Dorm Boy

Part III

The next morning I was met in the kitchen by a man with a toolbox and a plunger. He widened his eyes at me as he looked at my bare legs.

"Good morning, miss."

I smiled politely as I pulled my t-shirt over my pink cotton underwear. "Hi."

I passed him and walked self-consciously toward the fridge. Violet was plopped on a stool, wearing her usual black-on-black-on-black.

"I tried to wake you to fix the toilet, but you were sound asleep." She took small sips from her cup of whatever. "You should have seen me, banging on the door like a dimwit."

"Sorry, too much wine last night." I gave her a transient smile while I poured myself a glass of cranberry juice.

"Oh, the wine, it's my favorite one," she steered the conversation smoothly, her black nails tapping her mug. She'd brought homemade dandelion wine to dinner last night. Her parents owned an orchard out in Napa Valley because she was perfect, all wrapped up in dark, ironic floral wrapping paper, tied with a perfect little black bow.

She was rambling about citrus aromas and I nodded repeatedly as I stared between her eyes, not because I was disinterested but because I had no idea what she was talking about.

The plumber ambled through the kitchen and I pulled my shirt over my butt. "Okay, everything's fixed, ladies. Who am I going to for the damage?" He rubbed together the pads of his thumb and index finger.

"You take cash?" Violet stood up, removing a wallet from the pocket of her shorts. The plumber agreed with a succinct nod. She directed him to the corner of the room and leafed through a few bills. Fuck. She was loaded.

Rostam and Ezra came sprinting down the stairs together. Groggy smiles and furtive excited whispers. Rostam wiggled his eyebrows at me upon entering the kitchen. Ezra's head was down.

"Nina," Rostam crooned my name. He stole a sip of juice from my glass. "How'd you sleep?" He'd been asking me that question nearly every morning since I'd inadvertently told him about my exploits with Ezra over drinks and takeout pad thai.

I glanced over at Ezra, his hand covering a yawn, before responding. "Fine, thanks."

Ezra stared me dead in the eye.

"We're going to Coney Island and you're coming."

-

The ride on the subway was tedious and far longer than I'd expected. After leaving a little before noon, the five of us boarded a crammed, stifling hot car of the B train, Walt confidently in the lead, me trailing behind as I texted Jen before walking down the steps into the station.

"Nina, come on, you're gonna get left behind!" Rostam called, his hands tugging anxiously at the drawstring of his board shorts. I glanced down at my feet to keep a steady footing but continued to tap away at my phone's keyboard.

I stumbled over my cheap flip-flop, its rubber thong pulling from the sole for the third time that week. Shit.

"Shit!" I hollered in frustration. "My flip-flop," I yelled out to the others. They turned back for a moment but kept walking toward the train, which was now boarding.

"Wait, wait." I pulled the other shoe off and ran along the cold, filthy concrete ground barefoot, running into the car just in time.

I plopped onto an uncomfortable plastic seat, the only one left, next to man sleeping with a Yankees cap over his face. I fixed my shoe hurriedly then stared with gritted teeth across the aisle at Violet, who was reciting a Mary Oliver poem to Ezra. Something about a grasshopper. Whatever.