Roma and Juliet

Straight as a Rainbow and Twice as Colourful

Pride month, the best time of the year.

Gay drinks, gay foods, gay clothes, hell, it even had a parade to celebrate gays! The whole month seemed to be brimming with positivity. The whole ccampus was covered pride flags and inspirational quotes. Tis' a truly wonderful time, if I do say so myself. However, I could only find one problem with pride month.

"Faggot!" 

"Dyke!" 

The Homophobes™. 

For all the coffee and Red Bulls I drank, I could never not be tired of their constant shouting. 

"Scuse' me sir," I squeaked as I inched by a protester, clutching my notebook to my chest, holding my coffee in front of me like a shield. "pardon me, ma'am." I wiggled from the crowd, straightening my flannel. I forced one foot in front of the other, sleep deprivation weighing my body down. 

"Roma!" a cheery, Australian voice shouted to my right.

"Huh?" I drawled, eyes half-lidded. I spluttered and choked as a strong pair of arms plucked me from the ground, swinging me around. My feet finally met the floor, and I yawned, turning to face a grinning brunet. "Morning, Milo." 

"G'day, Roma!" The Aussie chirped, clapping me on the back. My body lurched forward at the contact. "Sleep well?" He asked. I glared at him, the dark circles peeking out from beneath my copious layers of concealer impossible to miss. My friend chuckled nervously, looking away,

Milo Thompson, political science major and my best friend. The two of us were practically inseparable, being together quite literally since birth. Our personalities tended to contrast, cheery and upbeat versus perpetually tired and pissed off. Which was most likely why we were so close.

"What's your first class?" He asked as he took a sip of my coffee. He gagged at the bitter taste.

"Genetics," I deadpanned, barely able to stay awake.

"Studying?" He asked, concerned. I hummed a 'yes'. As an insomniac and a scientist, I tended to study a tad more than I should. I also had a tendency to lie through my teeth.

And I'd be damned if I ever told Milo that I was up until three AM watching Judge Judy.

"Your first class?" I mumbled.

"Anthropology," he sang. I sighed to myself as I walked. "see you in physics!"

"See ya," I said as I trudged up the stairs and into the school. I took a sip of my coffee, ignoring the burning sensation on my tongue. I rounded the corner into my genetics class. The class was half full, as per the norm. The stench of formaldehyde and dry-erase markers hanging in the air like a spider from a web, barely detectable.

"G'morning Mr. Smith," I mumbled as I passed his desk, taking a seat at the far back; no one else ever sat there but me. I opened my red journal, a keepsake of mine from when I was younger. The lined pages were streaked and scribbled on by different coloured pens, each colour signifying a new topic. Pink for electromagnetism, blue for chemistry, and orange for physics, to name a few. I flipped to a page scrawled over in heliotrope ink, the top of the page reading 'Genetics'. My hand subconsciously reached for my bag of gel pens; I never wrote in anything else. The purple pen clicked as I pressed the top of it, scratching the notes on the board quickly onto the page. I brushed my hair out of my face, moments before the tresses hit the page.

"Um, excuse me?" a voice, gentle and sweet, sounded from the doorway. I didn't recognize this voice, which was odd to me, as I was a born listener, memorizing vocals from the first word. I perked my head up, sitting stock still. 

A woman was at the doorway, looking to be around my age. She wore a grey, knee-length skirt, a loose-fitting, baby blue cardigan and a billowy white top. Her hair was dark in colour, short and curled, barely brushing against the curve of her jaw. I could barely make out pale lines of purple and pink amongst the brown. She clutched a sketchbook to her chest, a pencil tucked behind her ear. She had an oval face, with full lips and striking, whiskey toned eyes. 

'Holy shit please tell me she's not straight.' The voice in my head said.

"Um, are you Mr. Smith?" she asked. I payed attention to her voice, it was soft and melodic. "My, my name is J-Juliet Connolly, I-I'm the, I'm the new student here." She sounded unsure, nervous. She held out a sheet of paper, and I took note of the gentle trembling of her hand, which I noticed held paint stains. "I, I don't, I don't really know where to go so..." she trailed off.

I stood up in my seat before Mr. Smith could, shooting both him and Juliet a charming grin. I may be 80% coffee and spite, but I could be charismatic when I wanted to be. "I'll take her, Mr. Smith," I said kindly. He nodded and waved me off. I sauntered over to Juliet. "Juliet Connolly, was it?" I asked, gingerly placing a hand on her back and leading her from the room. I extended a hand for her to shake.

She gently shook my hand, giving me a small smile. "Y-yeah, that's me." she said. I smiled warmly at her. 

"Well, I think it's a pretty name," I complimented. "mine is Roma Montgomery, I'm a science major." I glanced down at her page, her first class was math.

"I'm, I'm an art major," she said, relaxing a bit. 

"Really?" I said incredulously. "I've heard that's a pretty tough subject!" Come on, Roma, you've got her reeled in, just keep complimenting her and everything will work out just f-

She hunched her shoulders. "You think so? I know I won't be able to get very far, god, I never should have done this..." she slowed her pace.

Shit! Backpedal, backpedal! Bad Roma, bad!

"Uh! That's not what I meant!" I spluttered. "It can't be that difficult! I'm sure you'll do just fine!"

She glanced at me through her hair, and my heart skipped a beat. "Really?"

"Yeah! Art can't be so hard, if you screw up, just roll with it and play it off!" I encouraged. "Art is what you make of it, after all."

She cracked a small smile. "Thank you," she said. I stopped walking as we reached her door. I gently tapped under her chin, aiming her head up.

"Chin up, love, you're gonna do great!" I shot her a thumbs up as I walked away, letting out a breath. I combed a hand through my curls.

God, first day after break and I'm already a mess.