Roommate's Virgin

“Don’t like potheads.”

“If that were true then no one would associate with me,” Seth pointed out. “They’re just having a little fun on your behalf. It’s not like they really hate you.”

I shrugged. “It would make no difference to me if they did. I’m not here to make friends.”

I headed towards the parked fire trucks and started cleaning out their insides. The whole time I kept thinking about Zoey and all the possible reasons she might not have come back here to take me up on the suggestion I had made. I was so sure she’s come back soon, and now I was left second-guessing myself.

The cupcakes she had brought went like hot cakes when I took them to the lounge room where all the firefighters relaxed and eat and just basically shot the breeze. A few of the other men seemed to know Zoey, which told me she had dropped in here at least a few times before. I had to hope that maybe she would drop by again and this time I could do a better job of impressing her.

8

Zoey

Music wasn’t just what I did. It was who I was. I played and composed not just because I had to but also because I wanted to. It was cathartic for me. It was a stress reliever and sometimes when I was sitting in front of a piano my problems didn’t seem all that huge.

I was in one of the music rooms on campus, and I was trying to figure out what my next move was. I didn’t want to stay with mom, and I knew that I wasn’t really welcome at Seth’s apartment while Cory was there. Not that Seth had any clue about the subtle hints that Cory was leaving for me. She was always very careful about how she treated me in front of Seth.

I was still playing when I heard someone walk into the room behind me. I stopped playing and turned around to see Professor Milton. She was probably my favorite professor. Not only was she accomplished, talented and passionate, but she was also kind and empathetic too. She had a way of getting to know her students and really investing her time in them. Around my second year, I had felt this intense pressure to keep up my grades, and I had worked myself into a near breakdown. It had been professor Milton who had talked me off the ledge. She had made me see that failing wasn’t the end of the world. After that, I had felt the pressure lift, and I realized I had just been getting in my own way.

I didn’t have any classes with her this year which I had been really bummed about, but I still stopped by her office every now and again to have a chat with her and get her advice on my music.

“Professor,” I said, whirling around to face her. “It’s nice to see you.”

“How’s my favorite student doing?” she asked.

I laughed. “How many students do you say that too?”

“Not as many as you would think,” she replied. “That was a nice melody you were playing… something you’re working on?”

“Not exactly… that was just my version of doodling. I just sit and play and don’t think about what I’m playing.”

“You should really record yourself when you do that,” Professor Milton advised me. “Then at least you can play them back and refine the melodies you create. That was beautiful music I just heard.”

“That’s a good idea,” I said. “I’ll definitely try and do it in the future.”

“I was actually hoping to run into you here,” Professor Milton told me.

“You were?” I asked. “What about?”

“I heard you were evicted from the student dorms.”

My face fell immediately. “Oh… you heard about that?”

“I did.”

I looked down, wondering if she would believe me if I told her I had nothing to do with the parties. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“I didn’t think it was,” Professor Milton said immediately.

“Really?”

“I know you, Zoey,” she said. “You’re not the type who’s into the partying scene. Why would you compromise your living arrangements for one? I told the dorm supervisors as much, but by then I think it was too late.”

“Thanks for sticking up for me,” I said, and I really was grateful. “I really appreciate that.”

“I assume you’re staying with your mother at the moment?” Professor Milton asked.

She knew almost everything about my family. She had been something of a counselor to me, especially in my first year after I had just moved out of mom’s apartment. She knew that Seth was a firefighter who used to smoke pot. She knew that mom had been a teenage mother who’d ended up with two kids from two different men that hadn’t stuck around long enough to contribute in any way to our upbringing. She knew about the fact that music had been my saving grace from all the stuff that had happened in my childhood and adolescence. She knew about the fact that I was struggling to make ends meet and that I would probably be drowning in student loans once my degree was done.