And Then There Were Five

Demarco Hall

(1 year earlier)

VALENCIA

The hot water supply in this god-forsaken dorm lasts about as long as my previous boyfriend.

It's not Kamya's fault, though, even if she feels as though it is. She always takes the first shower since she has earlier classes in the morning and has so much hair that she has to blow-dry before going to bed--leaving me with lukewarm water at best. I try not to complain too much. Cold showers are the least of my problems, especially when Elinor has it far worse than I do.

Her mother got the diagnosis three months before move-in day, and despite Earhart University requiring all incoming freshman to live on campus, she drives back home every night after dinner to take care of her mom. She seems to be handling herself and her workload well, though. Secretly, I'm thankful for the extra space her nightly absence provides in our triple room, but its nights like these when Kamya is vocally distressed about an art project due in approximately 14 hours when I miss her supernatural talent for keeping the peace. 

Truth be told, the cold showers help me simmer down when I'm on the verge of confrontation. It's not that I don't love her, but being a Communications major, at least for the time being, doesn't require much out of me. Show up. Write a paper. Turn it in. Memorize a poem. Perform it. And so on. With all my assignments over and done with for the day, the last thing I want to hear about is how prone to smudging Kamya's oil pastel projects are. 

Our shower is the size of a coffin standing vertically, and as my naked body shivers from the lack of warmth, I hear a hard knock on our main door. When the knock is not followed by a barked "RA, open up!" I crank the shower handle to the right, turning off the water, and quickly wrap a towel around myself. I pat my wet feet into the bath mat, saunter over to the door, and a quick peek through the peep hole reveals an impatient and lightly irritated Wiley.

As soon as the door opens wide enough for him to fit through, he head straight for foldable fluffy chair perched in the center of the room. Collapsing into it, he grunts, his head tipping backwards. "I'm so sore," he laments.

"If your sweat stinks up our chair, I may have to come after you," I remark, tightening my grip on my towel. Still, I reach for a can of Febreze and toss it to him. A nod of the head is the only confirmation I get from him that he'll spray it down before he leaves. 

"Where's Elinor?" he says as he snatches the remove from off my side desk and clicks through the options on Netflix.

"Drove home," Kamya shouts over the sound of her obnoxious hair dryer.

"What about Archer?" I ask.

"Where do you think?" Wiley huffs a laugh. "Mr. Shakespeare is in the library, as he has been since all of us finished dinner in the Greenhouse," he adds mockingly. "And anyways, why doesn't Elinor ever stay the night? Sure, the showers are ass, but it's not all bad. Or did the two of you scare her off?"

His questions about Elinor are fair, I suppose. Kamya and I had been asking the same thing when Elinor first started sneaking out, but when she was honest with us about the issue at hand, she nearly had a come apart. We promised not to share with others about what was going on, that it would remain between us.

So I have no choice but to lie. "You didn't know she had a man? They've been going out for nearly a month, now. He lives close to campus, so she goes to see him."

"Oh," he says hesitantly. "That makes sense, I guess. Jagger and I were hoping you and K had drove her mad and she up and left your asses."

I debate slugging him with a pillow from off my bed, but decide to go for the casual eye roll and make a move towards fishing out some comfy sleeping clothes. "Did Archer drag Jagger to the library with him? You two usually travel in pairs."

"Jagger? At the library? God, no. He's pregaming for tonights frat party."

Kamya turns off her hair dryer, her eyes flaring. "It's...Monday."

"Your point?"

She brushes out her dark hair a little more forcefully than normal. "We have a History exam at 9am."

Nobody says anything, because we've had this conversation once before and it triggered her to say the least. Kamya practically slaved for a full ride to Earhart, meanwhile Jagger's acceptance letter was practically a wildcard. However, freshman year means all students have to take core courses together--everyone is put on a level playing field. Needless to say, it infuriates the hell out of Kamya to sit next to Jagger every Tuesday and Thursday and watch him sleep through half of each class.

"I'm shocked you aren't joining him, Val," Wiley notes, breaking the silence. "You would make every FIJI in that house follow you around like a lost puppy if you went Greek."

I scrunch up my face. "You think I want to get with FIJI boys? Hell no. I'm not settling for anything less than a Sigma Chi. Besides, no letters, no shot, remember?"

Wiley doesn't take the bait. "All it takes is a tidy application and the willingness to deal with hundreds of bratty girls in the hot August sun for four days in a row to find a house. Quit complaining when there's nothing stopping you."

"Have you met her mother?" Kamya snorts. "Move in day with her was insufferable at best. She bossed Valencia around the whole day and expects to continue that tradition while she goes through college. She even is pushing her to rush as a legacy for her multicultural sorority."

"Well, there you go," Wiley announces. "There are your Greek letters!"

I shoo him off with a wave of my hand. "That would mean I give into what my mother wants for the umpteenth time," I drawl. "And we can't have that."

Wiley finally settles on forgoing Netflix and queuing up live television. As nonchalantly as he can, he settles on watching ABC's the Bachelor, though neither of us have the slightest indication as to what season it is and if any girls are frontrunners yet. "All I'm saying is, Earhart may be mid-tier, but you can't let your life fall in line that way. Do something that you want to do for a change--at least to keep from ending up like Archer."

I leave him hanging, locking myself in the bathroom as I change into my choice of pajamas. Unable to help that Wiley may be right, I send out my last few texts of the night. First, I wish Archer luck on his creative writing essay, and second, I tell Elinor to message me back when she makes it to her house safely.