The Roommate Situation (23 page)

When she comes back, she’s got a square box. Care-package size.

I tap my fingers on the counter, my chin resting on the heel of my hand.

Whatever’s in it, it can go fuck itself.

“Sign,” she says.

“Do you want it?” I ask.

“What is it?”

“No fucking clue.”

She looks at me like I just asked if I could sniff her panties. I sign and lug the box out of the building, heading across the campus to Quaid. It’s got
F & M Hahn
on the return label, and I don’t fucking care.

“What’s that?” Derek asks as I walk into the room, box first.

“Not a guitar,” I say, dropping it on my bed. Something rattles inside. I
really
don’t fucking care.

“It’s probably not an elephant or a Porsche either,” Derek says, walking over. “Now that we’ve covered the list of things it’s not—what is it?”

“Don’t care. Thinking of auctioning it off as a surprise package. Did we sell anything?”

“No.”

Chuck’s idea is sounding better by the moment.

* * * *

“Okay, this is what I found out,” Chuck says Saturday evening, standing in the middle of his room while Pete sits cross-legged on his own bed. I’m plopped in Chuck’s desk chair, slumped down and swinging it back and forth, back and forth, while Derek leans against a clothes locker, his arms crossed. “There are already house concerts going on,” Chuck says. “Put on for the most part by people who live in the houses. It’s not any kind of organized thing. They take donations at the door, and the money generally goes to the band, usually because they’re bringing in out-of-town bands—which, I’ve gotta say, I wouldn’t mind doing.”

“But I was gonna play Dick Dale,” I say. Not that I have anything to play “Miserlou” on.

“I still don’t know what the fuck that is,” Chuck says. “Anyway, the band crashes at the house, and you’ve gotta feed them. On top of giving them all the money. Bottom line is, these things make no money; they’re all about the music and the experience. I almost got my ass ripped open for suggesting it could be a business.”

“Some people are touchy,” Derek says.

And my dream of pulling in cash running shows is swirling down the john.

“Fucking hipsters,” Chuck says. “So then I went asking around at banquet halls and stuff, because we can make it more like a concert that way: print our own tickets, get more people in the room, get access to a PA system. But those bitches cost bucks, and no one wants to rent to an eighteen-year-old putting on rock concerts.” He looks at Derek. “They weren’t all that keen on twenty either. One place was, like, ‘Twenty-five and up.’ They’d also rather have birthday parties or wedding receptions. They kept asking, ‘What’s the event?’ and I kept saying, ‘Just a concert,’ and they were like, ‘For a birthday party?’ So if we ever do manage to swing it, it’s going to have to be someone’s fucking birthday every week.”

Pete raises his hand. “I volunteer. There’s cake, right?”

This is going to be a short meeting. I turn the chair all the way around, passing by Pete’s calculus book as Chuck says, “So now I’m thinking there are other spaces around that aren’t set up to be ‘halls’ that might be okay with picking up some extra cash.” He turns on his phone screen and starts reading off a list: “The bowling alley, churches—”

“Maybe for Christian rock,” I say. I can’t imagine my parents’ church turning the place over to Slaughter Me for the night.

“Maybe,” Chuck says, “Maybe not. Can’t hurt to ask. We can always say it’s Christian rock.”

“That’s good,” Pete says. “Lie to a church.”

“Barns, empty warehouses, places with For Lease signs up. They might as well bring in some cash while they’re waiting for someone to move in, right? I also thought, hey, what about storage units? That could be our ‘thing,’ right? We could call it Cool Storage or something less lame. It’s, like, two hundred bucks a month for a ten by thirty—a whole month. If we put on a concert or two every weekend, forty or so people crammed in, that shit adds up.”

Derek says, “I’m sure the people storing their stuff in the neighboring units would love forty or fifty college kids hanging around every weekend.”

“It can’t hurt to ask,” Chuck says. “Everyone would be in the unit anyway.”

“I doubt their insurance would allow it,” Derek says.

“You’re the biggest fucking killjoy. Hahn, why do you hang out with this guy? Anyway, I’ve been going through Google Maps looking for places, and I’m gonna start approaching them next week.”

“Well, look at you,” I say.

“What?”

“The pinnacle of your ambition used to be to unlock True Fighter mode on
DOA5
.”

“This is just like that, only with fewer punches, and I have to leave my dorm room to do it.”

“Oh, well, when you put it that way…”

“And if worse comes to worst,” Chuck says, “next fall we can rent a house instead of living in the dorms—I’m done with this residence hall bullshit anyway. Then we can put on house concerts at
our
house and figure out how to turn it into cash.”

“We’re gonna need cash to live off campus in the first place,” Pete says, which is what I’m thinking too as I swivel the chair. Chuck did get my interest back with his Google Maps list. Probably they’ll all turn us down too, but like he says: it can’t hurt to ask. Especially if he’s going to go ahead and put his neck out there to do the asking.

Someone’s phone bings. I look toward Derek. He doesn’t move to take it out of his pocket.

Chuck is saying, “Eh, my parents are paying for the residence hall. If I can show it costs less to split a house with a bunch of roommates off campus, they’ll just write the check to the landlord or whatever instead of the school.”

“True,” Pete says.

I’m thinking it’ll be a cold day in hell when my parents write a check for me to live with a bunch of roommates off campus. But man, that would be something, not living in the dorms.

With a nod to Derek, Chuck says, “Why are you still in the dorms anyway? You’re not stuck with the bullshit freshmen-have-to-live-on-campus rule.”

He shrugs. “Just seemed easier.”

“Fuck easier.”

“It’s not like I need a lot of space.”

“You could have a fucking bondage warehouse if you had the room, dude. Hey, and when we put on shows, the band could put their merch on one table, and you could sell your dildos on another.”

Derek smiles. “If only I made dildos.”

“Whips, what the fuck ever.”

I spin back and forth, smiling a little. That
would
be pretty fucking cool, sharing a house off campus with Derek, playing Xbox in the living room with the guys till all hours of the morning, having a kitchen. Just one problem: Derek and I would have to come out, and the whole bondage-gear thing on top of that would probably freak Chuck and Pete the fuck out. Especially Chuck. Anytime we shut the bedroom door, they’d be making faces at each other and slinking away. We could just
not
come out, sneak our fun in when Chuck and Pete aren’t home. Or maybe we’d only find a three-bedroom, and I could offer to split a room with Derek—at a reduced rent, of course.

I spin all the way around, tuning out the conversation.

Even if we didn’t come out, eventually they’d get suspicious. Or Chuck would barge in without knocking, knowing Chuck.

Pete’s pulling on his shoes, and I realize I’ve missed something.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Jesus, where’d you go?” Chuck says. “We just got through razzing him about leaving us to go get his dick wet.”

“
You
just got through razzing me,” Pete says, stuffing his phone in his pocket.

“Derek was silently razzing you. He’s too polite to do it out loud.”

“Hey, not me. More power to you, man. Have fun.”

“See?” Pete says. “Dude, you seriously need to get laid.”

“Right after I become the concert boss. There are a couple hospitality courses I might take as electives. You know, organizing events, marketing. I could make something of this,” Chuck says.

I can kind of picture it. Twenty years from now, he’ll be a balding, poorly dressed promoter with drop-dead gorgeous chicks hanging off his elbows.

“So is that the meeting, then?” Derek asks, straightening. I guess this one went well enough that he’s still at least curious, if not actually interested.

“Be honest,” Chuck says. “You’re itching to get back to your room so you can figure out how to build the ultimate leather dildo.”

“Yep. I’m gonna need a model. I hear your dick’s not doing anything.”

“Bro, you can’t afford the fucking rent.”

Derek laughs.

I get to my feet.

“You’re leaving me too?”

“Someone’s gotta provide a model for the dildo,” I say.

“Fags. I guess I’ll just play with my dick for a while and then get back to trying to unlock True Fighter mode.”

“Why don’t you get out?” I say, slipping into my jacket. “Go meet people. Get in touch with the girl from Spanish and ask her if she’s doing anything.”

“This late? Of course she’s doing something! Everyone’s doing something.”

“All right. If that’s what you want to think. You want to do something tomorrow?”

“Yeah, text me. See ya, guys. Oh—next meeting, same place, the Saturday after break. Hopefully I’ll have good news.”

* * * *

“You think he’ll get anywhere with this?” I ask as we walk to Quaid, skirting the edge of campus so Derek can get in a cigarette. It’s kind of a treat, seeing him smoking. I get that it’s probably going to kill him and all, but when he puts the filter to his lips and takes a drag, when he streams the smoke out of his nostrils, when he smiles at me—it’s hot.

Probably it’s just hot because it’s him doing it, and I haven’t found much yet that he does that isn’t hot.

Both our breaths steam the air as we walk. The tips of my ears sting with cold.

“I didn’t expect him to get his far with it,” he says. “No offense to your friend. I’ve just heard a lot of big talk that went nowhere, you know?”

“No, I’m surprised too. I think it’ll run out of steam after a few more doors close in his face.” As we round a corner, I bump my elbow lightly against the post of a stop sign. “Why
do
you still live in the dorms? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Like I said, it’s easy. I fill out a form; the school saves a place for me. I don’t have to make any phone calls, come up with a security deposit, put utilities in my name—which requires more deposits—move furniture all the way from home, buy pots and pans…”

“Would you live off campus if someone else did all that, and you just had to worry about paying your share of the bills?”

“Are you making an offer?”

“I’m just saying,” I say. “If Chuck and Pete and I decided to get a place—and my parents didn’t go nuclear over the idea—”

“—which they probably will.”

“Which they almost definitely will. And we said,
‘Hey, there’s a fourth bedroom. Your share of the bills would be X…’
I mean, would you consider it?”

“I’d consider it. Doesn’t mean I’d do it. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t. It’s hypothetical at this point. I don’t know what my share of the bills would be, how that compares to the cost of living in the halls. It’s kind of convenient living on campus, right?”

“Except when you want a cigarette.”

“So living on campus is better for my health too.” He drops his butt on the ground and steps on it.

“There are lots of places not that far from campus,” I say.

“Would you want to share a house with Chuck and Pete?”

We climb the steps to Quaid. I pull my hand out of my pocket to slide my ID. “One part of me says, ‘Fuck yeah. Sure. Why not?’ and the other part says, ‘So long, kinky funtimes.’ Which I’d lose whether you moved in with us or not, because if you stayed here, you’d have another roommate, and we’d have to sneak it around his schedule. And if either or both of us lived with Chuck and Pete… You know they’d figure it out.”

“That we’re sleeping together or that sometimes we play with my inventory when we sleep together?”

We’re alone in the stairwell, but I glance up anyway, just to be sure. “Either,” I say. “Both. Definitely the latter. And if they thought we were sleeping together, there’s no way they wouldn’t jump to the other conclusion too.”

“No, I guess not.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek as we emerge from the stairwell. I guess really I’m more nervous about people knowing about the kinky stuff. I mean, it’s not like we’d be the only same-sex couple in the fucking school. I let Derek do the unlocking this time. As he sweeps the door open and turns on the light, I say, “We could get a place, just the two of us.”

He pushes the door closed and turns to me, props one hand on the wall beside my head.

With our noses inches apart, he lays his other hand on my face. “How about we worry about all that when it’s actually time to start worrying about all that?”

“We’d only need one bed,” I say.

He smiles.

“Speaking of beds—let me tie you to it this time.”

His eyebrow comes up. “Yeah?”

“Unless you’re not comfortable with that.”

“Never done it. Wouldn’t know how I feel about it.” His hand is cool on my face. He pushes my hair back.

I say, “It’s just that, usually you do the tying up…”

“Never did that before I started hanging around you either. We’re just racking up the firsts, aren’t we?”

“Stick around.” I tug at his shirt. “I’m sure there are plenty more to come.” I nod toward the other end of the room. “You go pick out some cuffs. I’ll get the beds together.”

“You’re sure you want to do this?” His breath skates over my lips. His eyes look into mine. I could get lost in them.

I say, “Won’t know till I try,” still holding on to his shirt.

“All right, then.” He moves in like he’s going to kiss me, then pulls away, grinning, stripping off his jacket.

It takes me a few seconds to push off the door. I’m too busy looking at the way his Levi’s fit his legs as he crosses the room.

“Don’t you have some studying to do?” he tosses back. Finals are next week.

“It can wait a few minutes,” I say.

“Oh! Is that all this is gonna take?”