CHAPTER TWO: ICE BREAKING
Are you sure you have everything?" my mom asks. It's the same question she's been asking me for the last two weeks—heck, the last month—only this time I really take the time to consider the question instead of automatically giving a huffed out affirmation.
If I'm being rational, like the biology major I am, I can say yes. Almost everything I own and then some is now stuffed up in dorm room 314 on the third floor of Pemberley Hall.
If I'm being philosophical, like the core class I have to take this semester that I'm trying really hard not to dread, does anyone ever truly have everything?
"I think so." I finally say when I realize my family hasn't stopped staring at me as we stand in the middle of the sidewalk on the outskirts of one of the many parking lots surrounding the campus.
My mom shrugs her purse higher up on her shoulder and clasps her hands together. "Your toothbrush?"
I nod.
"Toothpaste?"
I nod again.
"Floss? Deodorant?"
"You don't want to stink." Layla chimes in, and I shove her arm.
"Shower shoes? Because there are so many germs," my mom continues as if she's talking to herself before her eyes meet mine again. "Shampoo, conditioner, shower gel. Towels! How about towels? Do you have enough towels?"
"Maybe we should go buy you some more towels." My dad finally chimes in, untucking his navy blue polo from his khaki shorts. "We'll just head back up the street. I'll check the gps." He whips out his phone and almost drops the car keys in the process before my parents begin whispering and nodding.
"You guys." I laugh. "I think I'm . . ." My words falter when I'm met with all their eyes again. For a second, I'm hesitating along with them, but then I take a deep breath. My smile returns as I say the words that, over the past couple of days, I've been willing myself to believe. "I'm okay."
My mom opens her mouth to say something but then decides against it and clasps her hands in front of her again. "Okay," my mom says with an affirmative nod. "Okay," she repeats as she quickly waves a hand in front of her face before she pulls me into a hug. We both share an inhale. I specifically inhale the cool powdery scent that is her perfume and essentially my childhood. I'm almost taken back at the thought before my mom gives me one of her signature squeezes. "I love you," she whispers into my ear before she turns her head and places a chaste kiss to my temple.
"I love you too," I mumble into her chest before we both pull away, so I can embrace my dad.
"Have fun," he says as he plants a big wet kiss on the top of my head. "But not too much fun." He flicks his sunglasses down to cover his eyes, no doubt covering whatever possible emotion that could be clouding over his eyes, making my heart squeeze on the inside but I laugh on the outside.
"Love you, too."
I don't think I could have ever prepared for the look on my little sister's face. Her cheeks aren't just red, but so is her forehead and the tip of her nose. The only reason I know it's not sunburn is because of the tears rolling down her cheeks that she's quick to swat and slap away. But the sadness still glistens in her eyes, melting her dark chocolate irises, and weighs on her shoulders. I yank her into my chest before my own tears can flood down my face. She wraps her arms around me and, just like my mom, squeezes me with all her might.
I reciprocate the squeeze for a solid two seconds before I pull back just as a stray traitor tear falls. "Text me whenever, okay?" I don't tear my gaze away as I swipe at my cheek. "And don't drive mom and dad too crazy." I ruffle her sunflower blonde bangs to lighten the mood. It works because she immediately swats my hand away.
They buckle themselves back up in the car and send me a few waves through the windows before I take an extra step back to ensure I'm secure on the sidewalk. My hair flies around in the shadowed reflection on the back window on the right side. I always get the right, while my sister usually sits on the left. I pull the blonde strands out from between lips but can't even bring myself to fully fix the rest of my hair as the black truck pulls away. The lunch we ate a few hours ago, the wrap I could barely even bring myself to eat as I sat there with the three people I've always sat and ate most of my meals with, seems to shrivel up inside my stomach. My heart thumps extra hard in my chest, and my fingers clench the strap of my cross-body bag.
I will myself to breathe, and I do. I slowly inhale a large breath and slowly let it out. I repeat the process for a second time before I'm finally able to turn around and come face to face with the campus I'm now supposed to call home. All the tall brick dorm buildings laid out before each patch of grass seem like they grew from the grass itself. As if they are just as old as all the oak trees, but just aren't as tall. The trees stretch higher into the sky. The biology major in me can't help but cheer to see nature still standing so strong amongst the concrete, yet the philosophy I'm still skeptical about creeps in because I still can't help but think it's all a little too perfect. Not a leaf out of place.
I reach my dorm room and use my student ID to open it. The bed leaning up against the back-right corner is filled to the brim with suitcases, totes, and packing boxes. The light blue polka dot sheets look like it was attempted to be put on before the owner discarded the task. I was left to take the left side of the room, and it looks like a magazine picture in comparison since my family helped me set up all my stuff before they left.
I've got a new navy-blue comforter with teal, white, and periwinkle flowers imprinted on it. My stuff is already spilling off the small wooden desk on my side. I've got everything from notebooks to toiletries piled up. My laptop tops the pile in its lavender case, and my earbuds dangle on top of it the same way my backpack dangles off the wooden chair. The wood is too bright and too tan to actually be made from the trees outside, but at least we don't have to share one. The only thing we do have to share is the tall cupboard like closet next to the door, but I don't think I'm going to bother. I rather keep my clothes in the two trunks we bought last minute, under my bed, than bother sharing a space my little sister can fit into.
I glance outside the window that divides the room on the back wall. I spot the few people trotting by. The array of cars in the parking lot I trekked over from look small. If the people are ants from our third-floor view, the cars are the hills.
I turn back around but find the contents in my stomach churning again because all my stuff is sitting in front of me, yet it no longer feels like it's mine. It feels foreign. I can't bring myself to touch it let alone move it around or use it.
The door swings open and a girl walks in. Her dark curly brown hair looks like it embraces the humidity instead of runs away from it like my hair does. It's also colored with a few light pink and blue highlights. Her fingers tap against her phone screen at lightning speed. She glances up and screams at the sight of me. I scream back. She screams again as if she forgot she already did before silence falls over us again. I'm fidgeting by the window while she continues to stand frozen in the defensive stance she took when she initially laid eyes on me. Our eyes are locked as if we still are unsure the other person is real.
Then the girl finally tilts her head back and laughs, and all the tension uncoils itself from around my spine.
"Sorry." She throws her hands up. "I'm Stephanie. Lacie, right?"
"Yeah." I smile.
Then she's back to tapping away on her phone, and I'm back to teetering in the middle of the room as I try to convince myself to sit on my bed. The silence in the room is only threatened by the echoes of chatter outside our door in the halls.
Stephanie pockets her phone in the back of her jean shorts and stretches her arms into the air. Her long sleeve grey shirt has the University of PennBrook logo splayed across her chest in blue writing. I can't tell if the bold font is tattered and worn on purpose or if its due to frequent washes. She drops her arms, and her hands slap against her legs before she places them on her hips.
"Want to go get some food?" Stephanie is staring out at the window behind me as she asks the question, but I still find myself nodding.
"Sure."
I make sure I have my phone and my student ID card in my bag before following her out the door. The dorm room doors are the same orange wood color as all the furniture, but a few of them are already decorated with dry erase and cork boards. I'm too busy attempting to read people's names before I realize Stephanie stopped in her tracks.
"I forgot my ID," she says before she turns and dashes back to the room. She pushes down on the metal handle and shoulders the door before realizing she needs her ID for that, too. She brushes a few wayward curls out of her face as she throws a sheepish smile my way.
I trot back over and slide my ID through, and that marks one of the many dashes and rescues that occur for the rest of the weekend. It becomes both a game of who can run, skip, hop, and speed walk to the door first and an inside joke that officially breaks the ice between us.