Preview of Spring Break!
There are a lot of things in life that should come with a warning label: potential allergens, poison, explosives – ya know, dangerous things.
And then, well, there are the things that should be common sense and still have warning labels. In my honest opinion, a cup that says “Hot Beverage” is a little ridiculous. If you order a coffee, and don’t ask for an iced coffee, then it should be assumed said beverage is, in fact, hot. Furthermore, why do I need a label that tells me not to put my plugged-in appliance in a bathtub? I mean, did some dude somewhere in the world actually think to himself, “Self, let’s get in the tub and hold the microwave. Yes, brilliant plan!” I think not.
What does this have to do with anything? Nothing, really. Just the random shit that runs through my head on any given day. But, since we’re talking about warning labels, something that really should come with a warning and doesn’t? College roommates.
Sure, I’ll look back on this conversation fondly. In like ten years! But, today? Now? Not so much. Even I can acknowledge that one day Kelsey, my current college roommate, and I will sit around laughing about this day.
Yes, my pessimistic and sarcastic self knows the time will come when, over a glass of wine, I will laugh about how I adamantly refused to do this one thing but ultimately relented and packed my bag.
That future self will also stand at the altar next to Kelsey, in what I’m sure will be a horrific hot-pink taffeta gown, and smile like an idiot as I have flashbacks to these college years. Specifically, I’ll remember this as the moment I accepted my fate. The fate that Kelsey Morrison isn’t only my roommate but she is, in fact, my very best friend.
At that same ceremony, I’ll also be plotting six different ways to kill Kelsey for putting me in a pink anything. When you are born with strawberry-blonde hair and a generous dusting of freckles across the bridge of your nose, pink is your enemy, not friend.
“Come on, Phoebes, you have to come! It’s going to be awesome. Besides, what else are you going to do? Sit around here and read?”
“What’s wrong with reading? I like to read. It’s healthy and stimulating.” If she only knew that by stimulating I meant horny-inducing. My Kindle is loaded with erotica romance. Sure, there’s a romantic comedy and the occasional romantic suspense tossed in for variety. But, give me a dirty-talking alpha and the occasional ménage a troi and I’m all in. Book wise. In real life, I’m a little more traditional.
“Whatevs, come onnnn … Phoeeeebbbeesss.”
“You know I hate when you whine. I can’t believe that shit works on Fuckan.”
Duncan Alexander Stromberg IV, to be more precise. If that isn’t a mouthful, I don’t know what is. Kelsey has been dating Duncan for the last six months and has herself convinced he’s “the one.” I’m convinced he’s a lot of things, but “the one” isn’t one of them. Well, except the cheating asshole. He’s absolutely that.
With a fucking gold star, he’s that.
No, I haven’t been able to prove my suspicions, but I know he cheats on her. His excuse for his inability to pick up the phone or see Kelsey certain nights of the week scream “cheater!” not committed boyfriend. He’s almost twenty-two years old and the fact that he wants us to believe he’s volunteering at a soup kitchen every Wednesday and Saturday night is not only ridiculous but, quite frankly, it’s a little insulting. But, Kelsey refuses to listen to reason. She insists that I don’t get their love or something equally ridiculous. So, here we are, six months and many calls directly to voicemail later, with her declaring him the greatest thing to happen to her.
“Kels, look,” I say, setting my Kindle down on my bed. I look her straight in the eye without so much as a single blink. Eye contact equals serious business in my family and I need her to see the seriousness I am conveying.
“Nope. I’m not listening to your excuses.” Her response is typical Kelsey. She closes her eyes and shakes her head while covering her ears. This only causes the volume of her voice to raise while she sing-songs the word “no” over and over.
This moment reminds me why most girls our age dislike Kelsey at first glance. Her long blonde hair, perfect button nose, long lashes, and long legs make you instinctively judge her. Her response to life is always kind and positive. It can be quite annoying.
But, when you spend time with her and talk to her for just five minutes you realize that Kelsey Morrison is a class act. She’s smart, funny, and a ride-or-die kind of girl. The girl you want as your best friend. The girl you thank your lucky stars there isn’t a warning label for because you may have not given her the time of day.
“You can easily read your damn books on the beach in Florida as you can here in the dorm. But, in Florida you’ll be with me and we’ll be in the sun! Come on!”
She does have a point. I do love warm weather. And the beach. And vacation is pretty high on my list of loves. It’s not like I have any intention of going home, and staying here, in small town nowhere Midwest where I spend most of my days, holds no appeal. Nope. I would rather double date with Kelsey and Duncan than do that. And, considering I’d prefer a visit with the gynecologist once a month instead of hanging out with Duncan, that’s saying a lot.
“If,” I begin as she squeals and jumps from her spot on her bed. Good lord. Her cheerleader history is really obvious right now. “Calm your tits, Kels. If, and that’s a big huge fucking if, I go, there have to be ground rules.”
“I can totes do ground rules.”
“Sit down, you’re freaking me out with all the cheer moves.”
I wait for her to sit. Which takes a solid sixty seconds because she must move her three, yep three, suitcases to the side to sit down. Then, we can’t have her hair a mess for this conversation so she must fluff and primp that. Good grief, we may be here all day.
“Are you done, princess?”
“Shut it. Continue, please.”
I shake my head at her. Seriously, she’s perched on the end of her bed with her ankles crossed and hands clasped in her lap. Kelsey prides herself on being a “good girl” when the reality is, she walks the fine like between good and bad every minute of the day. I love her for it.
“Rule one, never say ‘totes’ again. Unless it is followed by ‘magotes’ and we are drunk.” I point my index finger at her, to which she nods enthusiastically before I continue. “Rule two, do not even think of ditching me so you can go spend time with Fuckan.” My look is serious as I raise a single brow. Her response is another enthusiastic nod. I’m certain she’s ready to pounce from her seat, but pauses when I call Duncan by my favorite nickname for him. She hates it, but regardless of how much she protests, I won’t stop.
“Agreed, so are you coming? Say yes, Phoebe”
“Slow it, one more rule. Rule three. This is very important, Kelsey; you have to agree to this or it’s a hard pass.”
“Okaaayyy.”
“Rule three, do not try to hook me up. I am not interested in some random hookup on Spring Break.”
“Deal. Phoebe Jane Stromberg, we are going to have the best time!”
Oh yeah, Fuckan? I mean, Duncan. He’s my twin brother. And, a complete asshole.