Chapter Two
Annika
“When are you coming home for the weekend? Haven’t you run out of clean clothes yet?”
I laugh lightly into the phone. “It’s the weirdest thing, Dad. There are these things called washing machines in the basement of my building, and they washed all my clothes for me last week.”
He sighs heavily, ignoring my sarcasm. “I know. It just gets lonely without you guys here.”
My poor dad. Ever since my brother and I went off to college, he’s an empty nester with too much time on his hands. Never mind how much he used to bitch about the cost of feeding two teenagers when we were in high school. As soon as we were gone, his tune changed.
I’m a sophomore at Southwest San Antonio University. It’s only a couple of hours away from home, but it has everything I need: a great football team, a pre-physical therapy program, and a training course where I can actually get on the field and hone my skills with the players. It also has my best friend, Lauren, who is pretty much the exact opposite of me, but is also the best roommate I could ask for. I lucked out when I got her in the roommate lottery.
“Well maybe you should put yourself out there a little more.” I’m picking the last of the pink nail polish off my fingernails. I hate it when there’s color on my nails. I should have known better than to let Lauren talk me into that manicure last week. What a waste of money. “Maybe you’ll finally meet a lucky lady.”
He scoffs. “You know there will never be another lady as lucky as your mother.”
I laugh again, louder this time. “You’re right, Dad. You’re such a catch, I don’t think any woman could handle you.”
He’s been alone since my mother died when I was a baby. Not that he’s worried about dating, per se. I’m sure he’s been out a few times over the years, but more out of boredom than anything else. He always said he found love as a young man, and he has memories of the best years of his life to tide him over.
Personally, I think he’s more afraid of pissing off me or my brother, Damien, than anything. But after nineteen years, you’d think he’d finally realize we’ll get over it.
“I’ll be coming back for Thanksgiving, Dad. You can wait a couple more months to see me. It’ll give you some time to really home in on your fantasy football skills.”
He grumbles. “I’m going to beat you this year.”
I just laugh. “Dad, I don’t think you could beat me any year at fantasy football. You’d have to get used to that fancy computer thingy.”
“Har. Har,” he deadpans. “What are you up to tonight? Getting that laundry done?”
“Kiersten’s visiting, and Lauren wants to go out. I’m sitting on my bed right now, waiting for Lauren to come badger me about getting into whatever trouble they’re working on.”
I can practically hear my dad go on alert. “You be careful when you go out.”
“Yes, Dad.” It’s the same song and dance I’ve heard for years. As his only daughter, he is a bit hypervigilant about my safety. He used to make me practice “being attacked” by Damien. I have no idea if I can replicate the moves in the real world, but it was fun learning how to kick my brother’s ass.
“What do you do if a guy gets handsy?”
“Lean in, knee to the groin,” I respond absentmindedly, flicking away the final bit of polish.
“Good girl. What if he grabs you from behind and puts you in a choke hold?”
“Step to the side, fist to the groin, elbow to the face.”
“Excellent,” he praises. “What about if he grabs your neck from the front?”
“Tuck my chin, grab his elbows, pull him to me, knee to the face.”
“Good. I think you’re protected.”
I chuckle and flop back on my bed. “We’ve only been going over this since I was like twelve. I think I’ll be okay.”
“You were then. And I know you will,” he says gently. “I just worry about you.”
“I know you do, Dad. I promise I’ll be okay. Anyway, how is Damien doing? Finally getting some direction?”
My dad starts chattering about my older brother’s new girlfriend and how he still hasn’t declared a major even though he’s a year ahead of me. The door to my room opens and Lauren walks in, tossing her backpack on her bed.
Hands on her hips, I know what’s coming, but before she can lay into me I point to my phone and mouth “my dad.”
Her eyes light up, and she yells, “Hi Mr. Leander!”
Lauren and my Dad have only met a handful of times during parent weekends and moving days. But they click. Like really click. He thinks of her almost like a second daughter, and just hearing her voice makes him stop his babbling and say, “Is that Lauren in the background? You give her a big hug for me. And teach her how to get out of a choke hold!”
A laugh bursts out of me. “I will. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her. I know she’s your favorite.”
“No, honey, you’re always my favorite.”
I can’t help but feel warm by his words. My dad is the best, and I really miss him sometimes. “I know. Hey listen, since Lauren just got in, I’m going to talk to her for a while.”
“Okay, baby. Love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.” We hang up, and I toss my phone on the bed next to me. Lauren glares at me now that she finally has my attention.
I pretend I have no idea what she’s up to, even though it’s basically the same song and dance every weekend. “What?” I finally ask.
She throws her arms up in exasperation. “Come on, Annika! You can’t just sit there all night long!”
My petite, blonde, gymnast of a roommate scowls at me. How she has this much energy, I’ll never understand. I’m always exhausted after a full day of class. She has school and at least a couple hours of practice, but she’s still raring to go. And she wants to dance.
“It’ll be good for you to get off your butt and shake it around for a little bit.”
I roll my eyes and lean back onto the headboard of my bed. “I don’t shake my butt,” I retort with a smirk. “That’s your thing Lauren, not mine.”
“Yeah, but you can’t miss out with Kiersten being here.” She plumps out her bottom lip and bats her thick eyelashes at me. It’s a guilt tactic, but it always works.
Actually, it’s not the guilt tactic that works. It’s that she’s going to hound me until I finally cave; really, there’s no point in fighting anyway. I could be stronger, I suppose. But I usually end up having fun when Lauren drags me out, and we both know it.
Usually.
Plus, I really do like Kiersten. The first time Lauren’s high school best friend came to visit, I assumed she’d be as crazy and bubbly as my roommate, but Kiersten surprised me. Yes, she’s a social butterfly, but on a much smaller scale. Plus, she’s really sweet and always has a kind word for everyone. At first glance, they seem like an unlikely pair.
Lauren is a tiny bundle of energy, who trains in the gym for up to six hours a day. Kiersten, on the other hand, is tall and willowy and has maintained her high school dance figure even through those dreaded Freshman Fifteen months. From what they tell me, it was strictly chance that led to their friendship. Being that Kiersten was in the studio as much as Lauren was in the gym, their paths should have never crossed. But randomly, they ended up sitting next to each other at a high school football game one night, and they’ve been besties ever since. Probably after bonding over their love of hard work and clubbing. Now when Kiersten visits, I’m always guilted into going with them, rounding out the threesome as the awkward, lanky girl with no coordination.
Come to think of it, I hope I’m not getting a pity invite. I’m sure being right next to me while we all dance makes them look good. Shrugging to myself, I push those thoughts aside. Lauren and I have fun all the time, whether we’re going out or staying in.
Huffing, Lauren continues to glare at me, waiting for me to finally give in. She knows clubbing isn’t my thing. My thing is tailgating, football games, and beer—not at all your typical college girl. I’d rather be sitting in a parking lot at ten o’clock in the morning waiting for kick off, than rolling out of bed at that time because I was getting my groove on the night before.
I finally breathe out a deep resolved sigh, and Lauren’s face immediately changes. She knows she’s won.
“Fiiiiiiine,” I say, dragging the word out as long as possible. “I’ll go.”
She immediately begins bouncing up and down, clapping her hands together with a big smile on her face. I narrow my eyes at the fact that coercion makes her happy.
“But you have to do my hair and makeup,” I add, sitting straight up. “And you’re not allowed to make me look like a slut like last time!”
She scoffs. “You did not look like a slut last time. You were totally glam.”
I quirk an eyebrow at her lie. She rolls her eyes in response.
“Someday, I’ll teach you how to have a sense of style. Tonight, you’ll just have to trust me to make you totally hot.” I throw myself on the bed and slap a pillow over my face, trying unsuccessfully to hide from the myriad of brushes and glosses and glittery shit that she’s going to use on me. “But first, let me go take a shower, because you know it’s going to take me way longer to get ready than you anyway.”
Removing the pillow so I can breathe, I watch her walk away. She’s right. She goes all out when she gets dressed up.
Me, I could just do some mascara and lip gloss and be done with the whole thing. I was raised by my dad and older brother when my mom died while giving birth to me, so I was never taught anything about makeup and hair. I learned different things, like how to shoot a gun, how to make brisket in the back of a truck, and how to break a man’s thumb if he gets too handsy—real-life skills.
But tonight, I will allow Lauren to use me as her personal styling doll in hopes it keeps her off my back for at least another couple weeks. My best friend is, by far, the most tenacious person I know. I love her for it, even when it annoys me.
As she grabs her shower supplies and trots down the hall to the communal bathroom, I stand inside our closet, staring at the clothes. We made a small portion of our room a giant walk-in closet when our third roommate ditched at the last minute for lack of funds after a public intoxication arrest or something. I never got the real story. All I know is it was too late for the housing office to assign another person to our room. Now our giant make-shift closet is the envy of every girl on this floor.
I don’t appreciate fashion and even I can understand how cool it is.
Rifling through all my clothes, I long to put on some jeans and a nice top, but there is only one outfit I own that Lauren will deem “club worthy.” A short black dress. It hits several inches above my knee but has a bit of flare to the skirt. It hugs me just enough that I don’t need to worry if a gust of wind will catch it and flash everyone around me, but is loose enough that it has a pocket for phone and credit card so I don’t have to keep track of a purse in the club. The plunging rounded neckline keeps me constantly checking to make sure it hasn’t dropped too low, exposing the girls. The back is scooped low, too, making it impossible to wear a bra. Fortunately, the long sleeves help me not feel as exposed, and the large cut outs down the tops of the arms give it a little more sex appeal than your ordinary little black dress.
Lauren loves this outfit. I personally think it teeters the edge of being a little too slutty, but since she convinced me to drop a pretty-penny on it in a weak moment, I may as well use it. Besides, I’m not going out tonight to impress anyone. I’m just going to be with my friends. And with as much makeup and hair spray as I’m about to have on me, it’s not like I’ll be recognizable to anyone I care about.
And because, I suppose, at nineteen years old, I should be enjoying the “college experience,” as Lauren calls it. According to her, going to college football games doesn’t count if that’s the only experience you have.
“Ugh!” I finally say, giving up and yanking the offending dress off the hanger and over my head, staring at myself in the mirror.
I guess it could be worse. I have the body for it, even if I don’t put any effort into my physique. And it’s not really as low cut as I think it is. I should probably make a habit of looking in the mirror instead of looking down to see if I’m flashing anyone. The angles are totally different.
Kiersten comes walking in the room, a towel wrapped around her head and a pink bathrobe wrapped around her body.
“Ooh! I like that outfit on you,” she says, turning me this way and that, getting the full effect. “It really makes your cleavage look nice.”
Oh good. That’s what I was hoping. For my boobs to stick out tonight.
Sensing my apprehension, she changes her phrasing. “No, not in a gratuitous, ‘Look here are the girls’ kind of way. In a ‘You know there’s got to be a killer rack under there, but she’s too classy to flash it’ kind of way.”
“Oh, well that makes me feel better,” I deadpan.
She laughs, knowing it didn’t and bends over to rub her hair with the towel, beginning the tedious process of getting ready for the night.
I’m still not thrilled about the prospect of clubbing, but I know I’ll end up having fun with these two, no matter what. And by the time Lauren gets me all gussied up, I won’t recognize myself anyway.
Maybe I should use a fake name for the night.
No. I’ll just go with Annika. No one ever believes it’s my real name. I’ve heard more times than I can count about how it’s such an exotic name for such a bland girl. Okay, no one ever calls me bland, but what else would the opposite of exotic be?
That’s okay. I don’t mind not being the flashy one. That’s what Lauren is here for. She can have the spotlight all she wants. I’ll just cheer her on from the sidelines.