Rooming with the Wicked

1 | home sweet home

If luck was a playing field, I'd be so far out of bounds that you'd need thermal imaging binoculars to find me. And even if you did miraculously spot me, I'd probably be stuck in a ditch somewhere, passed out.

Curling my fingers around the broken handle of my suitcase, I took a deep breath. Of course, it had to break today all of days—like getting kicked out my old dorm wasn't bad enough—in a building where the elevator looked about as safe as a rusty mineshaft lift straight out of Silent Hill.

And where was my new dorm? Right, on the third floor.

Be positive.

At least my suitcase wasn't particularly heavy. Maybe I should thank Ri for cutting up half of my clothes last week. Less baggage and all. Bet that would throw her off.

Here's to hoping my new roommates would be an upgrade. One might think that wouldn't be too difficult considering my now former roommates were a trio of fake friends that wanted nothing more than to see me crash and burn, but if past experiences were anything to go by, things could always get worse.

My left thumb touched the s-shaped scar on my right wrist. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating a teeny tiny bit regarding the elevator. But a deathtrap was still a deathtrap, right? Right.

Still, hauling my suitcase up two flights of stairs and then barging into my new dorm room reeking of sweat and desperation wasn't exactly appealing either.

Seeing some sort of laminated maintenance checkup list on the back wall, I decided to give this deathtrap a try. A low creak sounded from somewhere far above me as I stepped inside. Not exactly reassuring, but maybe this thing just needed some oil.

I'd just dragged my suitcase over the threshold when the elevator dropped a couple of inches.

Nuh-uh. Nope.

I hopped over my suitcase, the tip of my sneaker nearly getting caught on the broken handle, and landed not so gracefully on the concrete just outside of this metal box from hell. The moment my suitcase joined me, the elevator rose to its normal height again, almost like it was mocking me.

Scared? it seemed to creak sardonically as the doors slowly shut in front of me.

The defiant part of me wanted to try my luck purely out of spite. Fortunately, my rational—and sane—side won.

I pushed through the heavy fire door and found myself in the empty stairwell. Nice.

Being the grade-a genius that I was, I'd planned this out perfectly. Stealthily move in while everyone was either in class or at lunch, avoiding any and all awkward meets with my new roomies.

What I hadn't planned on? My suitcase breaking before I even made it upstairs. By the time I stumbled through the door to floor number three, I'd only lost my hold twice and it had only slid back down the stairs one of those times.

Maybe I should have taken a performance enhancing potion—Vigor would have made this trip a whole lot easier—but I couldn't justify wasting one of those on carrying my suitcase now, could I?

Be positive.

Dragging the stupid suitcase down the hall took me another minute or two, but then I was finally standing in front of my new home. I took a deep breath, blowing messy pale-blonde strands out of my face, and just stared at the red dorm room door with the white number three hundred thirty-seven painted in the middle.

Home sweet home. For now.

A small gray smudge on the second three caught my eye. I bit my lip to refrain from reaching out and rubbing it off. Backpack slung over my shoulder and suitcase sort of in hand, I used my free hand to insert my brand new keycard into the slot right below the doorknob.