She's the One

“Text her.” He pushes the paper toward me. I pick it back up, staring at the beautiful script. “Star.” His tone grows more stern, sounding like our dad. The microwave dings. “When do we back down?” I look up from the piece of paper I’m holding tight in my fingers to meet my brother’s gaze that matches my own.

“Never.”

Chapter 3

Maisie

“Soooo, that girl Star. When she said she only likes girls, does that mean she only likes girls?” I ask my roommate as we pick up dinner at the deli. I’ve been thinking about Star’s statement all day and I’ve conjured up a lot of scenarios based on it, but I’ve jumped to conclusions before and been totally wrong. When I first received Dally’s information in my orientation packet, I thought she was a guy. To be fair, her full name is Dallas McCormick. That sounds like a jock’s name, right? Anyway, I wanted a female roommate and wrote this long angry letter to the college about how I deserved to live in a safe space on campus. They forwarded the letter to Dally, who sent me a picture. That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing more was needed, I guess. Dally was a girl.

“Yes, Maisie. I’m pretty sure that’s what she meant. Do you want chips?” Dally holds up a bag of Doritos.

“Is the sky blue?” I grab the bag from her hand. “I’ll get a Diet Coke to offset the calories in the chips.”

“With anyone else, I’d say it doesn’t work that way, but you’re Maisie London and for you, it does.”

I make a face but I can’t deny it. I have a good metabolism and have been lucky enough to not have to count calories. Dally, on the other hand, looks at food and gains weight. I think she looks good curvy and often wish I had her chest and ass, but Dally doesn’t want to hear it. She says my opinion doesn’t count because I love her, but if the opinions of the people you love don’t count, whose do?

“We can walk on the treadmill at the Union later tonight if you want,” I offer.

This perks Dally up. “Yes!” She fist pumps.

She loves the Union gym because the treadmills have this nice rubber track but there are so many gross, smelly guys there that are always coming over to interrupt our gossip sessions. Like, we’re having a conversation. Why do they think they need to be part of it?

“I need a good workout after the debacle that was my history class today,” Dally continues as we pay for the food. “The guest lecturer was going on and on about how the tennis court revolution would’ve never happened if the poor people had enough food which, duh. No one with a full stomach ever fights for anything. I didn’t need fifty minutes and a dozen slides to hammer that point home.”

“School is dumb,” I agree. “I’m not learning anything right now that I can see will help me either get a job or function as an adult out of college. I probably shouldn’t have chosen communications as a major. It’s so boring and dumb. Think of your audience! Be creative! Choose your words carefully! I could’ve written the textbook for that.”

“Why are we even here?” Dally ponders.

“Because this is what we were told to do.” My parents went to college. My older brother went to college so that’s what I’m doing, even though I’m not sure what I’m going to do with a degree. The idea of sitting in a cubicle at some company typing things into a computer or reading over forms bums me out. My mind flashes to Star. Every time I’ve seen her, she’s so engrossed in whatever is in front of her. I wonder what it feels like to be that engaged with something. “Have you ever had a class with Star?”

“Nope. I heard she’s an art major.”

“Oh.” I can’t even draw stick figures.

“Why are you so interested in Star?”

“I don’t know. Why not? She seems like an interesting person.”

“Have you ever talked to her?”

“No.” I grab my sandwich and follow Dally out the door. “But I see her around and she always seems so cool and interesting.”

“You say that like you aren’t cool and interesting.”

“If you’re talking about my face, that’s nothing. A million other girls are prettier than me. Look at Instagram. Girls that look like me are a dime a dozen. Girls like you and Star, though, you’re rare.” Dally’s smart. So so smart. She can do hard math in her head. She knows words in the dictionary that I didn’t even know were words. And she’s curvy. I’m flat as a board and could pass as a boy if I tucked my long blond hair into a cap and put on a pair of khakis. Plus, Dally is funny as hell. She makes me laugh all the time. Girls like her are unique. Anyone can have a pretty face. You can buy those at a doctor’s office. You can’t buy kindness or smarts or wit.

“No, Maisie, not everyone looks like you but let’s not argue because I know after living with you for three years that you’ll never believe me.”

“Looks don’t matter,” I insist. “Looks are superficial. How can I get someone interesting to like me if I’m not interesting?”

“How are you not interesting?” Dally asks, throwing open the door to our apartment building. Two guys in the hallway drop their belongings and rush over to hold it.

“Thanks,” I tell them.

One guy blushes and stammers out, “N-no problem, Maisie.”

The other guy sticks his hand out in front of me. “I can carry that for you.”

“Carry what?”

“The bag.”

I look down at the sandwich bag in my hand. “My dinner?”

The guy gulps and nods his head vigorously. “Yeah. I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

“It’s a sandwich, dude.” I cast a confused look to Dally, who is rolling her eyes.

“But you live on the fourth floor.”

“We have elevators.” I point toward the doors that are sliding open.

“But you still have to hold it for four whole floors!”

“Uh, I’m good.” I scurry away and dart inside the elevator cab before the doors close in front of my face.

Dally rushes in as well and faces the wall. Her shoulders shake. I smack her across her back, which only generates muffled choking noises.

“Everything okay?” the guy who offered to hold my sandwich asks.

“We’re good!” I say cheerily and jab my finger against the button to close the doors. They slide shut too slowly but once the cab is moving, Dally collapses to the floor.

“Not interesting,” she howls. “You think you’re not interesting!”

I kick her lightly. “Stop it.”

“That guy thought you were so interesting that he wanted to hold your sandwich as you rode up the elevator!” She’s nearly crying now.

“I hate you.”

“Dude, if you were any more interesting, you wouldn’t be allowed to walk across campus. The guys would be lining up to carry you.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Guys are dumb. All he knows is that I have a pretty face. I could be the biggest bitch in the world. I could be one of those maneaters that devours their essences and leaves them empty husks.”

This only makes Dally laugh more. I have to help her off the elevator when it reaches our floor. “I think half the guys in this apartment would kill each other to be one of your leftover empty husks.”

“We live with a bunch of stupid men then.”

“Never said we didn’t.”

“Maybe Star was right,” I say.

“About what?” Dally asks.