“You went through my stuff?” I shrieked. He didn’t answer. Instead, I heard the faucet turn on and the sound of his toothbrush against his teeth.
I peeked out of the plastic curtain, holding it against my chest. “Get out, Travis.”
He looked up at me, his lips covered in suds from his toothpaste. “I can’t go to bed without brushing my teeth.”
“If you come within two feet of this curtain, I will poke out your eyes while you sleep.”
“I won’t peek, Pidge,” he chuckled.
I waited under the water with my arms wrapped tightly across my chest. He spit, gurgled, and spit again, and then the door closed. I rinsed the soap from my skin, dried as quickly as possible, and then pulled my T-shirt and shorts on, slipping on my glasses and raking a comb through my hair. The night moisturizer Travis had brought caught my eye, and I couldn’t help but smile. He was thoughtful and almost nice when he wanted to be.
Travis opened the door again. “C’mon, Pidge! I’m gettin’ old, here!”
I threw my comb at him and he ducked, shutting the door and laughing to himself all the way to his room. I brushed my teeth and then shuffled down the hall, passing Shepley’s bedroom on the way.
“Night, Abby,” America called from the darkness.
“Night, Mare.”
I hesitated before landing two soft knocks on Travis’s door.
“Come in, Pidge. You don’t have to knock.”
He pulled the door open and I walked in, seeing his black iron-rod bed parallel to the line of windows on the far side of the room. The walls were bare except for a lone sombrero above his headboard. I half expected his room to be covered in posters of barely clothed women, but I didn’t even see an advertisement for a beer brand. His bed was black, his carpet gray; everything else in the room was white. It looked as if he’d just moved in.
“Nice PJs,” Travis said, noting my yellow-and-navy plaid shorts and gray Eastern T. He sat on his bed and patted the pillow beside him. “Well, come on. I’m not going to bite you.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, walking over to the bed and dropping my Biology book beside him. “Do you have a pen?”
He nodded to his night table. “Top drawer.”
I reached across the bed and pulled open the drawer, finding three pens, a pencil, a tube of K-Y Jelly, and a clear, glass bowl overflowing with packages of different brands of condoms. Revolted, I grabbed a pen and shoved the drawer shut.
“What?” he asked, turning a page of my book.
“Did you rob the health clinic?”
“No. Why?”
I pulled the cap off the pen, unable to keep the sickened expression from my face. “Your lifetime supply of condoms.”
“Better safe than sorry, right?”
I rolled my eyes. Travis returned to the pages, a wry smile breaking across his lips. He read the notes to me, highlighting the main points while he asked me questions and patiently explained what I didn’t comprehend.
After an hour, I pulled off my glasses and rubbed my eyes. “I’m beat. I can’t memorize one more macromolecule.”
Travis smiled, closing my book. “All right.”
I paused, unsure of our sleeping arrangements. Travis left the room and walked down the hall, mumbling something into Shepley’s room before turning o
n the shower. I turned back the covers and then pulled them up to my neck, listening to the high-pitched whine of the water running through the pipes.
Ten minutes later, the water shut off, and the floors creaked under Travis’s steps. He strolled across the room with a towel wrapped around his hips. He had tattoos on opposite sides of his chest, and black tribal art covering each of his bulging shoulders. On his right arm, the black lines and symbols spanned from his shoulder to his wrist; on the left, the tattoos stopped at his elbow, with one single line of script on the underside of his forearm. I intentionally kept my back to him while he stood in front of his dresser and dropped his towel to slip on a pair of boxers.
After flipping off the light, he crawled into the bed beside me.
“You’re sleeping here, too?” I asked, turning to look at him. The full moon outside the windows cast shadows across his face. “Well, yeah. This is my bed.”