Brant
“You can come and stay at my place tonight, Brant.” I look up from the student notice board at the blonde girl snickering to her friend behind her hand.
“For the love of… does EVERYONE know about this?” I look at Alex standing next to me. He simply shrugs and continues to skim the notices for available apartments. It’s slim pickings. Alex and I have been friends since freshman year and I’ve been sleeping on his couch for the past two nights. I love the guy like a brother but he tends to talk in his sleep and he eats all my food. I need to find a place with a door that can be shut and preferably has some food in the fridge.
“Why don’t you just take that girl up on her offer?” He shrugs again.
“Because man, I told you, I can’t get in that situation again. I have to focus on school and my exhibition. No distractions and absolutely no sleeping with roommates.”
“But you’re for sure still gonna bang chicks, right? I mean, you’re always on about chasing your muse or whatever.”
I shake my head at him. He’s only worried about me being his wingman and helping him pick up chicks. Not that he needs my help in that department. I think I just make him feel like less of a slut with my own appetite for the ladies. I did say I was going to keep my dick in my pants, but that has since been amended to ‘don’t shit where you eat’. Or in my case, ‘don’t hook up with your roommate and get your shit dumped all over the front lawn for all the student body to witness on Facebook’.
“What about this one?” I tap on the neatly typed out notice stuck to the board.
“Urgent! Roommate needed to share utilities and rent,” he starts reading the notice. “The ideal candidate will be a consensus, quiet, and tidy individual who is serious about their studies. One month’s rent and deposit must be available immediately.” He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Are you serious? This sounds nothing like you. What does con.. conshen.. consensus even mean?”
“Conscientious, you idiot. It’s just another word for serious. Which is exactly what I need to be. Besides, none of the other numbers I called would even give me the time of day once they heard my name and the only other one I haven’t tried is the one looking for an ‘open-minded male who is not allergic to latex.’”
I dial the number listed on the notice and shoot up a quick prayer to whatever is listening that this person doesn’t have a social media account and has never heard the name Coyer Brant.
“Hello? This is Abby. ” Great, it’s a girl. I was hoping for a dude.
“Hey, Abby. I’m calling about the room for rent. Is it still available?” I pinch my thumb inside my fist as I wait for her answer. There’s a crashing sound in the background and a mumbled sound that sounds a lot like ‘oh shizzle’ before her voice comes back into the speaker.
“YES!” I’m a little taken aback by her loud reply and reconsider my chances with latex. “I mean, yes. Who is this, please?”
“This is Brant.”
“Brant? Um…” I sigh and prepare myself for the phone to go dead in my ear. “Do you have money for the rent and deposit?” I fist pump the air. Things are looking up. She doesn’t seem to recognize my name and she is obviously desperate for the money if that’s her first question. With a little more luck I’ll be able to convince this girl I’m both conscientious AND studious and my ass will have a bed to sleep in before the week is over.
“Yes, I have it.”
“Are you weird?”
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t expecting that question.
“Are you weird? Do you have any strange fetishes and/or a creepy fascination with red jell-o? Do you need to keep your underwear in the fridge or have a collection of dead rat tails? Do you have anything against windows or enjoy the taste of blood?”
What the fuck?
“Er,” I rub the back of my head and try and think of a reply. Would these things count for or against me?
“It’s just that I have had some weird calls about the ad and I would very much like to finish my degree with both kidneys intact.”
“Oh!” Thank God. “Yes. I mean no. I happen to very much like windows and jell-o, but to a completely normal degree. I can’t stand the sight of blood and my underwear is kept in my drawers.” I let out a small laugh. That last bit was punny.
“When can you come and see the room?” She doesn’t seem to be impressed with my joke at all.
“Whenever.”
“I have class in an hour. Can you come now?”
After I agree she rattles off an address that’s just off campus and I head over.
It’s a great looking place. A big well-kept Victorian looking place surrounded by trees. And most importantly – away from all the fraternities and parties. The fewer temptations I come in contact with, the better. I press my thumb to the intercom and wait for Abby to answer. There’s no answer. I’m beginning to think I have the wrong address and look down at my phone to find the address I typed in earlier. Yes, it’s right. I press the buzzer again, this time I hold it in for longer than is probably necessary.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Brant.”
“OK, come on up. Third floor on the right.” There’s a buzzing noise and then the door springs open. I take the steps two at a time. I turn right and knock on the door.
The door opens but not all the way and a set of eyes peek out to inspect me from head to toe.
“Can I see your student ID?”
I frown at the set of eyes still peeking from the crack in the door. Am I dealing with a paranoid agoraphobic here? But I straighten my face and reach for my wallet to show her my ID.
“It says your name is Coyer?”
“It’s Coyer Brant Alexander-Marshall III. Brant just sounds better.”
The door is ripped open and I’m met with an incredulous face wrapped in a halo of loose brown curls.
“You thought Brant sounded better?!” The incredulous face now has her lip curled up in confusion, but all I can think of are all my good intentions. And how they just crashed and burned.