Page 22 of Another Roommate (Life in the Brohouse 4)

“Mom, I gotta go,” I say while lowering the phone from my ear.

“Alright, I’ll call you later tonight.”

I grimace. “Please, don’t.”

“I want to know how your first day went.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Bye.”

“I love you, honey.”

She’s really dragging this out now, isn’t she? “I love you, too,” I rush out before quickly hanging up.

I shove the doors open, my gaze instantly finding the lavender dress in the sea of people. I keep my distance, slowly approaching her like a lion stalking its food.This is a bit stalker-ish, I think, frowning at myself. I shake my head and straighten my back. Just play it cool. She thought I was nice in Paris. Sure, she’s dating Lucas, my friend.

And I don’t want to take her away from Lucas, I remind myself. I just want to know if what I felt was a simple passing of feelings, or something real.

Rachel enters a room and I decide not to worry about her. It’s a small campus. I will run into her one of these days. Maybe at a party, or at a quaint cafe.

I look at the numbers on the door, searching for room 135. I pause in front of the door Rachel entered through, my heart leaping into my throat as I realize it’s the same room my French class is in. Well, that depends on if I’m in the right building.

I straighten my shoulders, my hand on the door handle, pushing it open and saying in a perfect French accent, “Salut. Est-ce le Français 101?”

8

RACHEL

Itrynottothink about Mom while I wander towards the language department for my French class, but it’s impossible not to. I spent all of yesterday either crying in Seth’s arms or lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what I was doing with my life. Waking up this morning was difficult.

Once again, nightmares plagued my dreams. My mind definitely has a vivid imagination. I dreamt I had married all three bros and my father refused to walk me down the aisle while my mom threw tomatoes at me. In another dream, I was giving birth, holding Lucas’s hand. When the baby was given to me, it had my mother’s disappointed face and screamed, “Slut,” over and over again. I woke up at five, unable to sleep any longer, yet unable to get ready for school. My first class was photography 211; something I should have felt excited for, yet I couldn’t even muster a smile all through class.

I don’t even remember what the professor said. Something about a project? Take pictures? He gave me a syllabus. I’ll just read that, and if nothing else, Charlie is taking the same class. Hers is at a later time, but I can just ask her.

I trudge into the language department, shoving the doors open and nearly getting run over by a student running through the hall. They clip my shoulder and I gasp, grabbing my arm while scowling at the person rushing out the door.

My shoulders slump, and I continue through the corridor, looking for room 135. Hopefully, French will distract me. The last week while I was in France, I decided to rearrange my classes around to take beginner French. Dr. Arnaud believed it would open doors for me in the art world. After spending my summer in Paris, I hoped to return and maybe visit my sassy French boss. We had a rough start, but Dr. Arnaud really took me under her wing. She is an amazing person, and I hope to see her again, preferably in the Louvre where my future painting or photograph will be hanging.

I open the door to 135, seeing several students already sitting in the front row, which is totally fine with me. Given how bloodshot and swollen my eyes are, I don’t really want to be front and center for my teacher to see. My gaze shifts to the teacher sitting at the front of the classroom, reading a book while twirling a lock of hair around one finger. She looks pretty young to be a professor. Maybe in her mid-twenties? Her makeup is done immaculately with a bold red lip and black eyeliner. The wings are drawn perfectly. I can just imagine Charlie coming up to her, demanding the professor tell her immediately how she can accomplish such an immaculate feat.

I sigh and shake my head, wishing Charlie was taking this class with me. We don’t have any classes together this year. I’m beginning to realize that I need to make some more friends if I plan on surviving this school year, otherwise, I will probably be known as the campus recluse. My feet shuffle towards the back while I look around at my peers chatting amongst themselves.

“Hey, dude, do you want to check out the party at Alpha Sigma Phi tonight?” asks a brunette guy in the second row. He straightens his glasses while smiling at the freckled boy sitting to his right.

“Do you think there will be any hotties?”

Ugh. Who says hotties? I turn away from the pair and look to my left, finding a group of three girls sitting in the third row. They’re all dressed in Aurora University t-shirts, wearing minimal makeup and looking like they came straight from high school.

“OMG,” says the one with a high ponytail, sitting in the middle of her friends. “Have you seen what’s on the lunch menu for Wednesday?”

The two girls around her gasp while leaning towards her.

“No, what?” asks the girl with a black, blunt bob.

“It can’t be any better than what we had during the intensive seminar,” adds the brunette with bright pink cheeks.

I stifle the need to groan. Intensive seminar? They are obviously freshman. And who gets so excited about a dorm lunch menu? They probably serve crap.

“It’s build your own waffles!”

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