Page 104 of My Roommate from Hell
“Are you?”
“I could be convinced,” he says.
I wish that more people were swimming, or that there were less people standing around on the edges, either listening to the DJ or talking. It means that whoever is in the pool has nowhere to hide, and I don’t love having that amount of attention on me.
“Want a drink?” he asks.
We start moving through the crowd, which is run by guys inswimming trunks who, seeing as their hair is neat and they are all bone-dry, have stripped their shirts to show off, or are maybe trying to use their bodies in order to get more donations.
Zarmenus tries to buy each of us a Coke, but the frat guy working the table refuses him.
“On the house,” he says. “You being here is more than enough.”
Zarmenus tucks his wallet back into his pocket. “How so?”
“People will show up because you’re here,” he says. He points, and there is a small group of guys who were clearly talking about us, their phones out. I guess being at the same party as the prince of Hell is a pretty big talking point.
We take our drinks and go to sit in the bleachers. We’re far enough away from the main crowd I know we can speak privately, which in our case means truthfully.
“I should tell you something,” he says. “I have news, but I’ve been scared to tell you.”
Is he calling this off early?
The thought crushes me.
“My parents are coming to visit,” he says. “And they want to get dinner with us. It’ll be fine. I think.”
It’s been one thing convincing most of the campus, and the internet, that we’re dating. But what he’s asking me to do is lie to the king and queen of Hell. Straight to their faces, too. The risks there could be way higher than I’m comfortable with.
“What if I give us away?” I ask.
“Hey, don’t worry about that. I’m sure you won’t.”
I really do appreciate the vote of confidence. There’s a moment of silence, and I notice just how close Zarmenus and I are sitting to each other. His arm is brushing against mine, and I like how it feels. Like, a lot. I hadn’t even noticed that he had sat this closely to me because we’re pretty much always touching in public now. It’s more than a little alarming how much I’ll miss it when it goes away.
“There’s something else,” he says. “When my parents are here, I think I’ll ask them if I can stay another semester.”
His eyes meet mine, as if he’s trying to read my expression for my reaction. Which is what, exactly?
The first emotion is joy. Pure joy. Because I want him to stay, no matter what happens between us. He might’ve caused a lot of drama, but everything we’ve done has been really fun. Point wouldn’t be the same without him. At the same time, if he stays, what will that mean for us? We can’t be pretend boyfriends forever.
“Oh,” I say.
“Oh?”
“No, I’m just processing. That’s great. I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“You seem disappointed.”
“No!” I say. “Not at all. I want you to stay.”
“How the turntables,” he says, I think getting the saying wrong. “Remember when you couldn’t wait to get rid of me?”
“Remember when you nearly burned down our room?”
“Touché.”
I fold my arms over my stomach. “Do you think they’ll say yes?”
