Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him, it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at lea...
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Alyssa is held up in her bed, just like she is every Friday afternoon at this time. You just pick up on a person's schedule when you're forced into such small quarters with them. It's another reason I think that dorm rooms are a social experiment meant to test a human's breaking point.
Alyssa only furthers my argument with the volume at which her computer is currently blaring. I have no choice but to stand in the doorway and squint in her direction. I watch her shoot up to a sitting position not even a minute later. "Uhh, how long have you been staring at me?"
"Long enough for you to get the hint," I nod towards her computer screen and the paused image of one of the hot doctors from "Grey's Anatomy".
"Can I watch my show in peace?"
"You do know you can't provide sound medical advice no matter how many hours you clock that show, right?"Alyssa throws her pillow at me, but I manage to catch it and toss it back at her with one swift movement.
Alyssa grunts about not even wanting to be a doctor as she closes her computer completely. "You look like you want something..." She climbs down from her bed then leans against the frame. "What's up?
I know I have no chance of getting out of this conversation. I may have initiated it, but only because I was hoping to take a nap before she drags me to a party tonight. My bag drops to the ground with a thud, and I flop onto the futon.
"The new exhibit opens at the art museum downtown today. I have an extra ticket if you want to come." I add a shrug to make it seem like it's no big deal. Like it's just the friendly thing to do.
We've lived here the longest out of every place which means I've had the chance to explore a lot. And every fall, the local art museum curator creates a new exhibit exclusive to a small section of the bigger collection. The new one features all impressionist artists. It's the kind of thing my mom and I would have done together. We used to go at least twice a year when the exhibits turned over.
This one would have been a favorite of hers, though. She especially loved the impressionist era for their technique of using visible brushwork. She adopted it into her own work. The end result would always leave an uneven texture on the canvas. "The world isn't smooth so I can't paint it that way," she once told me.
"No offense, Ryn, but I would rather eat McDonalds," Alyssa says.
I wave her off and tell her to go back to her show. I know Alyssa really isn't interested if she'd rather eat genetically modified foods. She'll drink copious amounts of alcohol every weekend, but wouldn't dare touch a food she can't easily trace back to its origin. Her logic makes absolutely no sense, but I have no desire to fact check the naturalist she's always quoting when I comment on her habits.
