The apartment splits off into two hallways; the left is hers, claimed by a Darth Vader poster on the door that says: I want you for the imperial forces!
The right is mine, unclaimed and bare. I open the door to a dorm-sized room, a simple built-in desk, a wooden dresser, a half-window, and a short single bed.
I take a seat on the slightly stained mattress, the wooden frame creaking. I hear footsteps as Ryke and Loren follow my shadow. I toss my phone from palm to palm, and it suddenly buzzes.
Maggie: Are you with Loren Hale right now?!?!?!
I balk. There’s only one way my best friend from Maine could know this that quickly. I log onto the Celebrity Crush website.
“Oh my God,” I mutter. A giant photograph of me snatching tampons off the sidewalk fills the landing page. Ryke has my panties on top of his box, and they’ve drawn a circle around them.
The headline: Loren Hale’s Cousin Has an Accident in a Parking Lot!
I type back to Maggie: it’s me…unfortunately.
Maggie: YOU’RE WITH LOREN HALE & RYKE MEADOWS!!!! WHAT IS UNFORTUNATE ABOUT THAT??? Also… why didn’t you tell me you’re his cousin? HELLO!
I knew that she might notice, but I doubt anyone else in Caribou will put two-and-two together and stir trouble for me. So I just text back: I just found out… please don’t tell anyone. My mom doesn’t want Ellie caught up in this.
Maggie: I won’t tell a soul. Skype me soon… I need LOTS of details!
After her last text, I dazedly skim over the article, catching the part where they mention how my “visit looks like a permanent one”—and of course, they point out every single item I dropped.
“This place is small.” Lo’s voice emanates from the living room.
I set my phone on the mattress and stare at my hands, a little more numb and hollow than before the car ride here. I can’t discern whether these feelings are from the severe lack of privacy…or just a normal bout of embarrassment.
“My first year dorm room was fucking smaller than this,” Ryke retorts.
“She’s not in college yet. She shouldn’t live in a shoebox until she has to.”
Ryke sighs heavily, their footsteps nearer. “I’ve already said what I’ve had to…” he trails off, and I sense them towering in the doorway, their hot gazes on my immobile body.
I can’t look away from my palms.
A tense moment passes before I hear them set down the two cardboard boxes.
“Thanks,” I say softly, unsure of what I’m feeling exactly. It’s not every day that you grace the number one gossip site with your comfiest pair of panties and tampons strewn about. What a strange debut.
“Hey…Willow,” Lo says, attempting to soften the sharp edge to his voice. “What happened back there—that’ll be yesterday’s news in an hour.” He clears his throat when I don’t respond. “You can think of it like an initiation? Welcome to the family…”
I choke on a laugh that twists my face into a cringe. I finally look up, and both Ryke and Loren wear sympathetic expressions.
Ryke more than Lo, which reminds me of the conversation in the car…about Lo’s brother being overly caring.
I lick my dry lips, trying to form words when I usually keep everything in my head. It’s a hard task to master, and I know I’m still very green at it. “I just…kind of hoped I’d be known for something other than the-girl-who-dropped…” tampons. I can’t even say what they are. I wince at myself and glance at the scrap of worn jean material on top of a cardboard box. I can sew the bottom later.
“Like I said, it’ll be yesterday’s news,” Lo tells me. “You’ll be known for something else in a month’s time…” My mind tunes him out the minute Ryke unpockets a handful of tampons, setting them on my dresser.
I go pale again.
“Ryke,” Lo snaps, noticing where my attention lies. He whispers something to his brother, who’s frowning.
Ryke whispers back, “They’re just tampons. You’re acting like she dropped a fucking dildo.”
“Don’t,” Loren cringes.
Ryke rolls his eyes. “Lily, your fiancée, said she had a bad dream about her sex toys falling out of her luggage and paparazzi catching the incident at the airport—so I’m not the fucking weird one here.”
Lo groans. “Why are you talking to my girlfriend about dildos?”
I don’t know if I should find entertainment in this—if that makes me no better than Celebrity Crush—but I guiltily and eagerly listen along, wanting their back-and-forth to continue.
Ryke groans now. “We’re fucking friends.”
“Hey, can you at least watch how you say that? You’re not friends that fuck.”
“Why are you busting my balls?”
“You’re the one who brought up Lily and goddamn sex toys. What the hell did you expect out of me?”
Ryke sighs and runs another hand through his hair. He meets my gaze as soon as his hand drops. “I hate that you feel embarrassed about this.”