Crossing Read Free

go up the stairs to my front door. “We’ll probably go out around nine. We’ll swing by before we head.”
    “Cool.” Cam cheers me again.
    My roommate Elizabeth – not Liz, not Lizzie, not Beth, not Eliza, not Betty, but Elizabeth – is stretched out on our couch that we upholstered ourselves with faux Cookie Monster blue fur, watching Angel. I drop my backpack into the chair by the door that no one ever sits in because it’s where we drop everything when we come in the door, and go to the couch to lift up her twenty-foot long legs. I sit down on the couch and rest her legs back on top of my stubby ones.
    “What’s up?” I ask.
    “I don’t really know. It’s one of the episodes where Pete from Mad Men is Angel’s son and they’re being all broody. I was considering turning the sound down and just looking at them and wishing for shirt removal.” She paddles her feet up and down, which in our house is the international sign for foot rub, and I oblige, putting my hands on her super gross, tore up from the dance floor, feet.
    “Your pinky toenail is growing back nicely.”
    “I wish it wasn’t. It’s just going to fall off again.” She moans. “Girl, you can work an arch. If only stupid boys knew what you can do with those hands of yours.”
    The beautiful, tall, blond, hilarious Elizabeth is referring to my lack of any sort of love life. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve had boys who were friends that I’ve slept with, but no one who ever took me on a date, in public, or declared any kind of feelings for me. It’s weird. I’m not hideous. I mean, I’m whatever. I’m a normal-looking person with a decent personality, but it seems like all the guys on my level are always trying to trade up. Which makes them assholes and not worth my time anyway, because they go for girls like Elizabeth who could give a fuck.
    She’s got a boyfriend back home in Medford who against all odds trusts her not to cheat on him, and she gives him the same respect and it works for them. They’re happy. He’s a horse trainer and they’re totally going to get married someday after Elizabeth is a famous ballerina. They’re going to live on a horse farm where she can teach dance to little kids and it’s going to work out.
    You can’t help but have a little hope when someone like that thinks you deserve it, too.
    “I’m not sure a foot rub and a hand job are comparable.”
    She cracks her toes. “You’d be surprised what some people like.” She giggles. “So, any hotties in your classes?”
    “Meh. It’s all the same pretentious Lit guys – calling Chaucer ‘deliciously bawdy’ and shit like that. I don’t have Geology until tomorrow.” For some reason, I’m reluctant to tell her about Liam. Like he’s a secret I want to keep to myself. But I don’t. This is one situation where Elizabeth lives vicariously through me. “There was this one guy…”
    “Yes?” She cocks her head at me and pushes her other foot into my hands.
    “My scene partner in my Acting I class. He was funny is all. Easy to talk to.”
    “And…”
    “And…cute.”
    She kicks me in the boob, which in our house is the international sign for ‘spill it bitch.’
    I sigh. “His name is Liam, and he’s from Boise. Tall. Dark brown hair. It’s cut short and not all douche-y and hipster bang-y. Brown eyes. Really nice ass. Like, infinitely grab-able.”
    “Did he flirt with you Dani? ’Cause you’re blushing!”
    I blush deeper. “Not really. Just…he kept up with me.”
    I feel like a complete lame-o the second that leaves my mouth. It’s weird the things we know about ourselves that we’re not allowed to acknowledge out loud because it comes off pompous. Just like I know I’m only okay looking, I know I’m funny, usually the funniest.
    Elizabeth doesn’t care. “Intriguing. Hot and witty.”
    I shake my head. “Too hot. Your level, not mine.”
    “I hate it when you talk about yourself that way. That’s what is keeping