"Hey pretty, don't you wanna take a ride with me," the melody slips off Gabby's tongue as she sings along to Poe's Hey Pretty as it thrums through the speakers in our living room stereo. We're both leaning in front of the mirror in the bathroom that is obviously made for one person trying to share the space while doing our make-up.
"Hey pretty, don't you wanna take a ride with me," the melody slips off Gabby's tongue as she sings along to Poe's Hey Pretty as it thrums through the speakers in our living room stereo. We're both leaning in front of the mirror in the bathroom that is obviously made for one person trying to share the space while doing our make-up.
We rented the house because it was affordable on-campus housing. After last year's experience in the freshman dorms, neither of us was eager for a repeat performance. The showers were clogged, the rooms were cramped, and the neighbors were horrible. This year we decided to join forces and rent a small bungalow a short bike ride from Brentwood U.
The house is old but has the bonus of having a small basement that can house my piano and mixing board. Being a music major, having my instruments of choice on hand is pretty damn important, but I can't exactly wheel a baby grand piano into the dorms.
Since we chose to stay on campus, I can't say the neighbors are much better. Everyone that lives anywhere near us is still a student. Parties-a-plenty seems to be the status quo around here, and I've only been here two weeks.
"Is Micah meeting us there?" I ask as I swipe liquid eyeliner across my lid.
"I don't know, Vale. I think she said she wasn't going to make it to the frat party tonight. Apparently, she went to a different frat party last night."
I scrunch my nose. "It was a Thursday night. I thought Engineering majors were supposed to be the serious ones."
The song switches to start playing Hozier's Arsonists' Lullaby, pulling a squeal from my lips. "Oh, this is my JAM!"
Gabby laughs. "Every song is your jam."
Her attention is pulled away from the meticulous lining of her lips when her phone buzzes against the Formica countertop. She picks it up, rolling her eyes. "God, Jon can't take a fucking hint."
I plop my makeup back into my worn black makeup bag and zip the bag halfway closed because it's as far as the zipper will go. I've had the same bag since middle school. Gabby keeps teasing me about it but I just can't see wasting money on a new one when this one is perfectly fine.
"Have you considered maybe just telling him that you're not interested in seeing him again?"
"It's the twenties. If you don't want to see someone anymore you just ghost them."
I chuff. "You can't ghost someone you share poli-sci with. You can't skip it forever. You're going to have to talk to him eventually."
She gives a noncommittal shrug before following me out of the bathroom and into the living room and pouring us each a shot of some fruity vodka she picked up on sale.
"Come on, Vale, shots!" I have a hard time with sweet booze, it doesn't sit right in my stomach, but I would rather get a bulk of my drinking done here. At least here I know what's in my drink. I usually try to stick to beer at frat parties. Beer I either open myself or watch come from a tapped keg into a cup I've had my eyes on.
I don't drink a lot. I grew up hiding away in a closet from an alcoholic father and a schizophrenic mother. I have first-hand experience with what that shit can do to people, so I try to keep it light. The rest of my college cohorts, not so much. It's fine. I know there's a difference between having a good time and having a problem. I just know that sometimes you can't tell when one becomes the other until it's too late.
I toss on a white crocheted crop-top with my dark wash jean skirt and a pair of white flip-flops. It's still early September so I can get away with it. It only gets truly cold here for a couple of months out of the year so my flip-flops get a lot more mileage here than they used to back home in Maine.
My naturally curly brown hair can only do so many things, so as usual, I just let it fly free. A curl cream after a shower is all I need. Luckily my hair is relatively fine for a girl with natural curls, so I don't really run into a lot of frizz. I was always asked how I did my hair by girls in high school. They never liked to hear that I basically woke up like this. It didn't exactly earn me a lot of friends. Which was fine. I didn't mind being a loner in high school. I only had two or three really good friends and although we didn't go to the same colleges, we still keep in touch to this day.
"Do we want to grab something to eat on the way there? I skipped lunch today so I'm starving. Wanna hit that new pizza place on Main?"
Gabby looks at me like I have two heads because, of course, she doesn't. I often forget that she doesn't eat things like carbs, or cheese, or food. "I saved all my daily calories for beer tonight, so I'm going to have to pass."
"Yeah, I mean, that sounds completely healthy." I deadpan. She smirks at me before handing me an envelope.
"This came in the mail for you today."
She whips around to start digging in my closet where I keep my shoes. We've only been here for two weeks, so most of my shoes actually still rest in the bottom of my closet. That won't be the case for long. We have the same shoe size and Gabby has no sense of boundaries.
I open the envelope and pull out the crisp tri-fold letter.
Dear Vale Clarke,
It has come to our attention that some of the funds you were awarded for the fall term here at Brentwood University was used to cover rent at a non-approved location. Unfortunately, this is considered a violation of the terms of your scholarship.
With this in mind, we regret to inform you that we will not be covering your scholarship for the next semester. You will therefore be responsible for covering the cost outlined below for classes before the next semester commences in January.
We look forward to being able to extend the scholarship to you for the following summer or fall semesters granted the appropriate rules are followed and needs are met.
Thank you for your continued attendance at Brentwood University.
Second Semester Class Enrollment Only: $12,750
Mike Lawson
Scholarship Coordinator
Brentwood University
I felt the color drain from my face. What? I re-read the letter, searching for an explanation that makes sense. True, I did pay for this house using scholarship funds, but it was my understanding that the funds were also able to be used to cover housing.
"Gabs, they're dropping my scholarship." The words come out as little more than a whisper.
Gabby is still bent over digging through the shoe boxes in the bottom of my closet, calling back to me a muffled "What?"
I clear my throat, hollering to her in a panic-doused tone, "They. Are. Dropping. My. Scholarship."
She sits back on her heels, tossing her long black hair back over her shoulders before turning to face me. "They're dropping your scholarship? What do you mean?"
My mouth gapes and my eyes shoot wide as I turn the letter so she can see the words on the page. Not that she would be able to read them from across the room, but that doesn't stop me from shaking the paper in the air.
Gabby rises to her feet before padding across the blue piled carpet and pulls the letter from my hands. I watch as she pinches her eyebrows, reading over the information it contains, before she drops the corners of her mouth in a pronounced frown.
"Well, fuck."
"What the fuck am I going to do?"
She makes an exaggerated motion of throwing the paper as though it offends her but it only floats listlessly to the floor. "You're going to get drunk. You can't even do anything about this until Monday at the earliest, so tonight - we get drunk."
I clench my teeth in anger, admitting she's right and there is nothing I can do. Her blue eyes reflect determination and I meet her intensity. "Then let's get drunk."