Page 5 of How I Ruined Everything by Kissing My Roommate

Sophie lightly punched his shoulder. "I said she was a challenge, Mark. There’s a difference."

"No, there isn't," I cut in, my voice laced with the ice I'd perfected last year. I looked directly at Sophie, my eyes conveying the sharp, sudden hostility I felt. "You're confused, Mercer. A challenge implies an eventual reward. I'm just an obstacle you're going to trip over."

Mark, clearly missing the subtext, laughed. "Ouch. Feisty. I like that."

Maya, however, read the room perfectly and stepped in front of me, shielding me slightly. "Mark, sweetie, we're leaving. Iris just remembered she has a deadline involving a particularly difficult shade of crimson."

"Wait, don't go," Sophie insisted, finally picking up on the shift in my demeanor. Her brow furrowed, the carefree light in her eyes dimming to genuine confusion. "Iris, what’s wrong? I thought we were having fun."

I gave her a tight, brittle smile. "We were having a conversation, Mercer. And I realized my initial assessment was correct. We have nothing in common. I chase passion, and you chase cheap thrills."

"Excuse me?" Sophie’s voice rose, losing its practiced ease. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't engage with people who treat relationships like a game," I retorted, the words spilling out with the speed of years of repressed anger. I glanced pointedly at Mark, who was now just looking bewildered. Don't you dare tell her your sexuality is something to be 'experimented' with.

"Woah, hold on," Mark said, finally sensing the tension. "I think you’ve got the wrong idea, Art Girl—"

“I’m leaving.”

My carefully constructed walls had crumbled, and now I was standing in the emotional rubble. I looked at Sophie, searching for any sign of a lie, any trace of the duplicity that had ruined my junior year. Her face was open, confused, and hurt. But my fear was louder than her honesty. She’s lying. They always lie.

I turned, letting all the cold disdain I felt for Riley bleed into my tone for Sophie. “Have fun with your... boyfriend, Mercer.”

I didn't wait for a response. I grabbed Maya's arm, yanking her back through the common room doors.

"Iris, that was…a strong reaction," Maya said, once we were back in the quiet, empty hallway. "You went zero to nuclear in three seconds."

"I shouldn’t have come," I said, the adrenaline draining away, leaving behind a cold pit of shame. I

“Well, we can always go to the party in my dorm, if you don’t like this one.”

But as we walked back to the room, all I could hear was Sophie’s genuine, confused voice: "What is that supposed to mean?"

And all I could think was: It meant I wanted you. And that’s exactly why I had to leave.

CHAPTER 2

Sophie

Two weeks. That was how long the dorm room had felt less like student housing and more like a high-stakes Cold War standoff. We were two ghosts sharing the same space, navigating a schedule of rigid avoidance: I left for the studio before she woke; she returned from practice after I'd turned off my light. The aggressive silence was exhausting. But at this point, it was clear we weren’t going to be BFFs. Sophie Mercer had betrayed my trust. She had lied to me by pretending to be out and proud while having a boyfriend, and I wasn’t the kind to forgive.

But the problem with a cold war is that your enemy is still visible.

I was sitting on the top row of the bleachers, sketching the sprawling, crisp autumn landscape for my independent study. The air was sharp and cool, and I was determined to focus on the distant treeline and the angle of the light.

Focus on the light, Iris. Not your roommate.

Yet, my charcoal kept betraying me. It drifted from the static hills and began to map the violent, kinetic energy of the soccer field below.

Sophie was on the pitch, running drills with the intensity of someone trying to outrun a terrible secret. She was the captain, barking orders, her voice sharp and commanding. She wasn't just fast; she was brutal in her tackles but elegant in her recovery. Her focus was absolute, transforming the casual, smiling roommate into a relentless warrior.

She’s supposed to be a shallow party girl, I thought, the resentment like a dull ache. Not a genius athlete. That much talent and that much cheerfulness should be illegal.

My hand moved on its own, quickly capturing the curve of Sophie's calf as she kicked a ball—the perfect, controlled tension of the muscle. It wasn't landscape architecture; it was unwilling portraiture.

A shadow fell over my sketchpad.

"Still documenting the misery of your existence, Iris?"