"Ainsley? Ainsley, you in there?" Another few knocks on the door. I dutifully ignored them before remembering I look like an Ainsley and getting run over by another anxiety spike.
"Look, if you're listening this is the only room where nobody's come out yet," continued a young woman's voice. She knocked again. "I'm Sara, if that means anything to you yet. Or, I look like her, but you get what I'm saying." Another, louder knock. "Tell me you're not a runner. That poor woman said her daughter ran off and I can't--"
Yet again, I couldn't take it anymore. Paralysis gave way to the irresistible restless urge to do something, anything to change the situation. It's a cold comfort that this new body hasn't changed my habit of caving in the most awkward way possible. "I'm here-- oh!" My hand shot up to my mouth as it hit me that I hadn't actually spoken since yesterday. I sound like an auto dealership owner's daughter, the kind they'd occasionally put on crappy local TV commercials I used to see as a kid. That's oddly specific, but it's what came to mind.
I opened the door once I'd shook myself out of it and threw on my now-oddly clingy T-shirt from yesterday, greeted by a short, stick-thin woman about my age (real or apparent) with shoulder-length straight, light brown hair. "Sorry if I--"
"Oh, yup, about this girl's age. Gotta be her." "Sara" crossed her arms over her chest and tried her hardest to look down at me, despite being shorter. "You read your letter yet?"
I looked at the floor, away from this woman's intimidating gaze, and realized I'm probably the only one left who still hasn't. Kind of embarrassing, even though it really shouldn't be. "I, uh. Haven't gotten around to it."
"Well, c'mon then. We're reading it now." As if she owned the place, Sara slipped right past me through the doorframe and found the luggage in the closet. "We've got some stuff we need to talk about and it'll be good for you to hear most of it from Ainsley herself. But I'll just say, you're my new roommate, and we need to figure out flights to Phoenix before they kick us out of the Inn again."
Phoenix? We couldn't even get somewhere in the Northeast like seemingly three-quarters of the Inn's guests? I only let out the barest complaint at the girl digging through "my" crap. She produced a floral-cased iPhone and some dirty laundry, not having to go to deep to find an envelope. Honestly I'm still not sure which of those items scares me the most.
Sara held out the envelope. "You want it, or am I gonna have to read it for you?" I opted to save the last shreds of my dignity and opened the letter.
It was actually fairly tame, all things considered, though she didn't write very much. Ainsley Thomas, 25, of Phoenix, Arizona. Works a laptop job for a marketing firm currently contracting with a hotel chain-- not a completely impossible job to fake, even if I'm still wincing at the thought of having to spend all day surrounded by the types from the other half of B-school whom I'm all too familiar with. Lots of addresses and passwords. More ominously, the letter ended with instructions to text her as soon as possible, because "you'll need my help keeping track of everyone" and I'm not looking forward to learning what that means. At least it didn't say she's dating anyone, that counts for something.
I didn't notice Sara reading over my shoulder until I finished the letter. I gave her a what-the-hell-are-you-doing look. "Do you mind?"
"Hon, this whole thing is the biggest privacy violation you can imagine. It's not even possible to get more intimate with someone than, y'know. This. There's no secrets anymore."
"It's not like I asked for this." I really didn't like how she sat next to me on the bed, as if she was planning on being there for a while. "There's not anything crazy in the letter, so. Whatever. But for all you know there could've been!"
"Are you always this paranoid?" Sara just cackled. "My real name's Heather, by the way. You?"
I blushed. "Isaac."
Heather wolf-whistled. "Ouch. Guess it's fifty-fifty, but, gotta say, I'm not jealous of the sex change. Good luck with that, bud."
My eyes narrowed-- I didn't need the reminder. "I'm trying not to think about it," I added, suddenly hyperaware of my nipples chafing against my shirt.
Heather looked like she was about to say something but was interrupted by the phone in her hand going off with some unidentifiable 90s-sounding grunge song. (I'm not a fan.) Her eyes widened once she saw the caller ID. "She picks now to-- You're kidding me," she muttered. "Hey, I gotta go figure out how to take this. Talk to you later." And as just quickly as Heather had barged into my room, she mercifully vanished from my life. For now.
What an irritating person. Do you ever remember being a kid going out shopping with your mom, and your mom ran into someone she knows and she'd talk to them for what to a child feels like an eternity? Heather is that friend of your mom's.
Well, I've had worse roommates.
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