight?
Vaughn: I think we have 1 available couch at the Treehouse Bed & Breakfast.
Vaughn: Would you like to make a reservation?
The elevator door opens, and I crack a smile as I get on.
Leave it to my brother to make me laugh in a not-so-funny situation.
Me: Depends. What are your breakfast options?
Vaughn: We've got a wide selection: Stale Frosted Flakes, a banana that hasn't been yellow for weeks...might even be some freezer-burned waffles if you're willing to dig.
Me: Yikes. You're not selling me on it.
Vaughn: For $0 a night, our accommodations can't be beat.
Vaughn: Now take it or leave it. This offer's gonna expire in twenty seconds.
I glance down at my new ink. If I go back to my dorm, there's a strong possibility I'll wake up tomorrow morning with a half-sleeve.
Yeah...I don't need twenty seconds to make my decision.
Me: I'll take it!!
