Starting From Somewhere (Starting From 4)

“Knock, knock,” Topher called.

“Come in.”

Topher inched the door open and gasped. “Oh…God. You look like a strawberry. I’ll find some aloe for you. Be right back.”

I set my glasses on my nose, slowly eased myself from the bed, and shuffled toward the master bathroom.

I paid extra for the privilege of having an ensuite bathroom, however, it wasn’t anything exciting. The pedestal sink was nice enough, but it didn’t leave any real surface to spread out. The tile in the shower was chipped, and the grout had taken on a dark shade that reminded me of the initial phases of a biology experiment. And the mirror was centered over the toilet and permanently streaked with some kind of mysterious goo that made it necessary to contort while shaving. In short, the space was gross, but the mirror was perfect for days like today when I really didn’t want to see myself too clearly.

Of course, I couldn’t exactly ignore my reflection as I stood over the toilet. Damn, Topher was right. I looked like a strawberry…wearing white goggles under glasses. Ugh.

“Are you decent?” Toph called from the bedroom.

“Yes, come in.” I washed and dried my hands, glancing up when my roommate barreled in holding a bottle of green slime.

“Take off your T-shirt. I’ll help you get your back. Or did you want to take a lukewarm shower first?”

“I can’t put that stuff all over me. I won’t be able to sit on the sofa or…anywhere in the apartment,” I griped.

“Sit on a towel. It’ll be fine. You need to soothe your skin. And you’ll have to stay indoors anyway. You might as well try to be comfortable,” he said patiently. “So, shower now or later?”

I sighed heavily. “Later.”

“Okay. Shirt off.”

I lifted my arms with a grimace. “I can’t do it.”

“Wow. You really did a number on yourself. Let me help you.” Topher set the bottle on the toilet seat and instructed me to slowly raise my arms.

I gave him a grateful, slightly wobbly smile, trying my best not to whimper at the feel of cool gel on my burnt skin. After the initial sting, it felt glorious. I sucked in a deep breath and focused on Toph’s curls as he worked his aloe magic.

Christopher and I had been roommates since our freshman year in the dorms. He was one of my closest friends and easily the smartest guy I knew. And trust me, I knew a lot of smart people. He had a degree in aerospace engineering and was on his way to becoming a rocket scientist, like both of his parents. No doubt he’d be my boss one day at the Jet Propulsion Lab.

I was more than qualified for my upcoming gig at JPL, but I knew I owed Topher and his folks for the opportunity. According to Toph, his parents sort of adopted me. He was an only child and kind of an odd duck. You wouldn’t know that until you talked to him, though. He looked perfectly “normal.” Topher was thin with bright-green eyes, freckles, and curly light-brown hair that took on a reddish sheen in sunlight.

Did I mention that he was brilliant? The type of guy who could solve complicated equations in his head while making a gourmet meal as he asked after your sick cat. I had the opposite issue. I tended to push the real world aside when I was in the midst of a fascinating project. Toph could do it all. His Achilles heel was that he became painfully awkward around any man he found attractive. Even more so than me. Which was hard to believe after the other night.

“Oh, no. I forgot to quit.” I groaned, covering my warm face with both hands.

“Quit what?”

“The internship. I can’t do it.”

“What are you talking about? You don’t have a—the one at the record company? Why? You were excited about it. You said it was part-time, so it won’t interfere with your quest to broaden your horizons. Gee, think of how many more sunburns you can get and still make some extra cash while drooling over sexy musicians. You have nothing to lose. Now hold still.”

I obeyed as he slathered aloe on my skin. “I have a problem, Toph.”

“I know. You’re a lobster. But the redness will fade over the next five days. Just drink a lot of water and put a cool compress on the worst bits. And be grateful you didn’t go to a nude beach. Your poor pecker,” he clucked like a mother hen.

“Very funny.”

“I’m not joking,” he assured me, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, then recapping the aloe bottle. “Can you imagine how painful a singed penis would be? I made coffee. Do you want some?”

“Yes, please.”

I grabbed a clean towel and my cell from my nightstand before meeting him in our living area. I draped the towel over a chair at our small round table and gingerly sat, hiking my Star Trek PJ bottoms up to expose my burnt calves. Once I was reasonably comfortable, I scrolled through my emails as if I didn’t have a care in the world. I stopped short at the one from Charlie Rourke, dated from last Tuesday.