against the worn vinyl looking tiles. Ms. Lowery doesn't spare me another look as she takes a step forward and knocks on the door. After a moment, it swings open to reveal a short, skinny girl with faded purple hair. She scowls when she sees me.
“Good afternoon, Rylie, this is Avalon, your new roommate.” Ms. Lowery gestures back to me. “Avalon, this is Rylie."
My arms are starting to ache as I continue to stand there and hold my bags, so when it doesn’t look like the chick is going to move any time soon, I roll my eyes and without a word, shuffle forward and push my way past her into the room. I drop my shit at the end of the unmade bed that’s obviously meant for me and turn back around. The girl—Rylie—continues to scowl at me before dropping her eyes and scanning me from head to toe. I'm used to it enough—being looked at like a threat. I appreciate the fact that she recognizes it as I return the favor. I know what Bairns is trying to do, stick me with a chick from a similar background and hope I make friends, and it seems her other victim is just as keen on the idea as I am.
Rylie is even skinnier than me. She looks like one strong wind might break her in half. Dark circles line the undersides of her eyes and they contrast directly with her pale skin and light lavender colored hair that’s obviously in need of another dye job, her dark roots showing through. No expensive salon trips for this girl. If it wasn’t clear enough by the dorm she’s in and the fact that she’s about to get me as a roommate, the threadbare cut off shorts and the oversized 80s band t-shirt that looks like some sort of thrift shop reject would do it. When it seems like she's finished with her perusal of me, I arch a brow in challenge and wait. Her hazel eyes roll back into her head as she pivots and reaches for a messenger bag I hadn't seen hanging from the back of the door.
"Wonderful," she says without inflection. "Just don't touch my shit and we'll be fine. I gotta get to class. Later."
I smirk after her as she practically sprints out of the room. “Nice chick,” I comment dryly to no one in particular before turning back to my things.
I reach for one of my bags and unzip it, reaching inside for a bundle of clothes, getting ready to begin the unpacking process. As I do so, I wait to feel Ms. Lowery's presence disappear, but as I start pulling clothes from the duffle, I continue to feel her watchful eye on my back and it’s starting to piss me off.
Lifting back up, I turn and meet her stare head on. "Got something to say?" I ask.
Her gaze hardens and in a movement that looks vaguely like one of protection, she crosses her arms over her ample chest and glares at me. "I'm sure Ms. Bairns warned you, Ms. Manning," she says slowly, "but I feel I should also extend my own word of caution."
I tilt my head to the side and wait. From the expression on her face—the twisted lips and the narrowed slits of her eyes—she expects me to respond. Silence unnerves a lot of people and it's clear, she doesn't like it much either. I blink slowly and continue to wait her out. I don't have a watch to accurately time how long it takes, but it feels like several long minutes pass before she finally speaks again.
"Eastpoint University is an old and respected institution, Ms. Manning," she begins. "And you would do well to remember that you are here by the grace of the founders and their families—who pay for your tuition, room, and board. It's in your best interest to keep your head down and your mouth shut about anything you may do, see, or hear here. Is that understood?"
Fighting back the smile that threatens to curve my lips upward is difficult. Word of caution, indeed. "Sure thing, Ms. Lowery," I tell her.
She continues to examine me as if trying to peel back the layers of my skin and see into my head. The thing about my head, though, is that no one has a key to that place but me. I'm not about to let some bitch with a warning on her tongue even glance inside—what she might see