And of course, they’re headed this way.
I move on instinct, reaching for my phone and water bottle.
“You done already?” Ryan asks. “We’ve only been here thirty minutes.”
“Gonna hit the treadmill.”
He doesn’t question it, even though I hate the treadmill. Anything’s better than being here, in this corner, with those guys three feet away, and my shoulders threatening to climb up to my ears. Ryan glances at the group, then back at me, but I can tell he’s not reading into it.
Dude doesn’t have the brain cells to waste on why I’m being weird.
“Cool,” he says. “See you in class.”
I nod, my feet already moving.
The room feels smaller every time I come back to it.
I thought I would feel better coming here. Moving to the dorms. Not having to drive past Rosehill High every single day. To not have to drive pastourspots.
But I think it might be a me thing. One of the many things I’m stuck with.
Either way, this roommate situation isn’t helping anything. There’s something about the way he’s always here, silent, hunched over his desk, that’s started to make my skin feel too tight.
He doesn’t look up when I come in.
“Hey,” I say, trying to stay friendly on the off chance that he’snota major creep.
And nothing. I suppress my sigh.
Barely.
Maybe he didn’t hear me. Probably got his headphones in.
He doesn’t.
“Whatcha working on?” I ask, louder.
He flips a page of his textbook.
I stand there for a long second, trying to figure out if this is a being rude thing or a being in the zone thing. But I can’t figure it out, which is the problem. I can never figure it out with this dude.
It’s not that Iwantto have problems with my roommate. And I think I’ve given him the benefit of the doubt. I get it, he’s not chatty. I’m not myself these days. But there’s being an introvert, and there’s being weird, and with all my missing stuff, I’m starting to lean toward the second option.
So I stop giving him the benefit of the doubt and start taking inventory of my stuff.
It’s a system I’ve developed over the month we’ve lived together. Subtle enough that he won’t notice that I’ve caught on to whatever he’s doing. Laptop’s still there, chargers, notebooks, wait.
The remaining three notebooks are still there.
I move to the drawer. The one I use as a catch-all for random stuff, plus the couple hundred dollars Nate gave me at the start of school in case of an emergency.
Money’s still there.
Okay.
Maybe it’s a good day then. Maybe I’m so paranoid that I’ve made it all up in my head.
I can’t tell anymore.
