**
"Morning," Dana says brightly. "Wake up . . . Wake up."
Good commanding voice but it's hot and the air is stuffy and I just want to go to sleep.
Course ice water really perks you up.
So does looking at Dana - that just perks you up in other areas . . . My bleary mind tells me that's not going along with my don't-comment-on-Dana act I instated last night . . . I also thought she wouldn't own a shirt that small either.
Live and learn.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I yell, mostly to cover my provable ass while I cover other things with a sheet.
"Pouring water on you. Refreshing, huh?"
"Wet," I mutter wiping it off of me and not willing to admit, though shocking, it was refreshing.
"Come on, let's go. Get up, we have more roommate stuff to do today. We get to go to the supermarket." She really likes living together, nearly breaks my heart to tell her no . . . okay, I'm lying, I'm tired and I have no problem saying it.
"No. I don't want to, what time is it?"
"Eleven, I think you've slept quite enough."
"Good roommates don't comment," I manage before falling back on the wet cushions. That could have been sarcastic, or it could have been serious, my unfocused brain is holding back the final verdict.
"But I have a surprise for you."
"Your last surprise broke my couch."
"Come on," she moans, grabbing my hand and dragging me. I guess my dead weight isn't much fun to move because she lets go and puffs out a, "FINE!"
I hear her turn on heel and I try to sleep again.
**
Instant coffee isn't so great but, despite my display in the bedroom . . . hum, that didn't sound very good, I meant despite my perkiness in . . . Oh, forget it! I'm debating this crap to myself! This is what viewing a morning - and nighttime - erection does to a girl who is lusting - No. Who is . . . frustrated, sexually frustrated.
Yeah.
The point is I only woke up fifteen minutes ago, but that doesn't mean Harry has to know that. I sit at the kitchen table and dump some sugar into the cup while I yawn and flip through the thick stack of papers Harry dropped there yesterday. They are all college pamphlets, and Rechen University is staring me in the face.
Rechen, it's only about thirty minutes away and I remember the tour I took there, and the classes I poured over, checking off the ones I liked. It was my fail-safe, along with a few others.
Even if I said I only applied to Smith I also wanted a back up, all that talk of college not worth going to if you aren't where you want to be is never right. I'm not stupid.
So I applied to Rechen, Mount Tortessen, George, and Valor Mack, all dotting the East Coast with the exception of the Southern California's George University. The only one I didn't get into was Valor Mack, in New Hampshire. Getting into the rest was great, but the only logical choice was Smith.
And now I'm having second thoughts. Which is incredibly dimwitted of me.
But all those reasons I had for going to Smith seem so . . . different.
I wanted to get away from here - now I want to stick around. But I won't, not unless it's because . . . I don't want Harry Senate to rule my life and the way things are going my 'friend' is becoming a bigger, and bigger part of my thought process.
"Morning."
I jump as he grumbles out his greeting and goes to the cupboard, pulling away a brown mug and setting it on the table as I gather up the pamphlets and slip them under my forearm.
"Where's my surprise?"
Surpri . . . Does he realize he's *only* wearing boxer shorts, his hair is rubbed into a mess and his chest is . . . right there looking rather . . . umm . . .
"DANA?"
"Huh? Yeah?"
"You okay?"
"Course, just . . . thinking of what I'm going to tell you since I lied about the surprise. But look, caffeine," I say helpfully, pushing the jar of coffee at him as he looks at me strangely and sits down.
Yep, just ignore the drooling fiend that lies and says she wants to be simple friends . . .
"I'm going to put on a little make-up."
**
She left quickly . . .
Uh . . . oh . . . last night . . . I . . . and . . .
Ah, Morning. The lovely memories you bring from the night before. Yes, the revelations that comes along with a clear head -
Like the fact I got a hard-on putting antibiotic ointment on a cut.
Who'd have thought that was possible?
And then there was the fact that that she accidentally brushed against that hard-on.
Yep, thank you, Morning, for recalling all of these wonderful things. I push through the mail and see a clear ocean view and a couple palm trees, flipping it over Kevin's writing greets me telling me he's having a great time. Bastard.
I pour some hot water into my cup making the water black and drinking it down quick, the heat of the drink flushing me from the inside out, hopefully helping me retrieve some of the brains, dignity, or self-control I've seem to have lost since Dana's arrived in my life.
Fat chance.
**
"We need some of that," I tell Harry, pointing to some cereal loaded with too much sugar. My jitteriness around him was calmed after sitting in the living room and waiting for him to finish dressing - without thinking of him dressing - then the silent ride here, but then it got all fluttery again after I made the discovery . . .
I am becoming petty and pitiful - but that's not the good part of the discovery. They good part is that when I asked Harry to get something off of the top shelf he had to stretch, exposing that little strip of flesh that shows between his blue tee shirt and beige shorts that are a little too big and dip a little too low. One side of the shirt lifts up more than the other side and if I stand just right, pretty much against the shelf, I can see the arrow of hair that narrows down toward . . .
Lauren Davis.
Lauren Davis.
Lauren Davis.
Unpleasant, but an effective chant. It *did* help when he kept leaning down to get ketchup and mustard . . . least I know who to thank now, thank you to the people who decide where to place the products, and the great stock- people that put them there.
He's bending to grab a bag of sugar . . .
Grocery shopping is fun.
**
"We need some of that too."
"Confectioners sugar?"
"Yeah . . . just in case."
I give her a look but get it anyway, reaching up to the top shelf as far as I can. Why do they even bother to put things up this damn high?
"The other bag, behind it," she orders.
"I think they're all the same," I tell her but reach for the one she wants anyway. It's worthwhile when I turn around and she has a smile on her face that looks oddly -
"On to dairy products," she announces and goes on, leaving me to push the cart.
**
Friends have sexual tension, right? Yeah, lots of friends do . . . Lots . . .
"So do you want to grab some stuff for your famous blueberry muffins."
"Huh?"
Huh?
What did he . . . Oh. Muffins.
He smirks slowly, wish he wouldn't do that.
"You're amazing muffins you made before, along with that great lasagna I'd like to have again."
He knows.
"Okay, so it's *my* definition of 'homemade'. I cooked it didn't I? . . . Heated it, really. But who do you know can heat up a dish as well as me?" I smile. "I'd be happy to make you some more, but do you want to try something else this time? Mama Geloli's Chicken Parmesan Frozen Dinners melt in your mouth and the Bakery Department makes a mean strawberry tart."
"Don't forget the whipped cream, 'Crème Cream . . . It makes every thing more fun'," his low voice quotes from their commercials. I wonder if their aware of how damn erotic their catchphrase is. Probably, creamy bastards.
**
We approach the check out with a basket full of food, so full that I don't think I've shopped this much since I moved out of my mother's house. I've put things in the basket today I didn't even know existed, but Dana seems interested . . . I sense a lot of 'try this' coming with a spoonful of some indiscernible, possibly hazardous thing.
"Harry . . ." Dana asks slowly, and that's never good, in other situations maybe, but not now. She traces the magazine covers as she stares at them but it's obvious she isn't really looking at them.
"Yeah?"
"I said I need some advice."
"Well, I find 'Time' informative but for good reading you can't beat 'You- Got-A-Tattoo-WHERE? Weekly'."
"What do you think of Rechen?" she asks, ignoring my answer.
"University?"
"No, traveling carnival. Yes, university!" she sighs, dropping her arm to her side.
"It's a good college, excellent art programs."
"So on a scale?"
"It's up there, why?"
"Just asking."
"You never 'just ask', what's going on?"
"Nothing," she says, getting defensive as grabs a tabloid and flips through it. She's annoyed? I should be happy she's anything around me, she hasn't mentioned what happened last night and I should just shut up, but --
"What is it?" I never follow my own advice.
"I said it isn't anything," she says, her voice rising a little and drawing a look from the older woman in line next to us.
"I don't want to do this now."
**
He gave me the low voice! He even leaned in. I am not his student.
"Then stop asking."
"Dana--"
"What?" I snap. Then I wince. Maybe I'm being a bitch.
Maybe.
But I don't want him thinking that I just interesting in Rechen so I could keep on living with him. Even though it'd be cheaper, and right now cheap is the best way to be. Despite the avalanche of food we're buying.
And since I've been trying to orchestrate great opportunities for him to stretch just so I can watch it'd probably be psycho too.
"What's going on with you?"
"Nothing . . . something." I shake my head and breathe out. "I got accepted - to Rechen, I just--"
"Wow."
**
Maybe she expected more of a response than my low observation because she faces forward, getting in front to unload the basket.
"So are you going?"
"No . . . maybe," she shrugs. "I don't know. I just . . . I've wanted to go to Smith for a long time and now . . . I just don't know if it's the place for me."
She's piling everything on the belt and the poor checker is going as fast as possible until Dana finishes and pulls the cart out to the bagger before coming back to me, watching the things being pushed through.
". . . Do you know why I choose Smith, Harry?" she questions, her voice quiet and never leaving the task before her.
"I don't think I do." She used to tell me her reasons, months ago. It was a good school, it was exciting . . . Seeing her now, and even then . . . there was something more.
"I wanted to go away. Freshman year I saw this big review of Smith, with all these 'look at me, I'm happy and successful' people and then I go home and . . ." And I get the feeling her life wasn't happy OR successful at that point. "And I just wanted to leave and go to a place that was like that."
"And you got in."
"But things are different now."
" . . . How?"
Am I really prepared for the answer to that question?
**
Should I really answer that question?
I shrug and smile.
"My psychic told me my fortune changed."
"Hope you aren't charging that on my phone bill."
"Only the 5.99-per-minute ones, the cheaper kind aren't worth calling."
The way we avoid subjects is like an art.
**
This is a lesson to be learned. Do not shop with Dana Poole.
And this was just the grocery store.
Getting into the elevator was hard, keeping it open so we can lug all the bags back out wasn't fun either, but arguing over who paid for groceries this week was the worst. Eventually I won when she declared me aggravating as I pulled out my wallet and she went to help the sacker. I then realized I had a big bill for a bunch of stuff I didn't even want. Teachers are supposed to be smart - Not when you tangle with Dana.
We manage down the hall and, finally the bags are in front of the door and I open it as we both sigh in relief, moving them in seeming like an easy task before I shut it again.
Do *not* shop with Dana Poole.
"Yuck, something is leaking." She lifts her leg and wipes off something that dripped mid-thigh below her shorts all the way down . . .
And then she's staring at me calling my name.
"What?"
"I said someone is knocking."
"Right," I breathe out, going to answer it.
The amount of untapped friction is liable to kill us all. We should have a dress code.
Course that wouldn't end up being to my libido's advantage -- my sanity, maybe -- but not my libido.
**
"Mom--"
Mom? No, not my mom, whoa, where did that flood of paranoia come from. Wait. Mom?
I step through the bags that fill the floor and make my way to the living room to see Harry being embraced by a woman, a very, very excited woman.
"I've missed you so much," she says holding his face and brushing his hair back.
"I missed you too, Mom," he says as she wipes off the lipstick mark she made on his cheek. Looking to her side she smiles widely.
Oh boy.
"Morning," Dana says brightly. "Wake up . . . Wake up."
Good commanding voice but it's hot and the air is stuffy and I just want to go to sleep.
Course ice water really perks you up.
So does looking at Dana - that just perks you up in other areas . . . My bleary mind tells me that's not going along with my don't-comment-on-Dana act I instated last night . . . I also thought she wouldn't own a shirt that small either.
Live and learn.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I yell, mostly to cover my provable ass while I cover other things with a sheet.
"Pouring water on you. Refreshing, huh?"
"Wet," I mutter wiping it off of me and not willing to admit, though shocking, it was refreshing.
"Come on, let's go. Get up, we have more roommate stuff to do today. We get to go to the supermarket." She really likes living together, nearly breaks my heart to tell her no . . . okay, I'm lying, I'm tired and I have no problem saying it.
"No. I don't want to, what time is it?"
"Eleven, I think you've slept quite enough."
"Good roommates don't comment," I manage before falling back on the wet cushions. That could have been sarcastic, or it could have been serious, my unfocused brain is holding back the final verdict.
"But I have a surprise for you."
"Your last surprise broke my couch."
"Come on," she moans, grabbing my hand and dragging me. I guess my dead weight isn't much fun to move because she lets go and puffs out a, "FINE!"
I hear her turn on heel and I try to sleep again.
**
Instant coffee isn't so great but, despite my display in the bedroom . . . hum, that didn't sound very good, I meant despite my perkiness in . . . Oh, forget it! I'm debating this crap to myself! This is what viewing a morning - and nighttime - erection does to a girl who is lusting - No. Who is . . . frustrated, sexually frustrated.
Yeah.
The point is I only woke up fifteen minutes ago, but that doesn't mean Harry has to know that. I sit at the kitchen table and dump some sugar into the cup while I yawn and flip through the thick stack of papers Harry dropped there yesterday. They are all college pamphlets, and Rechen University is staring me in the face.
Rechen, it's only about thirty minutes away and I remember the tour I took there, and the classes I poured over, checking off the ones I liked. It was my fail-safe, along with a few others.
Even if I said I only applied to Smith I also wanted a back up, all that talk of college not worth going to if you aren't where you want to be is never right. I'm not stupid.
So I applied to Rechen, Mount Tortessen, George, and Valor Mack, all dotting the East Coast with the exception of the Southern California's George University. The only one I didn't get into was Valor Mack, in New Hampshire. Getting into the rest was great, but the only logical choice was Smith.
And now I'm having second thoughts. Which is incredibly dimwitted of me.
But all those reasons I had for going to Smith seem so . . . different.
I wanted to get away from here - now I want to stick around. But I won't, not unless it's because . . . I don't want Harry Senate to rule my life and the way things are going my 'friend' is becoming a bigger, and bigger part of my thought process.
"Morning."
I jump as he grumbles out his greeting and goes to the cupboard, pulling away a brown mug and setting it on the table as I gather up the pamphlets and slip them under my forearm.
"Where's my surprise?"
Surpri . . . Does he realize he's *only* wearing boxer shorts, his hair is rubbed into a mess and his chest is . . . right there looking rather . . . umm . . .
"DANA?"
"Huh? Yeah?"
"You okay?"
"Course, just . . . thinking of what I'm going to tell you since I lied about the surprise. But look, caffeine," I say helpfully, pushing the jar of coffee at him as he looks at me strangely and sits down.
Yep, just ignore the drooling fiend that lies and says she wants to be simple friends . . .
"I'm going to put on a little make-up."
**
She left quickly . . .
Uh . . . oh . . . last night . . . I . . . and . . .
Ah, Morning. The lovely memories you bring from the night before. Yes, the revelations that comes along with a clear head -
Like the fact I got a hard-on putting antibiotic ointment on a cut.
Who'd have thought that was possible?
And then there was the fact that that she accidentally brushed against that hard-on.
Yep, thank you, Morning, for recalling all of these wonderful things. I push through the mail and see a clear ocean view and a couple palm trees, flipping it over Kevin's writing greets me telling me he's having a great time. Bastard.
I pour some hot water into my cup making the water black and drinking it down quick, the heat of the drink flushing me from the inside out, hopefully helping me retrieve some of the brains, dignity, or self-control I've seem to have lost since Dana's arrived in my life.
Fat chance.
**
"We need some of that," I tell Harry, pointing to some cereal loaded with too much sugar. My jitteriness around him was calmed after sitting in the living room and waiting for him to finish dressing - without thinking of him dressing - then the silent ride here, but then it got all fluttery again after I made the discovery . . .
I am becoming petty and pitiful - but that's not the good part of the discovery. They good part is that when I asked Harry to get something off of the top shelf he had to stretch, exposing that little strip of flesh that shows between his blue tee shirt and beige shorts that are a little too big and dip a little too low. One side of the shirt lifts up more than the other side and if I stand just right, pretty much against the shelf, I can see the arrow of hair that narrows down toward . . .
Lauren Davis.
Lauren Davis.
Lauren Davis.
Unpleasant, but an effective chant. It *did* help when he kept leaning down to get ketchup and mustard . . . least I know who to thank now, thank you to the people who decide where to place the products, and the great stock- people that put them there.
He's bending to grab a bag of sugar . . .
Grocery shopping is fun.
**
"We need some of that too."
"Confectioners sugar?"
"Yeah . . . just in case."
I give her a look but get it anyway, reaching up to the top shelf as far as I can. Why do they even bother to put things up this damn high?
"The other bag, behind it," she orders.
"I think they're all the same," I tell her but reach for the one she wants anyway. It's worthwhile when I turn around and she has a smile on her face that looks oddly -
"On to dairy products," she announces and goes on, leaving me to push the cart.
**
Friends have sexual tension, right? Yeah, lots of friends do . . . Lots . . .
"So do you want to grab some stuff for your famous blueberry muffins."
"Huh?"
Huh?
What did he . . . Oh. Muffins.
He smirks slowly, wish he wouldn't do that.
"You're amazing muffins you made before, along with that great lasagna I'd like to have again."
He knows.
"Okay, so it's *my* definition of 'homemade'. I cooked it didn't I? . . . Heated it, really. But who do you know can heat up a dish as well as me?" I smile. "I'd be happy to make you some more, but do you want to try something else this time? Mama Geloli's Chicken Parmesan Frozen Dinners melt in your mouth and the Bakery Department makes a mean strawberry tart."
"Don't forget the whipped cream, 'Crème Cream . . . It makes every thing more fun'," his low voice quotes from their commercials. I wonder if their aware of how damn erotic their catchphrase is. Probably, creamy bastards.
**
We approach the check out with a basket full of food, so full that I don't think I've shopped this much since I moved out of my mother's house. I've put things in the basket today I didn't even know existed, but Dana seems interested . . . I sense a lot of 'try this' coming with a spoonful of some indiscernible, possibly hazardous thing.
"Harry . . ." Dana asks slowly, and that's never good, in other situations maybe, but not now. She traces the magazine covers as she stares at them but it's obvious she isn't really looking at them.
"Yeah?"
"I said I need some advice."
"Well, I find 'Time' informative but for good reading you can't beat 'You- Got-A-Tattoo-WHERE? Weekly'."
"What do you think of Rechen?" she asks, ignoring my answer.
"University?"
"No, traveling carnival. Yes, university!" she sighs, dropping her arm to her side.
"It's a good college, excellent art programs."
"So on a scale?"
"It's up there, why?"
"Just asking."
"You never 'just ask', what's going on?"
"Nothing," she says, getting defensive as grabs a tabloid and flips through it. She's annoyed? I should be happy she's anything around me, she hasn't mentioned what happened last night and I should just shut up, but --
"What is it?" I never follow my own advice.
"I said it isn't anything," she says, her voice rising a little and drawing a look from the older woman in line next to us.
"I don't want to do this now."
**
He gave me the low voice! He even leaned in. I am not his student.
"Then stop asking."
"Dana--"
"What?" I snap. Then I wince. Maybe I'm being a bitch.
Maybe.
But I don't want him thinking that I just interesting in Rechen so I could keep on living with him. Even though it'd be cheaper, and right now cheap is the best way to be. Despite the avalanche of food we're buying.
And since I've been trying to orchestrate great opportunities for him to stretch just so I can watch it'd probably be psycho too.
"What's going on with you?"
"Nothing . . . something." I shake my head and breathe out. "I got accepted - to Rechen, I just--"
"Wow."
**
Maybe she expected more of a response than my low observation because she faces forward, getting in front to unload the basket.
"So are you going?"
"No . . . maybe," she shrugs. "I don't know. I just . . . I've wanted to go to Smith for a long time and now . . . I just don't know if it's the place for me."
She's piling everything on the belt and the poor checker is going as fast as possible until Dana finishes and pulls the cart out to the bagger before coming back to me, watching the things being pushed through.
". . . Do you know why I choose Smith, Harry?" she questions, her voice quiet and never leaving the task before her.
"I don't think I do." She used to tell me her reasons, months ago. It was a good school, it was exciting . . . Seeing her now, and even then . . . there was something more.
"I wanted to go away. Freshman year I saw this big review of Smith, with all these 'look at me, I'm happy and successful' people and then I go home and . . ." And I get the feeling her life wasn't happy OR successful at that point. "And I just wanted to leave and go to a place that was like that."
"And you got in."
"But things are different now."
" . . . How?"
Am I really prepared for the answer to that question?
**
Should I really answer that question?
I shrug and smile.
"My psychic told me my fortune changed."
"Hope you aren't charging that on my phone bill."
"Only the 5.99-per-minute ones, the cheaper kind aren't worth calling."
The way we avoid subjects is like an art.
**
This is a lesson to be learned. Do not shop with Dana Poole.
And this was just the grocery store.
Getting into the elevator was hard, keeping it open so we can lug all the bags back out wasn't fun either, but arguing over who paid for groceries this week was the worst. Eventually I won when she declared me aggravating as I pulled out my wallet and she went to help the sacker. I then realized I had a big bill for a bunch of stuff I didn't even want. Teachers are supposed to be smart - Not when you tangle with Dana.
We manage down the hall and, finally the bags are in front of the door and I open it as we both sigh in relief, moving them in seeming like an easy task before I shut it again.
Do *not* shop with Dana Poole.
"Yuck, something is leaking." She lifts her leg and wipes off something that dripped mid-thigh below her shorts all the way down . . .
And then she's staring at me calling my name.
"What?"
"I said someone is knocking."
"Right," I breathe out, going to answer it.
The amount of untapped friction is liable to kill us all. We should have a dress code.
Course that wouldn't end up being to my libido's advantage -- my sanity, maybe -- but not my libido.
**
"Mom--"
Mom? No, not my mom, whoa, where did that flood of paranoia come from. Wait. Mom?
I step through the bags that fill the floor and make my way to the living room to see Harry being embraced by a woman, a very, very excited woman.
"I've missed you so much," she says holding his face and brushing his hair back.
"I missed you too, Mom," he says as she wipes off the lipstick mark she made on his cheek. Looking to her side she smiles widely.
Oh boy.
