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Under Her Heel 2
Keava
Looking around the dining room, I’m a bit intimidated by the group of residents I will spend the next year with. Whore Barbie is right in one thing, I don’t fit in. Where I am curvy and have a little extra to hold onto, each one of the guys and girls is toned. The papers that I had gotten from the housing department had said all the rooms were rented, which means there are twenty-four residents, the largest of the college life houses on campus, and the most popular. Rumor has it that at one time it used to be a hotel, which would make sense with its three floors and numerous bedrooms. The competition is fierce to get one of the available beds each year. While the house is designated for athletes, they must maintain a 3.5 or higher GPA to be eligible for one of the beds. Only those that meet the stringent guidelines can apply for the bed lottery.
“I realize that not everyone is here tonight, but I just wanted to take a minute and introduce myself to everyone that was home. I’m Keava and will be the house monitor here for the next two years. I’m sure that you all have read the lease and the College Life charters, and we will have no issues.” I smile confidently, knowing that there will be issues, especially after seeing the state of my room. “Any maintenance issues, please fill out a form and I will make sure they are taken care of. Meal fees will be due every Monday and a schedule for kitchen help will be put up. I will be preparing most of the meals Monday through Friday, weekends you are on your own. Breakfast will be at 7:30 and dinner at 6 pm. Any questions?”
“I have one.” The blonde who answered the door stands up, hip cocked, an ever-present Solo cup in her hand. “What are you still doing here, Carbie?”
Ignoring the desire to pinch the bridge of my nose, I take a deep breath before responding. “The name is Keava and your name is?”
“Lilli Bild. You do know who my daddy is, right?” She flips her long, blonde tresses over her shoulder, filling every stereotype of the bimbo, blonde, Barbie-doll bully.
“Lilli,” my voice is sweet and makes my teeth ache to even pander to her. “How could we not know who your daddy is? What with you prancing around and draping yourself all over his cars in the commercials!”
She preens at my words, not catching the sarcasm. I roll my eyes before continuing. “What was your question? I’m sure everyone here has something else to be doing with their time.” A smattering of stifled laughter tells me I hit that on the mark but also tells me that this girl is one to watch out for.
Lilli looks around the room, eyes narrowed as if she can see who laughed at her expense. Then those laser eyes dance with glee as she pins me down with just her stare. “My question is. Why. Are. You. still. Here?” Each word is enunciated and hits like a whip. “We don’t need or want any piggies around here. And you, my Carbie, are a piggie.”
Her words bring up every insecurity I have, taking me back to that fateful last day of eighth grade when I was a schoolgirl with braces, large red glasses, unruly hair, and too much baby fat. Worse is she reminded me of my best friends laughing at me as they smooshed my face into the ice cream sundae I had gotten for my birthday, of the whole class pointing and calling out “Pigeeva, pigeeva!”
Pushing back at the memories that threaten to send me into a spiral, I remind myself that I am no longer that insecure girl. I’m perfect how I am. “You might not want me, you might not need me. But the school says otherwise. Any house that the school owns, will have a house monitor. You don’t like it? Well, there is the door.”
I don’t take my eyes off Lilli, silently challenging her to call my bluff, but she just sits down and shrugs her shoulders. “There is more than one way to make you leave.” Her grin is evil, and I know I will have trouble with her. Just how much trouble is yet to be seen, and if she can rope some of the others into helping her.
“About that. I would appreciate it if you all would come and remove your items from my room, as well as the dog. If they aren’t out by the time I finish unloading my car, I will assume that you want me to put them in the trash.” I smile sweetly. “Anything else? I think I have covered everything until we can have a formal meeting Sunday at 11 am. The monthly meeting is mandatory, so please don’t make me write you up our first week.”
Some good-natured grumbling can be heard, but nothing too serious, so I stand up and decide now would be a good time to do a quick walk-through of the house, familiarize myself and give them time to get their crap out of my room. The fact that the twins aren’t here to remove their things might make me grin. Hey, a girl has to get her revenge however she can, and I am petty enough to enjoy it.
The downstairs is pretty much like any other college housing I have ever seen, except for one glaring detail. This house is old and was once a fancy hotel. The woodwork and ceiling fixtures show a craftsmanship that is rarely seen nowadays. In all honesty, I can’t believe the school let it be a College Life house, it should be the President’s house or Alumni housing. Something grander than a frat house. The living room with its pool table is such a dichotomy that it has me cringing. Wood sliding doors at the back of the living room open into what looks like a TV room, though my mother would call it a flophouse with the futon mattresses covering the floor, beanbags in the corners, and blankets everywhere. I cringe at the idea of watching a movie in there, not knowing what has occurred in that room, or what bodily fluids have been spread everywhere. Thank God, I was able to sneak my forty-three-inch, high-definition TV out of my room at mom’s. Duane, Mom’s new husband would have loved to get his slimy hands on it.
Over the past six months, I had to sneak the few remaining family heirlooms out of the house so that Duane couldn’t pawn them for more weed, booze, or guns. Mom never had the best taste in guys and Duane might be the most dangerous of them all. Another reason that this job needs to work out, full-year housing, even through the holidays and summer when the campus and College row shut down. I can’t go home. Not with Duane there, with his slimy gazes and inappropriate touches, or mom’s jealousy.
Pulling myself out of my memories, I continue my tour. Out in the hall, French-doors open onto a back patio and pool that is, thankfully, closed for the season. I would hate to have to deal with drunk idiots swimming. To the left is a lounge that I might possibly actually sit in. Chairs and couches are scattered around the room with small tables set by them. One wall is just library tables and chairs. To the other side of the French-doors is a unisex bathroom and a hall that I already know leads to the kitchen and my bedroom.
A wide, jaw-cracking yawn surprises me and I realize how tired I am. Being an extroverted introvert tonight made me realize that I will be pushing myself this year and I decide that the rest of the tour can wait. Even emptying the car can wait until tomorrow, I can just grab my overnight bag that mom had insisted I pack. With that thought, I quickly make my way outside and to my 1973 baby blue Volkswagen Super Beetle. Lovingly, I stroke my hand down her sides, proud of the fact that she is all mine. A friend’s brother had had a forest-green Bug when I was younger, and I fell in love. When my neighbor got a Bug into his car dealership, I made a deal with him to earn the title. Four years later, she is all mine. My name on the title, free and clear of anyone else’s claim.
