Chapter 3

I can only describe the way I followed Hayley downstairs as 'trudging'.

"I don't understand why we can't just use monopoly money," I say as we walk out the doors and onto the sidewalk. "Donnie's a landlord, not a brain surgeon." I add a mental note to thank hi parents—should I ever come into contact with them—for not pushing their son into the medical field. The world is certainly a better (and generally healthier) place because of it.

Brand takes a box from the back of the truck, his face contorting into an expression of intense concentration. He was probably trying to hide how difficult it was for him to lift a thirty pound box.

"Too heavy, B?" I smirk as he shuffles towards the building. I admit, making fun of skinny (115 pounds after a big meal) music nerds isn't exactly a shining example of character. But the fact that I've known the guy since second grade makes the whole public ridicule thing all but unavoidable.

"Fuck off, Spencer," he grumbles as he passes.

Hayley emerges from the building as Brandon pushes his way through the door, with much difficulty. "Grab a box," Hayley instructs, pointing to the truck authoritatively. Rolling my eyes, I pick up a cardboard container labeled "UNDERWEAR" in large, black letters. I'm sure I'm grinning what Hayley calls my "warning grin." As in, "warning, I'm about to do or say something that will offend or upset you a big way." She has her back turned at the moment, allowing me to sneak past her and hide said grin. I hum a tune (out of key, of course) as I enter the building through the revolving door, the picture of nonchalance, I'm sure. Because most people hum "Karma Chameleon" while moving and doing nothing even remotely mischievous. Right.

As I walk past the doorman, I shoot him a look that says "You're about to see me do something incredibly odd and possibly even morally questionable. Just ignore it and pretend as though nothing's wrong." He nods his understanding. You could say that he's been around the block a few times.

Shooting him a grateful smirk, I continue towards the elevator. Casually, I shift the box under my arm and pretend not to notice as a pair of yellow-and-red polka dotted underwear tumbles from it. Another pair happens to make its way onto the marble floor by the fountain. That one is quickly followed by a similar pair that takes a spill about 20 feet away, in front of the elevator doors.

"Whoops," I utter quietly as the elevator doors close behind me. Grinning, I drop one more pair onto the floor of the elevator. Looking down, I catch a glimpse of the design. Superman. How mature.

I press the button for floor 14, tapping my foot impatiently. I know, I know. Our apartment is on the 28th floor. Bear with me. Checking to make sure the hallway is empty, I amble out of the elevator, but not before I set the box in front of the sensors on the metal doors, making sure that they won't close. Nonchalantly, I drop a few more pairs of various size, shape, and color onto the carpeted hallway in front of a few choice doors. When I'm satisfied with my handiwork, I pick up the box and step back inside the elevator, punching the button for floor 22.

This time I make my way to the end of the hall, with approximately 4 pairs of underwear and 2 embarrassingly lacy bras in hand. I do my best not to snicker as I push the door to the stairs open, and drop 3 pairs of underwear over the railing, watching as they fall down the open stairwell to several of the floors below. They all land a significant distance away from one another. Sometimes, I even surprise myself with how great I am. To finish the job, I drape the bras over the railing and toss the underwear onto a nearby stair before returning to the elevator. I put an end to my futile attempt to control my laughter as I step onto floor 28. I deposit all but the very last pair of underwear onto the floor and various doorknobs in our hallway, and briefly, I entertain the thought that maybe this was going just a little too far. But I dismiss it quickly. "Too" and "Far" are definitely not words I use together often.

Upon entering the apartment, I see Brandon attempting to look busy. He turns and looks over his shoulder and seeing that it's me, abandons his effort.

"This whole moving business blows," he grumbles.

I'm about to voice my agreement when I'm interrupted by a knock on the door. Pulling it open, I see Ashley on the other side, looking slightly ticked off. When she doesn't say anything, I tilt my head to the side a little. "What's wrong, Ashley?" I ask innocently.

Wordlessly, she gestures towards the various pairs of underwear littering the hallway.

I make a valiant effort to hide my grin as I poke my head out into the hall to admire my work. "You left breadcrumbs, I see?" I raise an eyebrow in her direction. "Our apartment isn't quite that hard to find, though," I allow myself to laugh as she holds her hand up to reveal the underwear from the lobby and the elevator.

She takes a step closer to me, her eyes dancing with a mild anger. "Spencer don't-,"

"Oh, wow," I pretend to look at a clock inside. "Look at the time. We'd better be getting a move on." I inadvertently reestablish eye contact as I edge my way past her in the tight quarters of the doorframe. Whistling, I begin my walk to the elevator. But something occurs to me, and I stop and turn around, grinning.

"Hey, Ashley?"

Ashley pivots slowly to face me, running a frustrated hand through her curly brown hair.

"You may want to check the 14th floor. And the stairwell." I wink and give her a small wave before turning to continue on my way to the elevator. Pretending to be nice is a lot easier this way.

***

We've been moving The Roomie's shit for hours, and I'm totally ready to just plop onto the couch with some good ol' Golden Girls reruns.

Yeah, I'm serious. The Golden Girls are the definition of "badass".

As I carry one of the few remaining boxes through our propped-open door, I cast a longing glance at said couch. I don't think it's ever looked as good as it does right now.

I drop the box in my arms onto the now-large pile haphazardly and make a beeline for those criminally soft cushions.

"I second that," Brandon grumbles as I groan when my body hits the sofa.

"I hate moving," my reply is muffled by the pillow that my face is currently buried in.

"What?"

"Nothing."

I vaguely register the sound of the door opening, and seconds later there's a bit of pain and a large weight on my lower back. "Ow," I mutter half-heartedly. I don't even have to make an attempt to look to know that Hayley's sitting on me. "Get off."

"Nah," Hayley responds, patting my back. "I'm good."

I roll my eyes as I wriggle out from under her.

"Best way to clear a couch," Hayley grins victoriously as I move to my chair, glaring at her.

Ashley sits down next to Hayley on the couch, looking down at her hands with forced interest.

The room falls into silence. And its not one of those comfortable silences. It's the kind of silence that makes you feel like you're in a chokehold.

Hayley's finally the one to break it. "So…," she bites her lip. It's pretty obvious she doesn't have anything else to say. "Spinach," she finishes arbitrarily.

I throw an odd look in her direction. "Spinach?"

She nods, taking a sip from her bottle of water before placing it back onto the coffee table. "Spinach."

Without warning, we both break into a fit of laughter. I realize that it isn't funny. Not at all, actually. But it's just one of those "Spencer and Hayley things". It's the type of thing we usually laugh at for a reason that nobody else would understand. That's how we've always been. It's sort of like everyone else is on the outside of an inside joke that doesn't really exist. I think the inside joke is just the world that Hayley and I inhabit. It's probably full of rabbits with pocket watches and shrinking houses and such.

It isn't long before Brandon and Ashley start laughing with us, joining our entirely unfounded giggle fit. For a moment, I want to glare at Ashley for trying to become a part of something that's ours, not hers. I want to tell her off for intruding when she's only known us for 2 days.

But I don't. My back hurts too much for confrontation.

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