Page 2 of Stay Toxic

For once, it likely has nothing to do with my family. Back home, everyone knows who I am, but I doubt she’s heard of my mother. We’re thousands of miles away. If her memory latched on to my name, it’s because it’s simple, easy to remember, and I was here not long ago. I bet she hasn’t even seen any students in the meantime.

“That’s me.” I chuckle awkwardly, stepping into a familiar persona without much effort. I grin, tilting my head, and lowering my voice. “Listen, I have a little favor to ask you.”

God, I hate that voice. I hate the fact that I know just how to get people to like me, to relate to me, to do what I want. Almost as much as I hate the fact that if you remove my rectangular glasses and undo the braid down my back, I don’t only act like Senator Cole. I am her, just twenty-five years younger, twenty-five pounds heavier, and without the hypocrisy. And the cruelty.

The blonde leans in, fingers spreading over her keyboard, ready to comply. “What can I do for you?”

I clear my throat. “I wonder if it could be possible to switch room? I’ve been paired with someone…” I hesitate, weighing my words.

I might be a bit of a nerd, and I’ve definitely followed the rules my whole life, but that’s because the alternative just wouldn’t have been worth it. My mother’s punishments are harsh enough when I fail to hit fifteen thousand steps per day; I wouldn’t have wanted to know what she’d do if I’d actually broken Blossoms Academy for Girls rules.

For all that, I’m not a snitch, so I’m not about to say that the roommate they picked for me is getting double penetrated. Or is it spit-roasted? I’m not sure about the difference; I’ve read both. Maybe I should google it.

Then again, maybe not.

“Someone I can’t see myself getting along with," I conclude diplomatically, glad to leave cocks and asses and mouths completely out of it.

After twenty-two years of scrupulously analyzing facial expressions, I can tell something’s wrong, watching a muscle tick in the woman’s jaw, and the way her eyes narrow slightly after a glance at her screen.

“Oh?” Her voice is wrong, too. Just a tad too high-pitched. “Did you have a fight already?”

I don’t know what to say. Yes, and I’m trouble before I even started school; no, and then, why do I want to switch room?

“I just don’t think we’re the same kind of people. I’m an early riser, you see, and she seems more like a night owl?—”

Yeah, that’s not gaining me any points. She chews on air, as if to swallow whatever word she wants to say first.

“Well, Ms. Cole.” Where the woman was perfectly friendly moments ago, her voice is frosty now. “Things are a little different in California than they can be elsewhere, you see. If you do have a complaint based on more than bigoted opinions, do feel free to submit it by email and the faculty will address it within forty-eight hours.”

Oh.

Oh god.

She’s assuming I’m…

Oh god!

My jaw falls. I didn’t even see my roommate, but if I glean the situation correctly here, she’s not white, and the receptionist is assuming I took one look at her and refused to share her space like a racist pig.

I don’t know how to extricate myself from this. There’s no polite way of blurting out, “look, I really don’t give a shit about her skin color, I just don’t want to sleep with a knife under my pillow every night because strange dudes are walking in and out at whatever hours!”

“That’s not?—”

Shit! What do I say? I have a black friend? Our driver’s Asian? I’m not my goddamned mother?

I clear my throat. “That’s a misunderstanding.”

“Quite,” she doesn’t quite snap, but close.

“I’m just gonna…go?” I say, retreating without turning on my heels.

Maybe a bus will hit me on the way out and save me from this mortification.

I’m out under the dark evening sky in no time. The cool air, atypical of what I would have imagined for California in August, is a relief on my reddening skin.

I was so excited at the prospect of leaving New Mexico, after all these years. It took four years of perfection—attendance records, grades, extracurriculars, appearances at Mom’s rallies, dates with Rob—to convince Mother that I was trustworthy enough to come here for my JD. The fact that it’s one of the best law schools in the country swayed her.

And after all that, I’m fucking it up in the first half hour. I bet the receptionist is furiously typing a long note to embed in my file now.