Hmm. My pill. Yesterday was my twenty-first day, which is a bit unfortunate. That means that in exactly three days I’m going to get my period, which sucks. Russ and I are only together for two more weeks before vacation. I can’t be out of commission for one of them. I hop off my bed, open my stuff drawer and search for my next month’s pill sheet. When I first went on the pill, my doctor told me to take two months straight. Maybe I should do that again so I won’t get my period until winter vacation. It can’t be that bad for you if he wanted me to do it when I first started, right? When you forget to take two in a row they tell you to start a new pack straight away, so it must be fine. And I’ll only do it this once, anyway. I push one of the white pills through the foil and swallow it before I can change my mind.
A knock on the door startles me, as if I’m doing something illegal.
I open it quickly, and Russ shuffles inside.
Illegal, illicit, what’s the difference? His lips are warm and I think I might be in love.
The alarm goes off at six-ten. Madonna is on the radio. I wonder what she would think about my affair. The Madonna of “Like A Virgin” would have approved. The English Rose Madonna, not so much.
Russ reaches for his sweatpants and shirt. “See you later,” he says.
Love you, I think but don’t say. The door shuts softly behind him.
I try to fall back asleep, but I can’t. That was Russ’s only condition for staying the night. The shrieking alarm at six-ten in the morning so he can sneak out without anyone seeing. Come on, what are the chances that Rena will be standing outside and spot him? I suppose he’s concerned that if he gets up at a normal hour, someone will see him doing the walk of shame and mention it to Rena, who will report back to Sharon. He doesn’t even want us telling anyone in the group. Fine, I understand. Nick has a big mouth, Jamie would be crushed because of his feelings for me, and who knows what the deal with Lauren is. So it’s a secret. For now. Except for Layla, who I had to tell. Eventually he’ll break up with Sharon and we’ll come out of the closet. Closet, dorm room-pretty much the same thing. He has to, doesn’t he? He’s not a bad guy; he’s just trying to figure out what he wants. And he’ll realize that it’s me and not Sharon.
I’m sure Russ has no problem falling back asleep. He’s been late to almost every morning class in the past two weeks. Matthews launches daggers at him when Russ tries to sneak into OB. I’m worried he’s not taking class seriously.
Not like me. Now that I’m up at six-ten, I might as well be studying. I step into my flip-flops and grab my shower supplies.
By seven-thirty I’m at the library. Layla is already there, in her usual seat. “Morning,” she says, waving.
“Hey.” I’m not much for talking this early. At least not until the bland coffee I picked up from the twenty-four-hour campus store kicks in. I’m almost done studying for Economics, which is pretty crazy, considering the exam isn’t until next Monday. OB is on Tuesday, Accounting on Wednesday, Stats on Thursday, and Strategy on Friday. I’ve also done most of the reading for OB and Stats. Tomorrow is the final day of class, so as of Friday I can start studying full-time.
I like being in the library at this hour. From my perch near the fourth-floor window, I watch the sun crawl its way into the sky, illuminating the campus below. Not too many students are around, but every few minutes someone rushes from one building to another. I spot Jamie, a bag of mini-muffins under his arm, on his way to meet us. He comes here every morning at seven forty-five, follows us to class and then walks back to the Zoo with us at midnight. Funny, I would never have pegged him for a library guy.
Then again, I wouldn’t have pegged myself as a library girl, either.
jamie’s on fire
Friday, December 12, 3:14 a.m.
I’m having that exam dream-you know the one I mean, the one where you’re scribbling furiously in the high-school gym and you realize you’re butt naked-when the alarm signaling the end of the exam goes off.
Then I realize it’s not an exam bell, it’s a fire alarm, and I shoot up in bed. Oy. It’s 3:14 a.m. It’s probably a false alarm, but what if it’s for real? When I worked at the hospital, I saw kids who were victims of house fires, and it wasn’t pretty. I grab a pair of sweatpants, sweatshirt, a jacket and running shoes, my credit card and new student card with photo (finally got that in the mail today, can’t have it go up in flames already), take my keys and step into the hallway. I don’t have too much of value in my room except for my TV and DVD collection. And the mini-fridge I rented for a hundred bucks. (Who doesn’t want cold drinks and ice-cream sandwiches available twenty-four/seven?) I try to remember what we were instructed to do in a fire situation. I think the brief on fire safety in my welcome package said to line up at the nearest exit.
The hall is empty. Either I’ve developed schizophrenia and hearing loud, continuously ringing fire bells is a part of my new condition, or I have quicker-than-average reflexes.
I begin to hear a faint rustling in the rooms.
“Make it stop!” someone yells.
I patrol the hallway to see if anyone other than me has deemed it necessary to vacate his or her room.
Nick is standing in his boxers, topless, looking skeletal and confused. “What’s going on?”
“Not sure.” I sprint down the stairs to see if I can find anyone who knows why this annoying bell is still ringing. I’m both surprised and impressed with my middle-of-the-night energy and agility.
The people from the second floor are exiting the building. I spot Lauren with an opened coat over red flannel pajamas. Maybe the carbon monoxide has spread throughout the third floor, and for some reason everyone except me is unconscious.
I decide to check on Layla and Kimmy, hero that I am.
I hike back up the stairs, my energy waning, and am poised to knock on Layla’s door when she flings it open. She’s fully dressed in khakis, a green turtleneck and a long wool coat. She’s toting a fishbowl above her head with one hand, her laptop with the other.
She is so cute. “It’s a fire alarm, not a flood alarm,” I say, and take the fishbowl from her.
“Thanks. I forgot to back up my documents last night. If this computer melts, I’m a dead woman. Are we supposed to go downstairs?”
“I think that would be the best option. I’ll just check on Kimmy.”
“Jamie to the rescue.” She makes a kissing noise and disappears down the stairs.
Funny, she doesn’t notice that I rescued her first. She’s possessed with the notion that I’m in love with Kimmy. I wish I could tell Layla that it’s her I can’t get out of my head, but it’s obvious she’s not interested in me. If I told her, I’d end up being another class joke, the way I did with Kimmy.
“Hello, Martha,” I say to the bowl. Then I knock on Kimmy’s door. “Darlin’? That alarm blaring? It normally signals fire. It’s best to leave the building so you won’t burn.”
I hear swearing from inside. Male swearing. There is a male swearing in Kimmy’s room. Must be Russ, I figure (not that it would take a rocket scientist to figure it out). Three pj-clad people pass me, and I’m standing by myself in the hall. “You two can come out now. Coast is clear.” No sound. “Russ, I know you’re in there.”
The door opens slowly. Russ is sitting on the desk, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, looking extremely pale. Maybe the carbon monoxide has gotten to him. Or not.
“Studying late, are we?” I ask.