3 Sides to a Circle (2 page)

Libby
stops, eyes wide, almost stunned. “Okay. Closet is your area. Tell me where to stack my boxes, and the rest is up to you.”

My heart begins to slow. “Really? That’s it?”

“Isn’t that what it’s all about? Having to compromise because you’re sharing your room on your first year of freedom?” She shrugs. “No biggie.”

“I have no idea,” I whisper sort of amazed something I said worked.
Maybe Libby and I will be okay.

I roll out of bed, which rests in the exact center of the room—at least for today
—and stumble into the bathroom Libby and I share with the two girls living on the
other
side of the bathroom. After three weeks, having my bed in a different place every night is sorta fun. I kind of hate admitting that, but it makes the whole room feel like mine, instead of the few square feet that’s my mattress, because it’s not like Libby doesn’t just park herself wherever’s convenient.

Besides taking the closet, I’ve done exactly one thing to change the room. I chose a wall that Libby had been staying away
from and centered a large corkboard on it. I decorated it with a few pictures of home and a map of New York. When Libby saw it, she mumbled something about
Feng Shui,
but then just shrugged and readjusted more furniture. The next time I returned to my room, she’d added a frame of hot-glued rhinestones to the cork. I’m not in love with the rhinestones, but I can deal.

A
s I lock the door to the bathroom, my phone beeps in a text, which is really bad timing because the neighbors have set up a bathroom schedule for the morning, and I’ve got ten minutes.

Hey, honey. It’s Mom.

Like I can’t tell from the ID.

I’m checking to see how classes are going and to remind you to get a good night’s sleep this week! Don’t want to have saggy eyes for your photo shoot this weekend! Love you!

I sigh before grabbing my toothbrush. My hair’s starting to get oily from no washing, but I can’t have it dried out. I clamp my toothbrush between my teeth and start to work a thick braid through my waist-length hair. Plain brown, and I’ve always wanted to have a blond pixie cut, but my hair became my “thing” when I was thirteen and did a Colgate ad. And then again when I did a photo shoot for a young adult book trilogy. It’s only been trimmed since.

Another sigh escapes as I fumble with bobby pins to keep it all up. Swinging braids are a little too earthy-hippie for me.

I slide on a plain white tank and my jeans before remembering the toothbrush is still wedged in my mouth. My jaw aches, and I figure for that much exposure to paste, my teeth aren’t going to get a scrub.

“Honor!”
Libby’s persistent voice carries through, but not as hard as her fist on the door. Libby doesn’t do anything halfway.

“I have two mor
e minutes!” I holler back, trying to decide if this is funny or if I’m pissed.

“Please,” she whines. “I need caffeine.”

“I don’t do coffee.”
It clogs pores
. I grab my eyelash curler, and just like every morning Tyra Banks’s words echo in my head about how models should dress simple, be simple, so I never put on much makeup. Still. No matter how many photo shoots I go to, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I belong in front of the lens.

“Th
en get one of those gross tea things… I’ll pay…” she pleads, and the sliding sound against the door tells me she’s not only persistent, but she’s pawing at it until I come out. It’s both hilarious and ridiculous, like most things she does. I haven’t decided yet if I love my roommate or hate her, but we’ve both been slammed with our first few weeks, so I guess time will tell.

I open my makeup bag again an
d wonder if I should try the gray shadow they used for my Sundance shoot. I finger the color, unsure if I could do it myself, but now I think I might stick out too much if I do, or maybe that someone will recognize me. It’s happened, and I never know what to say. My stomach tightens as I try to decide what to do. Maybe just mascara. I’m in college. It’s supposed to be relaxed. I pick up my taupe shadows and stare at myself in the mirror. Deciding what makeup to put on shouldn’t cause anxiety.

I press on my cheekbones and run a finger over my chin. My face is all angles and perception and good
sides and lighting. Being a model has warped my view and I really don’t see my own face anymore—just imperfect pieces of a whole.

I’m running mascara through my lashes when
Libby’s fist hits the door again.

“Ho-
nor
…” she whines.

Decision made. I stuff my nearl
y unused makeup back in the bag and pull open the door.

Libby
frowns as I step into our room.

“You’re too
neat.” Her brows pull together, puckering up her whole forehead as she takes me in. “And too pretty.”

White
tank, nice jeans, small cardi, and black leather flip-flops. Oh, and slightly greasy hair. I don’t feel neat. I feel simple. Exactly what I was going for.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I grab my
big leather bag, something that was gifted me at my last photo shoot, wondering why on earth I’m following her, all ripped jeans and T-shirt that looks like it was stolen from a boyfriend. A really, boy-like, smelly-boy, boyfriend who likes yellow. It pulls across her chest showing off the kind of cute, curvy body that would never work in modeling but that guys love.

Libby
shrugs in response. Maybe she doesn’t get that to most people quirky and interesting
does
equal pretty, or it should. Quirks are obviously something she’s bursting with, while I’m just…me.

As she closes our door behind us, I have a twinge o
f jealousy she didn’t do a double-check in the mirror. I’m already wondering if my braid is holding up on the sides like I want it to and resist the urge to pull out my mirror.

Mom thought I was nuts for going to a small college
in Ohio, hours from her in Maryland and hours from New York, but I thought I wanted the independence and the focused drive small colleges seem to provide. Plus, no one from my high school was going here, and there was the whole “no fraternities” thing. Now that I’m walking down the hall in my dorm, ignoring if eyes are on me, and trying not to see my reflection in the glass door as we get closer, I’m wondering why I wanted the space.

“God! You look terrified.” She laughs as she loops her arm through mine like we’ve been friends forever, instead of the fact that we’re probably the brunt of some cruel joke played on us by whoever was in charge of dorm room assignments.
“Lighten up.”

“No. Just.” I touch the left side
of my hair again to make sure my pins are holding.

“Honor.
Seriously
.” She swings me around, which spins the room, because my body awareness when I’m actually moving is crap.

I’m
about to get my bearings enough to stop, when I slam into someone, and my butt hits the floor. I blink a few times, a bit stunned, and try to find my breath.

Books, papers, and the contents of my b
ag are scattered in front of me, and Libby’s laugh is the background noise. I’m too disoriented to be irritated.

“I’m so sorry.” I scan the ground
, frantically reaching for papers and spiral notebooks, and the two textbooks that are broken open at the middle, until I see my tampons lying across half the notebooks. I snatch them up and start shoving them in my bag. “I don’t do sports. I mean, throw a ball toward me, and I’ll probably run, and—”

“Since when is walking
down a hallway a sport?” A guy. Of course.

I cringe because I can’t tell if he’s teasing or not.

“Ha!” Libby laughs. “Good one! What’s your name?”

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Libby says, and I don’t think it actually does to her. “You’ve got that nerdy-cute thing going on and you’re funny. You can join us for coffee.”

Af
ter another deep breath I stand and meet wide, brown eyes framed by a pair of funky, black glasses that I wish I could wear. Sweater vest over a T-shirt, but he seems to be pulling it off okay. The nerdy-cute comment was pretty spot-on. Big smile, largish nose, but it all seems to be working.

“Hi
.” He reaches his hand out, and I start to reciprocate, but Libby jumps between us, sliding her arms through both of ours and propelling the three of us forward.

“This is the start of something big.
” She grins. “I can feel it.”

Chapter Two

Toby

These girls are hot. Both of them. It’s the first thing I think. I shouldn’t. I’m actually not
that
guy. I mean, yeah, I’ve seen porn. And I did go to a strip club on my eighteenth birthday, which was actually more humiliating than anything else. But I’m not really the guy who thinks “whoa two hot girls, I gotta tap that” when I meet them. But the brunette, the “natural” beauty, is actually pretty in this strange way. Like she’s self-conscious and not all at the same time. And the purple-haired one is just adorable. Like perky and cute and infectious kind of adorable.

Purple
’s hooked her arm in mine and I’ve completely forgotten what I was supposed to be doing or where I was going.

“I’m Libby, and you can tell me all about you after coffe
e. For now, you should talk to Honor, and I’ll listen and pretend I care even though I’ll basically comprehend nothing until the coffee problem is fixed. Jesus. That was a fuckload of words, right?”

I look over at the brunette and she gives me this awesome shy smile and again I’m thinking she’s hot
, and I need to rein this thought in because even though I’m in college now, I’m not interested in turning into a douche.

“Your name is Honor?”

“Yeah.” She adjusts the back of her hair, which looks totally perfect and I can’t really figure out what she’s trying to fix, but I’m not exactly a pro at girls.

“Is there a story there?”

“My dad’s in the Navy, and Mom thought… Actually…” She opens her mouth, but then closes it again. Lips. Pretty. Pink and with that perfect shape that you normally see on models. “Not really.” She shrugs.

Huh. “So you’re a freshman?”

She nods. “You?”

“Yep.”

She licks her lips, and Libby digs her elbow into Honor’s side. “You’re licking your lips, Honor. Are you interested in this guy?”

My face goes up in flames. She just said that. Out loud.

But my blush is nothing in comparison to Honor’s. It’s kind of awesome actually, and makes her look even more gorgeous. “What? No. What? I…I don’t even know his name.”

Libby shrugs. “Yeah. What is it?”

“Thought you wanted to wait for coffee?” I push my glasses back up my face and wonder if maybe I should consider contacts.

“I’ll remember your name. Probably.”

“Toby.” I want to hold out my hand and shake, but it’s kind of awkward with her arm already linked through mine. Honor gives me a small smile, the blush starting to fade.

“Good name,” Libby announces
, and I almost laugh because she says it like she’s offering a weird stamp of approval. Honor actually does laugh and the sound is incredible. It curls around us and even Libby stops when she hears it.

“What?” Honor says when she
sees us both looking at her.

“That laugh is fucking amazing. It’s like the best girl laugh I’ve ever heard.
Gorgeous and musical and all of those things and it makes you even prettier. You should laugh more, Honor. Seriously. Guys will be pounding down our door to fuck you if they hear that laugh.”

My mouth drops open. Libby is ridiculous. She offers me a wide-mouthed grin and
winks.

“I…”

She releases my arm and holds up a hand. “Don’t even. I know you’re practically springing wood from that laugh. I mean
I’m
ready to spring wood and I don’t even have the right equipment. It’s a perfect laugh, right?”

My gaze moves over to Honor
, and she’s looking at her feet. Red splotches are all over her neck and I can tell she wants the earth to open up and swallow her whole. “Yeah. It’s a good laugh,” I say because it’s all I got.

Libby links arms with me again and drags the two of us to the
coffeehouse. She walks in and I’m not even lying, the three people behind the counter shout her name like it’s a bar and she’s the entertainment.

“I guess Libby’s made some friends already.”

Honor looks up me for a second and smiles. “Yeah. Sort of. I mean, everyone knows her. Purple hair and…”

“And I’m me so yeah,
that
,” Libby finishes.

By the time we get to the counter, they already have Libby’s coffee waiting. She asks the guy working if she can see his
tatt again, and when he raises his sleeve to show her the tribal shoulder design, she actually leans over the counter and licks it.