finished,” June added. “We’re starting up Bring It On if you want to come and join us? It’s the Spring House Pajama Formal. Kind of an annual tradition.”
Devon reached for another photo. “Thanks, but I’m cool. Just want to get this done,” she said.
“Okay, but you’re welcome any time, all right, chica?” June flashed Devon another encouraging cheerleader smile.
The harder people tried, the less Devon wanted to hang out with them. Ariel never tried. Maybe that’s why this whole orientation week sucked so much; everyone was desperate to be everyone else’s friend. But, it was all too soon and would never last; couldn’t they see that? She saw the way the seniors sat in the dining hall in tightly formed cliques. Surely they were all fake smiles freshman year too.
June left the door open.
Closed doors were frowned upon at Keaton. Devon had read in the rule book—in typical form, it was called The Keaton School Companion (as in: another fake friend)—that if a member of the opposite sex visited your room, doors had to remain open at least twelve inches. Also, “four feet” needed to be on the ground. That was Rule #4c if she remembered correctly, only to be surpassed by #5a, where having sex was an offense punishable by suspension. Basically it was against the rules to do anything with a boy in her room except stare at their dueling feet.
Maybe they were going to have to reword that rule in the future. Say if a boy might want to make out with a boy? There was apparently no rule against members of the same sex making out. The Companion could catch up eventually (judging from its tone, it hadn’t been updated in thirty years), but for now, the gay students had a loophole they could exploit. Lucky for them. Yes, Devon did want to make out with a guy sooner than later. One fumbling, wet kiss last summer in the back booth at Peet’s Coffee didn’t exactly count. If Devon had one goal, it was to actually hook up in high school. Ariel agreed. Besides, Devon figured there had to be one benefit to coed living.
She looked at the next photo. Another one of her and Ariel: tanned, short shorts, flip-flops, and fake mustaches. Over the summer she and Ariel liked to put on fake mustaches and take pictures around town, trying to get shots of people giving them weird looks. She wished she could show Ariel The Keaton School Companion—now that would make her laugh.
The bag of Nutter Butters caught Devon’s attention again.
They still needed milk.
Waiting until tomorrow seemed impossible. “So, go get some milk, loser,” is what Ariel would have commanded. Devon looked at her clock. 10:21 P.M. Nine minutes. If she left right now, she could dash up to the dining hall and be back in time for curfew. She could burst into the Spring House common room with a cold pitcher of milk and cookies to share just as Bring it On was starting. “Look, I brought it!” she could shout. And the girls would giggle back. Boom: Insta-Friends. June would probably say something like, “Welcome to the party, chica!”
It’d be as easy as that. Right?
Or she could stay in her room eating the cookies alone without milk. But Ariel’s voice would call her a loser all night long. Steeling herself, Devon stuffed the cookies into her sweatshirt pocket. She figured if a teacher asked what she was up to, it would be good to have the cookies on hand to back up her story. She shoved her feet into her sneakers and ducked out her door without even bothering to consult the mirror first. Best just to move. Best not to think.
Outside the wind had picked up. Devon pulled her sweatshirt hood over her head to keep her hair from flying everywhere. She squinted, her eyes adjusting to the moonlight. We’re really far out here, she thought. The night had a sharp chill to it, as if a storm was coming in off the ocean. At the bottom of the black Keaton hillside, Devon could see the straight line of faint yellow lights: Monte Vista’s main drag. Beyond that the velvety black of the Pacific Ocean merged into the dark sky on the horizon. The wind whipped a strand of hair across her eyes. Get the milk and get back to the dorm before curfew. That’s all she had to do in nine … no, eight minutes.