(One)
Looking at the building, I can see why they didn't want to give it up. A three story masterpiece of architecture juts up from the ground, huge glass windows giving the impression of no walls at all, metal and white forming together to create the future in one glance. It's in a booming area too. No wonder they refused to pack up.
"Mum, I can't do this," I say, gripping onto the seatbelt. Mum examines her hair in the mirror, pushing it this way and that. She hardly hears me speak.
"Yes you can Immy, you're a strong, smart, tal..." she trails off as she finds a piece of hair that's out of place. I groan and sink into the plush leather, wishing and begging the universe that it was normal for Australians to live on campus. How hard would it be for my mum to just let me live with her? I hardly take up space and I keep to myself. It's her boyfriend, clearly, who ordered the shift. He probably thinks I'm thirty and married for all he knows. Sometimes I question if he knows my name.
"Mum, what if they're a bunch of creeps living here? You won't make me stay will you?"
"Oh honey, if it comes to that bridge then we'll cross it but look at this place. You can't tell me you don't want to live here."
"I do! My problem is the five other people living here! We own the house, why can't we kick them out?" After the divorce, my mum had gone into property investment. She owned eight houses in the city and rented them out, waiting for the right time to sell. It was a side activity she did with all the money she'd gotten from my dad's seven figure salary job.
"They've been living here forever Immy and, besides, it's basically an apartment block so there's no need. You'll have your own room, bathroom and veranda. You know what other teenagers your age are doing? They're working at McDonalds and sharing rooms with their siblings."
I sigh dramatically, knowing she's right. The house would be the perfect deal if I knew everyone living in it. The location was great; two tram stops away from my university and a minute walk to a whole street of clubs and shops. "Okay, let's get this over and done with." We get out of the car and go to the boot, dragging my suitcases out. I didn't bring much, only my clothes, books and computer. I figured that I could buy anything else I needed or just go back to my mums and grab anything I left behind.
I flip my sunglasses down over my eyes, throw my bag over my shoulder and trudge towards the house. Mum follows, her high heels clicking against the pavement, and mutters under her breath about the condition of the place. "They really need to get a gardener in to cut the front lawn," she says and I roll my eyes. The little patch of green grass looks pretty fine to me, but then, I'm not some hot shot property investor, am I?
My bag begins to drop and I lean down to hitch it up. When I look back up, a man is walking down the cobblestone path towards me. Correction: a young, good looking man is walking towards me. I try not to look too flustered.
"Hey there!" he greets, holding his hand out for me. He obviously doesn't notice the bag crushing my spine. "I'm Ryker, you must be Charlainne."
"Ah, no, thats my mum." His attention turns to my mum who appears at my side, a sly grin on her face. She gives me a sideways glance as they shake hands and I groan inwardly. I'm going to be hearing 'I told you so' for months.
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience of this all," my mum says, flipping her hair back. Out of ten I'd give Ryker a solid seven, maybe an eight if he wasn't so pale. Who is this pale in an Australian summer anyway?
"No, it's fine," Ryker dismisses but his voice is strained. Under that I notice a slight accent and I wonder if he could be Swedish. With his bright blue eyes and light blonde hair it wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination. All over, I feel myself going red. I haven't had much experience with boys, to tell the truth. When girls were dating in high school I was at home watching cop shows, eating Snack chocolate.
"You know that we'll be bringing down the rent because of this."
"Yeah, thanks." He doesn't sound very thankful for that, infact he sounds the opposite of thankful. Clearly, the last thing he wants is for me to move in. I wonder how the rest of the house feels and my stomach flips. Not only am I moving in with new people but I'm moving in with new people who don't want me.
"How old are you Ryker?" my mum asks, trying to make conversation. At this point even she can see this isn't going as planned.
"Nineteen," he says, still not even looking at me. I study his profile, admiring his perfect upturned nose. I touch my nose self-consciously.
"Well, Immy is seventeen, aren't you Immy?"
Not when you baby me like that, mum. "Yep." Finally, he looks at me, studying me with a frown. His eyes dart from my thick dark brown hair to my heart like lips to my casual clothes and back again. I can't tell if he approves or not.
"Well, I've got to go but show Immy around well Ryker; she's a little bit shy. If you have any problems come see me baby, okay? And remember that we have dinner tomorrow night. Look after her Ryker!" And with that, my mum is walking back to the car, already texting and forgetting I ever existed. I watch her, wondering what it would be like to care so little. Great, probably, it'd probably be great.
"So, ah, should we go inside?" I ask, but looking back Ryker has already walked away. He stands on the porch, holding the door open and waiting for me to catch up. I grab the bag my mum dumped on the floor and drag it along the pathway. Ryker just watches, his eyes narrowed.
"What are you doing at university?" he asks when I make it the door. My back aches and my fingers are about to snap off but I try and make pleasant conversation.
"I'm doing Arts, majoring in media and communications. I'm also minoring in Film in Arts."
"How many contact hours?" he asks, clearly getting to the heart of the question. He just wants to know how often I'll be away.
"Not as many as you'd hope," I snap and I go to storm inside but Ryker is faster, putting himself between me and the door. I'm already sick of all of this and I haven't even got through the door.
"Wait, there are a few things I have to tell you first. We've got house rules that we try to follow pretty strictly and we know you're the owner of this house, whatever, but we'd appreciate it if you stuck to the rules as well."
I raise my eyebrows, adjusting my sunglasses. "Yeah?" What is this, high school?
"Don't go into other people's rooms. It's pretty obvious but just don't ever. We all have our own lives and we like our privacy. Even if the door is ajar and you're trying to put back washing-we don't care what the excuse is, just don't do it. Second, if you're going to throw a party let us know in advance. We don't want a hundred high schoolers rocking up when-"
"I'm not in high school," I snap. "I agree with your rules, okay, and I'm not in high school. I don't know what your problem is but don't bother worrying that I'm going to come and ruin whatever you have going here. You won't even see me half the time."
"That good. We'd just like to keep things the way they are. The last rule is that we'd like to know whenever you're going to bring people over. Just, you know, leave a note or something."
"Seriously?" I snort. "Why would you possibly care?"
"It's just better," Ryker assures and then he moves into the house, cutting off the conversation entirely. I pick up the lighter bag and follow him in, swearing under my breath. I'm already missing home. "This is the foyer and out there--" he points down the corridor to a big room out back--"is the living room and the kitchen. It's one big room. And in the backyard we have a pool and a cabana."
We move into the dining room and the formal living room, and I notice a few weird paintings hanging on the wall. Apparently they have a thing for dark, gothic art. One painting, hanging above the furry white couch, depicts a girl with barbed wire around her neck and blood pooling in her eyes. I peer at it, wondering why they chose to ruin the modern, slick decor with randomly violent art.
"No one comes in here," Ryker informs as he shows me the library. "It's for show." Books line the walls from floor to ceiling and the huge glass window looks out over a small courtyard that's by the side of the house so I can't imagine why no one comes in here. I decide I'll do all my work in here, away from the chaos that'll be the living room.
Moving upstairs, I see that the place has been set up like a dorm. Four rooms, each with a stainless steel door, are set up upstairs, two on one side of the stairs and two on the other. At the end of the corridor of rooms there is a set of ladder-like stairs leading up to another door.
"The master room?" I ask, pointing to the door. Ryker just nods and continues the tour, leading me up the stairs again. Finally, we come to the converted third story. At one point, this room would've been the games room or the party room but now it's a bedroom, fit with a generic double bed and a built in wardrobe. There's a skylight window and a veranda that looks out over the street behind the house, as well as a generously sized en suite. If anything, my mother has a good eye for property.
"Your room," Ryker explains, sweeping his arms in a dramatic motion. "Any questions?"
"When do I meet everyone else?"
"Later." He gives me a last once over, shrugs and leaves, shutting the door behind him. It takes all my strength to stop myself from running out and screaming at him to come back and apologize but I convince myself it's not worth the effort. People like that, they just can't be helped.
Looking around me, I try to stay positive. Ryker may have been a frustratingly rude oaf but the room and house was great and I was never here to make friends.
Still, a small voice in my head says, it would've been nice to make just one friend.