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One
Clementine
Three years ago
The dorm is hectic. Doors slam as people bustle in and out, laden down with boxes and potted plants and instrument cases. They call to each other, their voices loud and excited, and out on the quad, the story’s the same. With the window open above my new bed, I hear people hollering all the way down to the sports field.
Honestly, it’s kinda overwhelming. Fun but overwhelming.
Everyone is soloud.Since I got here, I haven’t made a single peep.
Some folks have made the trip along the corridor four or five times by now. I know, ‘cause I recognize their voices passing by my closed bedroom door, chatting to each other about dinner plans and winter break and the classes they’re taking this semester.
Me? I made it up here in a single trip from the bus stop. Not hard when you only have one suitcase.
Another pair of voices pass right by my door, and my heartbeat spikes. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, the campus guidebook held limply in my lap, I try to look natural.
The voices fade away.
Not her, then. Not my roommate.
Swallowing hard, I glance around our new home for the next year. It’s a pretty big room, with white walls and a high ceiling. Old marks on the paint show where last year’s posters hung. Two twin beds are pushed against opposite walls, and we each have a desk, a shelf, a closet, and a small bookcase.
I took the bed by the window when I got here, but I’m regretting that now. Is it selfish? Will she hate me when she sees? Sure, the other bed gets a little more space and a better desk, but thisbreeze…
Nothing can beat this breeze. I turn my face, soothing my flushed cheeks in the air slipping through the open window. It smells like cut grass and car exhaust from all these drop offs.
College. Oh, boy.
My eyes drift closed, and I take slow breaths. Moment by moment, some of the tension drains from my body… but not all of it.
I’ve never shared a room before. I was an only kid growing up, left to my own devices for hours and hours at a time, and I’d have paid any price for a sibling. Especially a sister.
More voices in the corridor. More creaking footsteps. My heart lurches, and I press my lips together.
By the time our door knob twists, I’ve gone through the stages of grief. In my mind, my roommate has already met me, wrinkled her nose, and asked for another room. I’ve gone through denial, anger, bargaining, depression—and I’m working on acceptance.
“Oh, hey.” A young woman stands in the doorway, her face lighting up when she spots me. No sign of bitterness over the window bed. “You must be Clementine. I’m Meg. We sent a couple emails?”
“Yes. Hi.” My voice is way too quiet compared to the racket of the dorm, but Meg must lip read or something, because she shoots me this big, goofy grin. She scoops up a box of books at her feet, toned arms flexing, then crosses to the unclaimed bed.
Damn. Is my roommate an Amazonian warrior? I blink at her long limbs, her muscles, her spiky dark pixie cut. If we stand beside each other, I’ll barely reach her shoulder.
But then another figure fills the doorway, and it all makes sense.
“Clementine, this is my dad Duke,” Meg says.
No kidding. They’re a whole family of giants. If Meg is tall, Duke is stratospheric. Is her mom all stretched out too?
However tall she is, Meg’s mom is a lucky lady—that’s the first thought that flits through my brain as Duke steps into our bedroom. Because he’s huge and broad-shouldered, his black t-shirt stretching over his barrel chest and curved belly. Everything about this man screams safety and sturdiness. If a storm battered campus right now, we could shelter by his side.
So freaking handsome. I’m short on breath.
He nods when he meets my eye, beard shifting as he smiles. His brown hair is flecked with bronze. “Clementine. So, are you gonna help keep an eye on my baby girl?”
His strong arms are laden with bags and boxes, but he hasn’t even broken a sweat. Meg scoffs, saying something about how she’s grown now and he doesn’t need to fuss anymore.
“I’ll always fuss,” Duke says, but he winks at me.
