5 Ways to Ruin Casey Brandt

t h i r t e e n

♡ BRIAR ♡

I find Demi on the couch eating what looks to be a large bowl of oatmeal. She shrugs at my raised eyebrows and scoops a large bite into her mouth.

"We really need to go grocery shopping," she says while chewing.

I flop down beside her. "We need to go dress shopping first."

That gets her attention. She perks up against the slumping back cushions of the couch.

"Am I dreaming?" she asks, pinching her arm and then my own. I flinch away with more than a few choice complaints.

From the far end of the couch I say, "Casey invited me to a gala. It's an opportunity to meet his father and other doctors."

She points at me accusingly. "And to see that fine man in a tux."

"Who cares about his tux when I don't have a dress?"

"Lets go raid my closet first," Demi suggests. "Then we can check the discount store down on Wesleyann Ave."

The thing about roommates is that they tend to know your finacial situation. You're splitting costs after all. Rent, groceries, utilities. She's picked up on my penny pinching habits and has never once made me feel bad about it.

We're sort of in the same boat anyway. This is the only place we both could afford to pay for ourselves. The only differenc ebetween us is that her parents pay for everything else.

She has a weekly allowance to put towards groceries, running clothes, and overpriced trail mix at the campus market. Which is why she buys my staple groceries when she shops on her own, and it's why I let her.

We walk down the hall, past the kitchen and bathroom, and enter the crooked door on the right side. On the outside hangs a pastel sign with Demi's name written in swooping calligraphy, decorated with florals and ribbons.

She'd told me on our first day here that her Nana made it for her. I found that sort of sweet. Now whenever I pass it on the way to my own blank door I feel an ache in my chest. Like there's something missing—not just on my door but in my life. Inside of me, too. I don't have any living grandparents. I don't have a lot of family at all, really. Just my father, his nurse, and an aunt who tries her best to pretend I don't exist. And none of them have it in them to sit down and craft me a cheesy door sign.

Once through the threshhold I'm smacked in the face by all the colors. The sight of her room never ceases shocking me. Bright pinks and sunset oranges. Lilac purple and dark, nearly black, blue. A bright yellow checkered comforter beneath a red patchwork quilt. Mounds of green pillows.

A patterned decorative rug covers the stained carpet the room came with. Tulle curtains tied back by lacey ribbons hang over the broken blinds on her tiny window. The corner between her bed and overstuffed closet is covered in pillows and blankets. I've found her napping and reading there on multiple occassions.

In the corner by her dresser—the top of it covered in various makeup products and perfume bottles, working as a makeshift vanity—are plants. They look surprisingly perky, their green leaves vibrant. Demi herself could act as sunshine. I wonder if her smile alone is keeping them alive.

I sit myself on her bed as she opens her closet door. Multiple things crash to the ground. She doesn't seem fazed, simply kicking the shoes and hangers to the side and working her way through the rack.

"What color are we lookng for?"

I think back to what Casey said—which colors he thinks I'd look good in. I roll my eyes at the mental image of his smirk.