Sapphire (6 page)

“I’m going to have a great time, Mom, don’t worry.  And you’re not old.  I only hope I’m as hot as you when I’m your age.”  And that’s no lie.  Looking back on pictures of my mom when she was younger and there’s no denying I’m her daughter.  The only difference between us is instead of having her bright green eyes, I have my dad’s blue ones.  Everything else … Mom.  And for having an eighteen year old daughter, she’s smoking hot.  Even Manny used to comment on how beautiful my mom is. 

“Well, I should get home.  Liam and your dad are going to be home in a little bit with loads of laundry for me to get done.  You just remember, we’re right up the road.  I don’t care what time it is, you need me, you call or come home.”

“Yeah, mom, I know.  I won’t be a stranger.  I’ll see you for dinner Sunday.  Now, get out of here.  I wanna try to get some stuff unpacked before my roommate gets here.”  On cue, the door flies open to a frazzle-haired blonde storms through the door, carrying more things than her dainty arms can handle. 

My mom gives me a knowing look, winks and heads out before the blonde has a chance to shut the door.  Thankfully I have this hot mess of a girl to figure out, the homesickness doesn’t set in immediately.  I know it’ll hit later, but for now, I’m on a mission to help this lost looking girl not break her arms and show her how to use a hair straightener.

“Hey.  Let me help you with that.”  I grab a few boxes that are falling apart at the seams from her hands, set them on the floor then move to help her with her backpack.  “I’m Adalyn and that was my mom, Mira.”

“Lillian.”

“I saw online earlier that there’s a mixer going on in the community center.  Do you want to head down with me?”

“No.”  It would appear that sweet Lillian doesn’t have a large vocabulary or she isn’t interested in speaking to me.  I’m going to go with the former to avoid any damaging blows to my ego.

“Okay, no problem.  I’m gonna unpack a little before I head down, so if you change your mind, just let me know.”  Turning my back to Lillian, I go back to the bed my mom was sitting on, claiming this side of the room.  Lillian doesn’t seem to mind as she’s already throwing the rest of her stuff on the left side. 

It doesn’t take me long to throw all my clothes, which mostly consist of jeans and tee shirts, into the drawers, place my picture on my desk and make my bed with the new linens my mom bought me last night.  Surveying my handy work, I’m impressed enough to feel good about going to the mixer.  Combing some dry shampoo through my hair, changing into a U of M low cut tank top and a fresh pair of jeans, I’m ready in ten minutes flat.  A new record.

“I’m gonna head down, you coming?”

“No thanks.  I have a lot to do before classes.”

“I’ll leave you my number in case you change your mind.  My dad told me before I left, we should always know where each other are.  Of course, he didn’t know about you, but he said my roommate.”  Stopping myself from the embarrassing rambling, I tear a page out of my journal and write on it my cell number, passing it to Lillian.  She places it in the top drawer of her night stand and goes back to hanging pictures and posters on the walls surrounding her bed.

Placing my keys in my back pocket and my cell in the other, I head downstairs for the mixer.  When I’m in the hall and waiting by the elevator, a tall, long legged, girl with straight as an arrow black hair catches my attention.

“Sammy!” I yell, already knowing who that girl is.  Not too many people can pull off tiny denim shorts, tank with a midriff showing and pairing this exquisite ensemble with knee high black boots … and on move in day no less.

“Well, if it isn’t my most favorite bitch in the entire world.  Get over here.”  I run in her direction, grateful that not only is she here, but she’s on my floor.  I’m not sure I could have survived with just Lillian.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m a great talker, I get that from my mom too, but sometimes I need to just listen, and Sammy gives me more than enough stories to hear.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I say, pulling Sammy into my arms.  Looking like complete idiots, we turn a simple hug into some sort of junior high slow dance, rocking back and forth on the balls of our feet. 

“I have so much to tell you.  Where’s your room?”

“319.  Where are you?”

“330.  Right around the corner.  Okay, are you going to the party downstairs?  Or mixer?  Whatever it’s called.”

“Yeah, headed down now.  Wanna go with me?”

“Give me a minute to change.  I look absolutely disgusting.  You never know, there could be some eligible frat guys down there.”  Oh dear. It’s not been an hour and she’s already on the prowl.  But, then again, that’s Sammy. 

This year’s going to be amazing.  I’ve just added another goal to my list of things to accomplish this year—find me a boy that’s not a brush off of Sammy’s.  An honest to God sweet guy.  Preferably one that doesn’t ride a motorcycle.

Fingers crossed.