Finding Priya

Being Bold

PRIYA

           

I'm feeling lazy. Or, alternatively, I'm feeling how I always feel at the end of the day. Which is sad really, considering I haven't done much of anything.

We've only had two official days of class, which means we've yet to actually do anything besides receive our syllabi, and I'm already basking in a serious case of senioritis. Stretching out on my bed in my on campus apartment, I adjust my laptop on top of my legs and scroll through my Netflix options, preparing for a relaxing night in. My contacts have been taken out in favor of brown framed glasses and my hair is piled into a messy bun on top of my head and I'm wearing yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt. I'm definitely not trying to impress anyone and I'm completely content with that.

A knock on the doorframe brings my attention upwards and I smile at the sight of my roommate, Amanda, dressed in workout clothes. "Hey, I'm gonna go for a run, do you wanna come?"

She works out every day and if I'm home when she leaves, she always asks me if I want to come along. I really should say yes, but she's so much fitter than me that I'm afraid I'm gonna look like an idiot next to her. That, and I'm lazy.

Still, she always asks, and that's why I love her so much. I've known Amanda since we were randomly assigned to be roommates as freshman. We got along so well that we decided to stay roomies for all the years after that. And despite the fact that I often feel like a blob of lard while standing beside her toned frame, she's never once made me feel insecure about the fact that I have some extra weight on my thighs and hips and stomach.

"Nah," I tell her, settling back in my bed, "I have dance rehearsal this weekend, so I think that'll count as my workout quota for this week."

As a rule, I hate working out, but I do love dancing. I danced from the age of three all through high school, only to quit when I got to college because I didn't have the time anymore. Plus, I wasn't dancing competitively. But that didn't mean that I didn't enjoy it as a hobby. So when my mom asked if I wanted to be in a group dance at our upcoming religious festival, I jumped at the opportunity.

I'm in a group with four other women and although I've never danced this specific type of Indian dance before, I had a blast at the one practice we've had so far.

"Fair enough," Amanda grins, crossing one foot over the other and leaning against my open door frame, her green eyes sparkling. "Let me know when your performance is; I definitely want to come see."

She really is the greatest friend.

"For sure," I nod, happy to have such a supportive roommate, "How was work today?"

Amanda works as a tutor in the accounting lab. She's so patient and understanding and a great teacher, so it's a good fit for her.

"Pretty slow," she shrugs, "It's syllabus week, so no one really came in. How's the team looking?"

"So far, so good."

Her lips stretch into an amused smirk. "I'll bet."

"What does that mean?" I furrow my brow in confusion, though I have a pretty good idea where this conversation is going.

"Nothing," she laughs, standing up straight and reaching up to adjust her long brown ponytail, "I just think it's funny that it's like a rule that all soccer players have to be gorgeous. Especially Braden Harding."

I don't disagree. And although there's plenty of people who have gushed about Braden's attractiveness, there's something about knowing my gorgeous best friend thinks he's hot that sends an unpleasant twinge to my stomach. "Don't you have a boyfriend?"