Megan
Later that same Tuesday afternoon, when I step into the red-brick dormitory building, a guy literally hops in front of me. It takes me a second to register the blond mane and brown eyes and yellow Ryan Bear t-shirt.
"Will?" I tilt my head to one side. "What's up?"
He beams at me. "A package arrived for--" he sees my expression. "--you."
I grab his shoulders and shake him vehemently. "Honest? You're not kidding?" the words stumble out of my mouth in a rush. "There's a package? For me? Is it huge?"
"Ginormous," he confirms, nodding. "Just how much stuff do you.. own..?" I brush past him and hurry into my and Mara's dorm room. And sure enough, there it is, larger than life.
My package.. taking up nearly half of the space. And there's a brunette girl lying on her back on top of the cardboard box.
"Mara, what are you doing?" I gape at her dumbly.
"Reevaluating my life choices. What does it look like I'm doing?" she sits up, then jumps off the box, landing on the carpeted floor.
She and Will start helping me peel off the brown packaging tape. As I tear off a horizontal strip, I ask in puzzlement, "Wait, didn't the delivery man ask for my signature? How did they verify that the recipient of this parcel resides here?"
"It's kind of funny, actually," says Will.
"It is not," Mara retorts, ripping off a vertical brown tape, squatting in the process.
"When the delivery dude was skeptical, he called someone on his phone. A girl named Britney? He then snapped a picture of Mara and sent it to Britney. After about ten minutes, Mara received a text from her, asking how she knew you, Megan. It got less complicated after that."
"Oh.. sorry for the trouble, Mara," I murmur, struggling to peel off a tightly taped area.
"No, it's fine. At least now you finally got your stuff back." She peers up at me. "Do you need help with that, Meg?"
"I.. can.. handle it," I say, grunting and groaning. "Why is it so secure?!" I complain, looking around. "Will, do you have a knife? Or something sharp?"
Mara's face jolts with alarm. "Megan, I don't think you should-"
"I'm 17, not 3. I think I can handle a simple knife, Mara."
She utters something like, "The proud are the first to fall," before excusing herself to the bathroom.
"I am not Icarus!" I call out to her, and just before she shuts the door, I add scathingly: "I'm not going to fly too close to the sun. My wings are already burnt."
"Here you go, Meg," Will chirps, handing me a small kitchen knife. "What were you muttering about? Burnt wings? Are you craving chicken?"
"No! I mean.. yes? Maybe.. Actually, that does sound good." I start working on the boss level of this darn Goliath package. I glance at Will. "Should we order takeout or--AH!!!" I shout, moving backward, as if the box scalded my hand.
I clutch my fat right wrist, hissing in pain. I look at a petrified Will, and say through gritted teeth. "Will.. It hurts.." I gasp.
"I-I'll get help," he blurts out, recoiling at the sight of my bleeding right palm. Blood is gushing out like a red waterfall from the long cut. I clench my teeth, internally writhing in agony. I can feel tears of pain spilling down my chubby cheeks, can taste the salt on my lips.
Less than two minutes later, Will returns with.. what the fudge? Why are there so many people? There's Bop, Rock, Rose, Jack and.. two girls whom I don't know. But one of them is the tall girl with short black hair and blue eyes from orientation day. And like yesterday, she's wearing men's clothes today.
