“Wow.” I follow him along a path that shortcuts through another neighborhood. “You’re very unusual.”
He glances at me with an expression that’s impossible to decipher. Hopefully he didn’t take it the wrong way. Of course, he did. Who wouldn’t?
“In a good way,” I blurt out. “Unusual. Not the bad unusual. I didn’t mean weird. Diverse. The opposite of everyday run of the mill. Interesting. Not dull like me.” I’m an idiot. One second, I’m drooling over him, the next I’m putting my foot in my mouth. Just stop talking, Della. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll never run into him again.
He slides his index finger over his eyebrow in an uncomfortable gesture. “The guys don’t know I used to model. Maybe we could keep that between you and me.”
“Sure.” Ugh. Now that I know it’s a secret I have an impulse to whisper it to the first person I see.
We walk in silence the rest of the way to campus, then he stops in front of a building. He stares at me for a second before he says, “You seem unusual too.”
As I’m wondering if he means the good kind of unusual or the bad, he hands me a key.
“The guys and I are leaving on a road trip tonight. We’ll be gone two days for a training clinic. Stuart gave me your number. I’ll message you mine. Think about renting the room. If you decide yes, then just move in and make yourself at home. If you decide no, drop the key in the mail slot. Cool?”
I nod. Yeah, cool, not really. Wait. What? I should just give the key back now. My hand isn’t moving. Why can’t I speak? He smiles and turns to bound up the stone stairs. He moves like an Olympian. Everyone in the vicinity watches as he waves back at me and then disappears through the front doors. A few of the females size me up, apparently because I was seen talking to the Mojave god. He must have Stanford celebrity status. Obviously he would. I mean look at him. And listen to him. And bask in his presence.
Okay, I’m still standing in the middle of the sidewalk with my hand out and a key on my upturned palm. Move, Della. Carry on. At least pretend to be a normal human being. In a less than convincing attempt to appear cool, I slide the key in my pocket and pull out my class schedule to figure out where I’m supposed to be. What time is it?
Easton
Chuck and BJ are already seated at the back of the lecture hall when I sneak in. Professor Cavendish isn’t cool with students being late and, unfortunately, she just made eye contact with me. I wave apologetically and shoot her a sheepish smile. She’s strict. It might not work. I pause halfway to my seat, waiting to see if she’s going to kick me out or let me stay. Her left eyebrow raises in a cautionary way, but then she carries on with the lecture without giving me the boot.
“Impressive,” BJ says around the toothpick that is perpetually propped at the corner of his mouth.
Chuck nods to agree with the impressiveness and pops an ice pack to apply to his injured shoulder. “Future generations will gather at the foot of your bronze statue as they recall the legend of Havie the Mojave: The only person in the history of the school to get away with being late to Cavendish’s class.”
Chuck is quintessentially redneck—mullet and lame-assed hunting tattoos to prove it. BJ’s more sophisticated, and he’s black, so the other cowboys call us the Village People when we show up on the circuit together. I don’t really care what they call us as long as we’re taking home the money. And we usually do.
BJ waits until Cavendish turns around before he asks, “How’d it go with the new roomie? What’s she like?”
I shrug, purposely evasive. I don’t want him getting any bright ideas about dating or sleeping with her. “She seemed all right, but she’s undecided. She’ll let us know.”
“Come on, Havie.” BJ lowers his voice to a whisper after Cavendish shoots us a glare, “We need the money by Friday. If she’s not in, we have to ask someone we know.”
I shake my head. “No way. The last two guys were slobs, and I’m not letting a woman either of you guys have slept with or want to sleep with rent the room. You’ll piss her off. She’ll move out. And we’ll be right back in this same position in a month. Or worse, you’ll end up some buckle bunny’s baby daddy and need to come up with child support too.”
“Does that mean the chick you’ve picked is someone none of us would want to sleep with?” Chuck asks.
BJ’s face freezes in a brace-for-bad-news grimace. “Is she hideous?”
“It doesn’t matter what she looks like. All you should care about is whether she can pay the rent. And she’s skittish about living with three cowboys, so don’t scare her off if she does decide to move in.”
“Gentlemen,” Cavendish raises her voice to reach the back of the room loud and clear. “Since you’re going to be missing my next lecture for your little bronc riding adventures may I suggest that you listen during today’s lecture?”
“Yes, ma’am,” we all say in unison.
After an extended silence to drive home her point, she returns to lecturing and writing on the whiteboard.
BJ leans over and covers his mouth with his hand. “What color’s her hair?”
“Brown,” I say under my breath.
“Good brown or the ugly kind?”
“Shut up. Assuming that she’s straight, you’re not sleeping with her.”
“You can’t either then.”
Chuck leans in. “Can I?”
“No,” we both snap at him.
The woman sitting in front of me turns and shushes us.
BJ listens to Cavendish for a while, but the lecture is boring, so he swings his head over closer to me. “Does she have a nice body?”
“I have no idea. She was wearing dress pants and a blazer.”
“Like a professor?”
“More like a Catholic schoolgirl. You won’t like her. She’s too conservative for you.”
“Black? White? Asian? Latina? Or a Mojave princess?”
“She’s white. Like fresh snow. Now, shut it before you get us kicked out.”
Both BJ and Chuck swivel in their seats, staring at me with amused expressions.
“What?” I mumble.
“Why did you just describe her in a poetic way?”
I shake my head, annoyed. “It wasn’t poetic. It was descriptive. In a factual way. She literally has the palest skin I’ve ever seen. And for all we know she wouldn’t be interested in any of us anyway.”
They both sink back into their seats, grinning. Like they know something I don’t know.
After class, the guys and I walk to the deli for lunch. The freshman working the counter likes Chuck, so she gives us fifty percent off our sandwiches, which is cheaper than making them ourselves at home. I’m tired of the same thing every day, but money is going to be tight until we hit some rodeos. A half-priced turkey on rye is better than nothing.
We sit at a table by the window and BJ says, “Since we’ve never had a female roommate before, let’s make a rule. What’s her name again?”
“Della. But she hasn’t agreed yet.” I bite into my sandwich.
BJ pauses to give