Page 3 of Sicken of the Calm
Ezra is chewing on a pen he’sbarely using, focused on the laptop on the desk we are sharing. We’re in mystudent apartment, a small studio for students that can’t stand the dorms butdon’t have the money to get something out of the university’s purview. Althoughthere’s barely any room to move around, it has everything I need; akitchenette, bathroom, desk, bed, side-table and wardrobe. The only realinconvenience is that I have to cook with the windows open, even in winter, orrisk my clothes smelling like food. Mostly, I go to Iva’s shared kitchen andcook with her, keeping all my Goya spices and cans in one of her cupboards.
“I need a break,” Ezra says,leaning back in a foldable chair I keep around for when Iva and Moore are over.
It had taken little convincingfor me to agree to partner up with Ezra on the anthropology project. He hadgone straight into planning convenient meet-up times the next time we had seeneach other in class, and, used to dealing with Iva, I had gone with the flow.He had seemed surprised when I agreed, and when I raised my eyebrows inquestion, he had just shrugged.
“You didn’t text,” he saidsimply. I had watched his profile as he looked away, confused.
Now, I watch him lean back,closing the eyes he had been straining on the laptop. After a moment, he turnshis head to look at me, a small smile on his face.
“Any plans for the weekend?” heasks. I shrug.
“Not really.”
“Not much for partying?”
I shrug again. “They’re ok.” Ican imagine that Ezra is like Iva, blossoming in the fresh air of anenvironment much more accepting than high school.
“Who do you hang out with? Peoplefrom your major? What are you majoring in, actually?”
“Architecture. And I hang outwith Iva, mostly. And Moore – he’s part of the football team.”
Ezra sits up a little. “Oh, Ididn’t know Iva goes to Fox Lake,” he says. I nod. “You still together, then?”
“Yeah.” I pause. “Wait, what doyou mean, together?”
“Like, going out,” Ezra says likeit’s obvious, and I can’t help but snort. It’s not an uncommon assumption. Ourparents had thought the same for a long time, but it’s a ridiculous one. Ishake my head.
“No. We’re friends. She’s like mysister.”
“Wait,” he says, sitting upcompletely. There’s a long pause as he blinks slowly. “So you were nevertogether?” he asks, looking genuinely surprised. I shake my head again. “Wow.Everybody in school – well, I guess your friends knew, but everyone in school Iknew thought you two were an item.”
“It happens,” I shrug. He looksat me for a moment before turning away. He leans back in the chair, slumpeddown, resting the back of his head on the edge of the backrest. His long, paleneck stretches, exposed. I look down.
“What major are you doing?” I askhim.
“Journalism,” he answers. I nod.It suits him.
“Um, doyouhave plans forthe weekend?” I ask awkwardly, dreading the answer.
“Yeah, some LGBT thingamajig. Notthat it’s bad here or anything, but it spares methe conversation, atleast. Hello, I’m Ezra and I’m pans,” he snorts. “The other day, I heard someidiot at a party saying the girls and boys can’t be friends. Because ofbiology,”he spreads the word out, taunting it. I raise my eyebrows.
“A bit like you just assumed thatIva and I were going out?” I tease. Ezra rolls his head toward me, gaping.
“Oh, come on! That’s totallydifferent. I didn’t say I thought you couldn’t be friends, just that youweren’t. Or were more than friends. Or different than friends – whatever, shutup,” he says. I snort. “We all make assumptions. All we can do is go off theinformation we have at the time.”
“Or not make assumptions untilyou’ve actively looked for all the information. Isn’t that, like, an integralpart of journalism?” I say. We look at each other for a moment before his openmouth turns into a grin.
“You’re a bit of an asshole, youknow that?”
“So I’ve been told,” I smileback. He chuckles, shaking his head.
“Point is, I’m going to anLGBTQ-plus-etcetera thing and it’ll save me from the straights. No offence.”
“Why would I be offended?”
“Um, ‘cause you’re straight,” hesays, and my heart starts beating a little faster.
“No, I’m not.”
