Jennie's POV
Um . . . Where is Wendy?" I try to sound authoritative, but my voice comes out as more of a squeak. My hands are clenched around the soft fabric of my towel and my eyes keep darting down to make sure it's actually covering my naked body.The girl looks at me, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly, but doesn't say a word."Did you hear me? I asked you where Wendy is," I repeat, trying to be slightly more polite this time.The expression on her dace magnifies and she finally mumbles, "I don't know," and turns on the small flat screen on Wendy's dresser. What is she even doing in here? Doesn't she have her own room? I bite my tongue, trying to keep my rude comments to myself."Okay? Well, could you like . . . leave or something so I can get dressed?" She hasn't even noticed I'm in a towel. Or maybe she has but it doesn't impress her."Don't flatter yourself, it's not like I'm going to look at you," she scoffs and rolls over, her hands covering her face. She has a thick English accent that I didn't notice at first. Probably because she was too rude to actually speak to me yesterday.
Unsure how I should respond to her rude remark, I huff and walk to my dresser. Maybe she's straight, maybe that's what she meant by "it's not like I'm going to look." Either that or she finds me unattractive. I hastily put on a bra and panties, followed by a plain white shirt and khaki shorts.
"Are you done yet?" she asks, snapping the last bit of patience I held. "Could you be any more disrespectful? I did nothing to you. What is your problem?!" I shout, much louder than I had wanted to, but by the surprised look on her face, my words had the intended effect.
She silently stares at me for a moment. And while I await for her apology . . . she bursts into laughter. Her laugh is deep and would be an almost lovely sound if she didn't come off so unpleasant. Dimples indent both of her cheeks as she continues on, and I feel like a complete idiot, unsure what to do or say. I don't usually like conflict and this girl seems like the last person I should start a fight with.The door opens and Wendy bursts in. "Sorry I'm late. I have a hell of a hangover," she says dramatically, and her eyes dart back and forth between the two of us. "Sorry, Jen, I forgot to tell you Lisa would be coming by." She shrugs apologetically.
I would like to think me and Wendy could make our living arrangement work, maybe even build some sort of a friendship, but with her choice of friends and late nights, I'm just not sure anymore."Your girlfriend is rude." The words tumble out before I can stop them. Wendy looks over at the girl. And then they both burst into laughter. What is it with people laughing at me? It's getting really annoying. "Lalisa Manoban is not my girlfriend!" she spits out, nearly choking. Calming down, she turns and scowls at this Lisa "What did you say to her?" Then, looking back at me: "Lisa has a . . . a unique way of conversing."Lovely, so basically what she is saying is that Lisa is, simply, at her core, a rude person. The English girl shrugs and changes the channel with the remote in her hand.
"There is a party tonight; you should come with us, Jennie," she says. So now it's my turn to laugh. "Parties aren't really my thing. Plus I have to go to get some things for my desk and walls." I look at Lisa, who, of course, is acting as if neither of us is in the room with her. "C'mon . . . it's just one party! You're in college now, just one party won't hurt," she begs. "Wait, how are you getting to the store? I thought you didn't have a car?"
"I was going to take the bus. And besides, I can't go to a party—I don't even know anyone," I say, and Lisa laughs again—a subtle acknowledgment that she'll pay just enough attention to mock me. "I was going to read and Skype with Kai."
"You don't want to take the bus on a Saturday! They're way too packed. Lisa can drop you on the way to her place . . . right, Lisa? And you'll know me at the party. Just come . . . please?" She presses her hands together in a dramatic plea. I've only known her for a day; should I trust her? My mother's warning about parties goes through my head. Wendy seems quite sweet, from the small interaction that I've had with her. But a party?
"I don't know . . . and, no, I don't want Lisa to drive me to the store," I say.
Lisa rolls over across Wendy's bed with an amused expression. "Oh no! I was really looking forward to hanging out with you," she dryly replies, her voice so full of sarcasm that I want to throw a book at her curly head. "Come on, Wendy, you know this girl isn't going to show at the party," she says, laughing; her accent is so thick.
The curious side of me, which I admit is quite large, is desperate to ask her where she is from. The competitive side of me wants to prove that smug face of her is wrong."Actually, yeah, I'll come," I say with as sweet a smile as I can manage. "It sounds like it might be fun." Lisa shakes her head in disbelief and Wendy squeals before wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug."Yay! We'll have so much fun!" she shrieks. And a big part of me is practically praying that she'll be right.