Page 22 of You Had Me at Hello World
“That’s just my face!” He unlocks his phone camera and peers at himself. As if he needs to check that his face is still his face. “Wow, what a fine-looking young lad.”
I mean. I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.
At check-in, an Asian girl with square glasses and aHellomynameisBrendaname tag hands us tote bags and reads us the rules. There’s curfew at eleven. No alcohol, no drugs. No sex in the ball pit (apparently there’s a ball pit). No torrenting, no hacking, no crypto scamming, no normal scamming, no threatening national security.
“Okay, but what if there’s like an Edward Snowden situation where it’s in the general public’s best interest—” Khoi yelps when I elbow him in the ribs.
As we wait for the elevator, Khoi riffles through his tote bag. “Hey, they gave us info on our roommates.” He reads his paper slip out loud. “?‘Obi Udechukwu.’ Is that Nigerian? From Santa Clara, California. His fun fact is that he once won a jujitsu tournament against Mark Zuckerberg.” He whistles. “I’m gonna stay on Obi’s good side.”
I fish out my paper. “?‘Aisha Chadha, Boston, Massachusetts.’Oh, she’s local. Her fun fact is that she’s danced at the White House?”
“Oh, Aisha! I’ve known her forever.”
“How?”
“She goes to Phillips Andover, a boarding school about an hour from here. We do the same local STEM competitions. She’s also… We’re…” He seems to be on the verge of saying more, but then he shakes his head. “Nothing.”
Ugh. Of course all the smart kids know one another. I’m manifesting that I’ll find some decent friends. At least Khoi seems nice. Well. Maybe I should keep my guard up. He has that sociopathic boba order, after all.
When we get to our floor, Khoi follows me so he can say hi to Aisha. The door to my room is ajar.
“Just in case,” a woman is saying. “For emergencies.”
“Ammi, when am I going to needbear spray? The only wild animals here are the tech bros.”
Even though I haven’t even seen her, I already vibe with my roommate.
I push my way inside. There’s a South Asian girl, dressed head-to-toe in Lululemon, standing in front of an overflowing suitcase. She has a ballerina’s build, tall and lean, with lethal-looking shoulder blades. An older man and woman are hovering about. They must be her parents.
I open my mouth to greet them, but before I sayanything, Khoi strides over and slings his arm around her shoulder. “Hey, babe.”
Babe?
They’redating? Like. Khoi could’vementionedmy roommate was his girlfriend.
She pecks him on the cheek. “Baaaabe.”
And I get the sense that their tongues are not going to remain inside their own mouths, so before things get gross, I start looking at anywhere else but them. Like suddenly these concrete walls are fascinating. So awesomely solid and gray. It’s giving prison minimalism.
I’m surprised, honestly. It’s not so much that I’m shocked that Aisha is his girlfriend. I don’t even know her. It’s more that Khoi didn’t seem like the type who would have a girlfriend at all. He exudes major hopeless dork aura. I’m not trying to be mean. It’s cute. But I’m just saying, I clocked him for someone who would, like, bring a TI-84 calculator to prom instead of a date.
Anyway, to my eternal relief, they don’t start making out, maybe because Aisha’s parents are in the room.
Aisha’s father smiles. “Are your aunt and uncle here too?”
Khoi shakes his head. “Sharon and Graham meant to drive over here with me, but there was a performance at Symphony Hall tonight they really wanted to see, so I took public transit.”
“Ah, yes, the Shostakovich string quartet?”
Khoi snaps his fingers. “Yes! With that famous cellist Graham likes. Gosh, what’s her name…?”
The rest of this conversation becomes rather confusing and string-instrument-flavored.
While her boyfriend and dad are geeking out, Aisha looks at me. “Are you my roomie? The one who…” She fishes a paper slip out of her sports bra. “… memorized the lyrics to every single Olivia Rodrigo song? Cute! I love ‘driver’s license’.”
Even though she sounds sincere, I flush. I guess it’s not dancing at the White House or beating the Zuck in jujitsu. When I submitted the fun fact, I didn’t realize it was supposed to be a humblebrag. “Charise Tang, but you can call me Char.” I cross the room to shake her hand, but she’s a total hugger. Her perfume is vanilla and cinnamon.
Her parents introduce themselves, then turn their attention to Khoi, whose arm is still around Aisha. “Have you decided where you’re going to apply early? Our daughter is doing Harvard.”
