The cooker
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On the third walk up to her room, Bella was beginning to regret declining Charlie's offer to come with her, and get her settled in. It was nice to have a bit of a view from the third floor, but carrying everything up to it was a different story.
"Oh," she said, seeing what she presumed was her new roommate, standing in their room, "hey," dropping her stuff on the floor, "I'm Bella." She extended her hand, and the young woman took it, but shyly.
"I'm Grace," she said softly, looking at Bella with either awe, or horror. Bella wasn't sure which. She looked down at herself, wondering if she'd missed some serious wardrobe malfunction hoofing it up and down the stairs.
Nope. Sweaty, but t-shirt and shorts were all in order.
Despite the heat of the day, Grace wore a loose blouse, its long sleeves puffed at the shoulders, buttoned to the collar, and a floor-length skirt.
"Where're you from?" Bella said, deciding it would be good to take a break for a bit, and sat down on the desk chair.
"Utah," she said quietly. "Hildale."
"Wow," Bella said, "you're far from home."
Grace blushed floridly.
Bella felt an instant kinship. The girl's thin, pale hair, neatly pulled back, made her look like a sunburned turnip.
"Yes, I couldn't...get into any of the programs at home," she said. "So I'm stuck here."
Bella was surprised. Washington State wasn't Ivy League, by any stretch, but it was a good state school.
"You had somewhere else you were hoping to go?" she asked, politely, but the blush became purple, and she regretted continuing in the vein of conversation.
Grace looked down, "yes," and then there were tears.
Crap.
Bella cast around for something else to talk about. "So I saw a sign for a floor mixer down in the lounge, later, if you want to go?" she asked, hoping this would perk her up.
Grace, instead, looked at her, disgust plain in the twist of her mouth. "I would never attend an event like that." Then she turned around, and began angrily unpacking her belongings.
Guess we don't need to talk about who gets what side of the room? Bella thought, and rested, at least, decided to get the last of her things.
On her last, slow trudge up the stairs, she was trying to slide past someone, when she tripped, and everything in arms went flying.
To her florid embarrassment, it was the box of tampons that chose to open, and spray its contents most widely.
The boy who stopped to help her, smiled, and said "nothing like picking up a girl's tampon box as a way to introduce yourself. I'm Ben," and he smiled at her, a wide grin that showed a healthily, and imperfect set of teeth, and eyes that twinkled with good humour.
"Thanks," Bella said, trying to push the blush down into her chest. "Bella," and they shook hands.
"Bella Frosh," he said, "good to know."
"What did you say?" she asked.
"Frosh—first year," he answered, picking up a few more things, "which floor?"
"Oh, no, I'm fine," she said, reaching out for her things.
"Unlikely," he said, "you look like you're well practised at falling down, let me help you up to your room."
"Third floor," she smiled.
"Ah, the cooker," he said.
"The what?" She was beginning to feel like she was lost in a whole new language.
"Third floor is toasty all year round. Hot in summer, boiling in winter. The cooker. Something wrong with the thermostats."
"I got smart after first year there, requested the second floor," he said, "room 201, if you need anything."
When they got to the room, Grace hissed in a breath when Ben set Bella's things down. She was more beet-like by the time he left, giving Bella a casual "see ya" on the way out.
"No boys," she said to Bella. "Ever. In our room."
"Uh," Bella said, "why?" wondering just what kind of roommate she'd acquired.
"Because," she said, as if this was obvious.
"'K," Bella said, trying to be nice. She didn't expect Jacob would expect to spend the night, but still. "When you're here, sure."
Grace's eyes grew wide at this statement, but she only murmured, "excuse me", and then knelt in front of her bed.
Was she….praying? Bella wondered.
It was then, that she caught sight of the books, neatly stacked on the bedside table. They had dark, well-worn covers, and the fine india paper was edged with gold. From where she stood, she could make out the word "Mormon" on the topmost one.
Oh.
That explained a lot.
Not a Mormon. No, she'd met enough of those in her time to know they didn't dress like Laura Ingalls. This was a different creature entirely, a fundamentalist Mormon. She would bet money on it.
Then she blew out a deep breath.
Well, at least, she told herself, she didn't have to worry about her dromie coming home drunk, and vomiting everywhere.
An hour later, Bella was mostly unpacked, and pulling her t-shirt away from her, determined that yes, so far, her room was sweltering. The window was open already, but the breeze was negligible. Looking at Grace, who had unpacked her own, sparse belongings, Bella wondered how she would react to her changing in the room. She briefly considered going to the bathroom, but dismissed it. Turning her back to Grace, she pulled off her shirt, and slipped on the new one, running a brush through her hair.
Peeking behind her, Grace was still on her knees. Apparently, her praying took a long time.
Bella hoped she wasn't the cause of the prayer.
Trying to be polite, she offered one more time, "I'm going to the social. Looks like they'll have some pizza and soda. Sure you don't want to come with me? Meet the other girls on the floor?"
Grace was more polite this time, and said "No thank you," adding quietly, "have a nice time."
"Thanks," Bella murmured, heading out the door.
The lounge was packed, and she stood at the door, surveying the room, before stepping into it.
"Hey, Frosh Bella, come say hi!" Ben called out, waving her over.
Relieved to know at least one person, she was pleasantly surprised to be welcomed by the group of people around him.
She tried, without success, to keep track of all the names being thrown at her, but the only one that stuck was Cathy, who was a mirror image of Bella, in her petite, brunette frame.
They discovered they were both South western transplants, Cathy from Los Vegas, and Bella from Phoenix.
"Didn't want to go south then?" Cathy asked, a glint in her eye.
"No," Bella shook her head, thinking of the many, complex reasons for staying close, "you?"
She shook her head too. "The green and wet grows on you, you know?"
"Yeah," Bella said, liking her more and more, "Actually, I do."
They'd passed the early afternoon discovering their other mutual interests, and by the time Bella had returned to her dorm room, pleasantly tired, she was ready to brush her teeth, and fall into bed.
She was relieved that the bathrooms were not the horror stories she'd heard of, and returned to her room. Grace had changed, and was in bed, reading what appeared to be a nursing textbook.
"Night," she said to her, turning off her own bedside lamp.
"Blessed sleep," came the soft reply.
It felt strange to hear, but not unpleasant, and Bella smiled at the thought. Her sleep had not always been so blessed. She touched the dreamcatcher she'd hung on the bed frame, promising herself she'd call Jake in the morning before class.
The heat of the room was uncomfortable, but Bella didn't think Grace would be up for leaving the door open a crack, so she let it recall the warmth of Jacob's arms, remembering the many hours they'd lingered on the cool grey beach, she luxuriating in his sure sultriness. It was a pleasant descent into the nothingness of sleep.