Page 7 of Jump on Three

This one, I could have figured out without his help. I may have spent my formative years in Russia, but even I knew Annie. The clunking coming from our tiny living area mixed with “It’s a Hard Knock Life,” I guessed Freddie was cleaning.

I got up from my desk to check, finding Freddie with a bandanna around his head and a feather duster in his back pocket, zealously scrubbing the inside of our mini refrigerator.

He caught sight of me over his shoulder and spun around. “Have you come to help me?”

Crossing my arms, I leaned against my doorjamb. “I have not. You cleaned that last week. All we keep in there is water. It does not need to be cleaned again.”

“You”—he pointed to me—“are wrong, Ivan-ho. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and we all know how I feel about Sky Daddy.”

I chuckled despite how annoying he was. I’d long ago accepted the wisdom behind the randomness of my roommate match with Freddie. He was who he was. He would not change, and I did not want him to. Though there were times, like now, I wished he came with a volume control.

“Will you be finished anytime soon?”

He twisted his mouth as though thinking about it. “Hmmm…no, I don’t think so.”

“And you will not stop singing?”

He rolled his eyes. “We both know I can’t clean unless I sing.”

“It is very stereotypical, you know.”

“I don’t sing show tunes because I’m gay, Ivan—just like you don’t drink vodka because you’re Russian. I sing show tunes because my mother is Clarabelle Spencer—”

“The best voice in the West End,” I finished for him.

He cocked a grin. “You’ve heard this one before.”

“More than once.” I heaved a sigh. Freddie and I were more alike than different, even if we didn't appear so. We bickered, but I enjoyed him…most of the time. I only found him trying when he refused to fuck off and shut up. I didn’t mind the show tunes, except when I wanted to get sleep or, like now, study for an important test.

“If I need peace and quiet…”

“You’ll have to wait out my current mania,” he replied without a hint of irony. “You understand, of course, parents’ weekend is coming up next month, and Clarabelle just informed me she might be on a yacht in the Maldives instead of visiting her beloved only son. Therefore, I must scour the shit out of every surface until I work through my mummy abandonment issues. It could be quite a while.”

“I have a test tomorrow.”

He plucked his duster from his pocket and waved it toward me. “And I have sympathy. I do. Really. If you give me a couple hours to scrub every speck of dirt off every surface, I’ll quiet down.”

With a groan, I shoved my fingers through my hair. “Freddie, you are a terrible roommate.”

“Yes…well, I’ve never claimed to be anything else. I don’t know why the school puts spoiled rich kids together and expects us to act anything but.”

“You could have applied for a single room,” I reminded him.

His bottom lip poked out. “Then I’d be lonely. Who would listen to me sing?”

“Agh, Freddie…” I yanked at my hair, frustrated. “I’m going to the library. You’ll have to sing to yourself.”

The sounds of “Tomorrow” followed me down the hall.

I had no use for good grades, not for the future I wanted for myself, but my father’s expectations did not align with mine. So long as I kept an A average, he did not feel compelled to visit.

I was not an A student naturally, which meant I had to study my ass off. Great effort was required for me to understand the material. Last semester, I had a handle on my classes. Delilah and I had studied together. She’d pointed out important passages in our textbooks, and her presence had helped me concentrate.

Then…I guessed I fucked up.

Or she did.

Things had worked until they hadn’t. Now, she studied in her room, and I tried to study in mine. But with Freddie as a roommate, I was coming to accept that wasn’t tenable.

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