Clothing from Anne's room was thrown into the hallway, missing a basket sitting in the middle.
"I know you're doing laundry 'n all, but I somehow feel your cleaning has been more excessive than usual," Marcy pointed out, leaning on the doorframe of Anne's room.
"I just don't want my room looking like complete garbage today, y'know," Anne threw a ball of clothing, landing it into the basket this time.
Marcy had her arms crossed and stance rigid, concern plastered on her face. Anne's room had always been the more messy of the two, not awfully unbearable, but there were things Anne definitely could've done to help with organization. For starters, laundry.
Anne's room consisted of photographs of friends and family, spanning her wall on laundry lines and held with clothespins. Pastel yellow sheets patterned like watercolor, a sunflower shaped pillow and countless plush frogs rested on her bed. A photography camera in its bag rested on a shelf next to a customized typewriter Marcy had gifted. Anne hadn't used it often but still adored it. It was one of those things that was just too pretty to use.
A small desk lay cluttered with homework, papers and notes, of which she still needed to sort to see which ones she really needed and which to toss out. A few Thai themed decorations dotted her room, as well as a few cultural items her mom insisted she take to college. As much as she appreciated all of her mom's trinkets, she would always love all her frog or frog themed items more, though she'd never say that to her mother's face.
Above the desk, plastered all over a corkboard were photo upon photo of her and Marcy. A carnival fair, an asian noodle place, a trip to the aquarium; the girls had done it all, and still had so many more things to do.
"I understand that but" Marcy watched Anne fling a t-shirt into the basket, congratulating herself.
"Woo! I think I could pull off basketball, what do you think?" Anne joked, reaching for a long sleeve crew neck resting on the back of the chair at her desk. "You think I can make this last one?"
Marcy stared at her, to the basket behind her, then back at Anne.
"Anne, can I ask you something?"
Anne lowered her hand with the balled up shirt. "Sure?"
Marcy glanced down to the floor, eyes tracing the lines of wooden panels. "Why do you seem like you're trying so hard for her?"
Anne's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "What? For who?"
"For the football player. For Sasha," Marcy answered.
"I don't understand what you mean? We're just working on projects together?"
"You go out of your way to see her sometimes. I understand this article is really important to you, but.." Marcy squeezed her arms. "You do realize that after she turns in that project, she's just going to forget you?"
"What are you talking about?" Anne gazed at her in disbelief.
"Anne, open your eyes," Marcy broke her fixated gaze from the floor to Anne. "This is Sasha Waybright we're talking about. The girl is infamous for useless drama, using others to finish her homework and causing fights during football games. Don't you see she's only nice to you because people actually like you, and once she has what she needs, she's not going to need you anymore?"
"You say that like you know exactly who she is," Anne's tone dipped lower.
"No, Anne, but I know enough about you to know you're being too kind for your own good," Marcy stated crisply. "What do you think befriending her is going to even do? The jocks are never going to treat you with respect, even if you are friends with her."
"Do you really think I'd be low enough to befriend someone just for popularity?" The words fell from Anne's mouth.
Marcy glanced back to the floor, a tinge of guilt lining her expression. "Who's to say she isn't just using you? Inevitably, you're going to finish your projects, then what?"
Anne wrung the shirt in her hands, brushing her thumb slowly across the fabric.
Anne hesitated on her next words. "She...wouldn't do that."
"Would she?" Marcy flipped Anne's statement to whack it in her face. Brutally honest, but truth undoubtedly laced in those words.
Anne wanted to believe so badly that Sasha was different, but maybe that was wistful thinking. What, really, had Sasha done that wasn't the bare minimum?
"I'm sorry if that sounded harsh of me," Marcy then blurted, remorse in her voice. "I just care about you okay?"
Anne blew air from her nose in a sigh as Marcy came to sit next to her. Marcy crossed their legs up on the bed, gently taking the end of Anne's fingers. "I don't want her to make you feel special, only to make you feel like nothing."
Anne brought her eyes to Marcys and softly smiled.
"Don't worry," Anne took the shirt and rolled it back into a ball with her free hand. "I'm not weak enough to fall for something like that, and plus-" she tossed the shirt past Marcy on the bed toward the basket in the hall.
"I think you're all I'll need to feel important to someone."
Marcy released a lighthearted laugh, watching the clothing miss the basket once again.
"Ha, I think maybe some better coordination and you could def make it on the basketball team," Marcy beamed, sarcastic in manner.
"Ye of little faith. I bet in another universe I'm great at basketball," Anne scoffed. "I challenge thee," Anne swept a pair of socks from the floor, waving them at Marcy.
"Anne gross!" Marcy leapt from the bed to flee as Anne erupted into a cackle, laughter filling the dorm.
-
Tock tock tock. Tock. Tock.
A short, musical knock alerted Anne to the door. Peering through the peephole, she was met with a girl, waiting patiently on the opposite side.
Anne opened the door.
"I've never quite heard a knock like that," Anne let the guest inside, intrigued.
"Good, that's how you'll always know it's me," Sasha held a duffle bag around her shoulders and another bag on her back with hanging cleats tied by the shoelaces. "Um, sorry, I know this stuff's bulky, but I have practice right after this so I thought-"
"It's okay, I get it. You can set it anywhere, we don't really mind," Anne shut the door.
"We?" Sasha echoed.
"My dorm mate is here for the afternoon, they only have morning classes Thursdays," Anne led her down to the kitchen, where Marcy sat with their laptop open, papers scattered at the table, glasses rested on her nose and a headband in her hair to keep bangs from her face as she worked.
"Welcome," Marcy greeted, but Anne heard a superficial tone.
"Hey," Sasha dumped her bags on the floor next to the counter with a wave.
"Sasha, Marcy. Marcy, Sasha," Anne introduced.
"Neat. I actually have an aunt named Marcy, but her full name is Marsha," Sasha tried connecting, but it fell on indifferent ears.
"Hm," Marcy only mumbled. "I know no other Sashas. But I think knowing one is good enough."
"Uh, thanks? I think..?" Sasha scratched the side of her head. "Well...I like your dorm. It's cleaner than mine and Maggie's, that's for sure."
"That's because Anne actually did a deep clean before you came," Marcy explained, turning her attention back to her laptop.
"Mars!" Anne facepalmed herself.
"Awe, I feel so loved," Sasha nudged Anne with her elbow, sending butterflies through her stomach. "I'm like your guest of honor."
"Ahah," Anne took a step away from her. "This dorm was in need of a good clean anyway...so."
"Well your guest of honor appreciates it," Sasha grinned.
Anne hadn't forgotten the conversation she and Marcy held an hour earlier, but she found it so hard to believe either outcome. She loved and trusted Marcy: was it wrong to think otherwise? And what if a part of herself was secretly hoping for an ounce of respect? Was it really respect that she wanted or something different?
"Uhm, right," Anne cleared her throat. "We'll leave you alone now Marce," Anne led Sasha to her room, leaving Marcy silently writing equations at the kitchen table.
"Sweet room," was the first thing Sasha said through her bedroom door. "So let me guess, your favorite color's yellow?"
"Gee, how'd you know?" Anne spoke with sarcasm.
The girl glanced at all the yellow items. "Mmm, intuition," she hummed with a side smirk.
"So I have the main meat of the article written, however, I'm gonna need more quotes than just yours," Anne settled onto her bed and flipped open her laptop.
"You mean I'm not enough?" Sasha joked with her, seating herself on the end of the bed.
Anne felt an uneasy uncertainty crawl into her mind as she clicked through tabs to find her article. If what Marcy implied was true, did that last comment justify everything she said about Sasha being full of herself or was that only a part of her personality?
Now Anne was thinking things she hadn't before, over analyzing small situations or moments they already had. Maybe she was overthinking things at this point.
Or maybe all of those were pieces to the whole.
"You really like frogs, huh?" Sasha's voice broke Anne from her thoughts. "Who's this big guy?" She held one of the large stuffed frogs she kept on her bed, bright pink in color.
"Sprig," Anne replied. "I've had him forever, he's probably my favorite frog in this room."
"Cute," Sasha took the animal and hugged it to her chest. "I knew you were into biology and all that but I didn't know you loved frogs this much."
"They're fascinating animals. I asked my mom if we could have one but she didn't want another pet since we had Domino."
"Domino?"
Anne opened her phone and swept through photos to show her the image of a black and white cat.
"Domino's my cat," Anne scrolled through photo by photo. "I haven't visited my parents in a while, I hope she's fine. I miss her alot."
"I was never allowed any pets, though, I've always wanted a dog," Sasha admitted.
"You kinda do seem like a dog person."
Sasha snorted. "Is that a lame football player stereotype or is there truth in that statement?"
"Just an honest hunch," Anne finally found and opened the tab containing her article spread, twisting the laptop to show Sasha. "Here's what I got."
Sasha took a moment to glaze through it. "So I assume this next blank section is for the quotes?"
Anne nodded.
"Hmm, I know some other player's who'd probably be down for an interview," Sasha suggested. "Josie and Claire."
"I know Josie, just not personally. I've never heard of Claire though."
"She's new on the team. I think it'd be good to get quotes from both an experienced player and a new one, don't you think?"
Anne agreed. Although she knew Josie, Anne had never once talked to her, nor did she think Josie was entirely open to talking to her either way. If Sasha was cool with her, she'd hope that'd be enough middle ground for some sort of quote.
After all, what else did Anne have?
How the articles for the newsletter were written were all up to the person assigned them. Anne didn't necessarily need a quote, but she thought adding them in the article would add a more personal touch to it, otherwise, it felt inauthentic.
Writing wasn't just getting the info you needed and pasting it onto a paper: doing it that way seemed more like gathering scientific data to be read, rather than authentic media to be consumed.
Writing in the paper was more innovative than that. It's the process of being able to create a story from pieces. Exaggeration of stories just to make them interesting wasn't what Anne was all about. Genuine emotion was what was absent in modern media.
It lacked heart, and Anne wouldn't see herself become that.
Sasha was Anne's key to making this article sound both genuine and interesting, but what if in reality, all she was was a pawn?
"Hey, don't sweat," Sasha picked up on Anne's worried facial expression. "With me, you'll be writing the best article ever," Sasha reassured.
Anne felt all but.