Page 83 of Dream House
When I moved in almost a month ago, I thought there was no chance I’d spend much time in the common spaces. That all I needed was my room—a place to crash. There’s nothing wrong with my room, but I’m not in it as much as I thought I’d be.
Not even to study.
There’s no TV in the sitting room, and a couple of weeks ago, I came home and found Livy studying in the recliner with her laptop balanced on her crossed knees. I was prepping for a Geophysics test, and the sitting room’s empty loveseat seemed more inviting than the stiff-backed chair in my bedroom. The bed itself isn’t an option. If I try to crack open a book there, I’m asleep in five minutes flat.
So I asked if I could join. Her answer: as long as I didn’t think I was entitled to her chair or her attention. A month ago, that might have grated. But after the first two days of bathroom negotiations, I figured out that all Livy wants is to be respected.
Everyone deserves to be respected.
We’ve only talked a little, but it’s clear Livy’s life has conditioned her to expect that she’s not going to get respect. Her words:I got three strikes against me: Black, short, and female.So when it comes to respect, she thinks she has to fight for it instead. Every new situation. Every day.
It would suck to feel that way.
So in those first few days, when Livy snarled at me, I didn’t engage. I gave her space. She snarls a lot less now.
When I get home from my last class, the kitchen is empty, but I can hear Tyler’s TV down the hall. If she’s here, Pen is probably up in her attic, prepping for the festivities, but I can tell that Maisy and Stella aren’t home.
The house is too quiet for them to be here.
As I’ve come to expect, Livy’s in the sitting room, studying. Even though it’s Friday. She’s a poli-sci major with plans to go to law school, and she’s hell-bent on graduating at the top of her class.
I can respect that. Hell, I can relate.
But I still don’t study on Fridays.
I enter the sitting room like I’m walking into the third floor of Dupre Library. Sure, I could go hang in my room, but then I wouldn’t know when Stella gets home, and maybe I’m waiting to catch a glimpse of her.
“Standing watch isn’t gonna make her get home any sooner,” Livy mutters a few minutes after I sit down.
I jerk my gaze away from the kitchen and aim it at her. Livy’s eyes are still trained on the page in front of her. I glance at the title.The Color of Law.I grin because this morning, she was halfway throughBetween the World and Me.
It’s rare to catch her with the same book twice. She plows through them that quick. Livy Arnold is a woman on a mission.
Still grinning, I glare at her until she looks up. “Something wrong with you?”
“Just theorizing.”
Her eyes narrow, her upturned nose angling higher. “About what?”
“Why you read in here.” I stroke my chin and adopt a mock expression of contemplation. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with your upstairs neighbor, would it? And the fact that you can hear her walking around, and chanting… and humming?”
Usually it’s “Olivia” by One Direction. But I’ve also heard what I’m pretty sure is “Lady” by Styx?
Judging by how she tucks her chin, I’ve caught Livy off guard. There’s no missing the way Pen looks at Livy, but I’ve also witnessed the hungry way Livy looks at Pen.
My roommate recovers her composure. “I can concentrate better down here,” she says, fixing her gaze back on her book. “At least when some white boy isn’t making himself a nuisance.”
I blow out a defensive laugh. “I was just sitting here.”
Her lips purse. “Hmm. Your thoughts were so loud, they could hear you next door. Why don’t you just text her to see when she’s comin’ home?”
The thought is so tempting my lungs fill, but I gut it out. “I can’t do that.”
I’m pretty sure Stella has been avoiding me since the day Maggie came over. Not, like, in a mean way. Just awkward.
Probably because when I saw her in that robe—no hint of nightgown or pajama top in sight—the look on my face must have been along the lines ofGet in my mouth.The encounter was just ten minutes, and I can’t stop seeing that picture of her. Like a dream whose images throw themselves in your face the day after.
Except this has been every day for more than two weeks.
