Mine: A Love Story Read Free

tall.”
    I am tall, and self-conscious about it, too. Almost six feet, I tell people who are impolite enough to ask, though I’m actually closer to six-foot-one. I never wear heels, but I’m still much taller than most girls I meet. I need to hang out with the women’s basketball or volleyball teams, I think. If I were more coordinated, maybe I could actually play. But I’ve never been any good at sports.
    I turn around and see a short, dark-haired girl standing just inside the doorway. The tips of her straight, shoulder-length hair are dyed so blond they’re almost white. She can’t be more than five-three. I find myself hoping this isn’t Marissa—how am I going to be best friends with someone so short? I’ll feel awkward and gawky all the time. And really I do want to be best friends with my roommate.
    “And cute, too,” she says after I turn to face her. “Really cute.”
    I take a closer look, trying to see if there’s anything in her face that would belie her words, because I don’t think of myself as all that cute. Past history tells me differently. Her face is round and pretty, and she’s flashing a bright smile at me. There’s a hint of something exotic in her features—maybe a bit of Spanish or American Indian or something. She’s got a small glass stud on the right side of her nose. Her dark eyes don’t show any guile or insincerity. She’s wearing a gray top off one shoulder with “PINK” scrawled diagonally in pink letters across a curvy chest.
    I think about my own less sexy shape. A girl’s figure is the one place where B’s or C’s are way better than A’s. Oh, well, there’s nothing I can do about it. The shirt looks great on her. I don’t own any Pink stuff—it’s amazing how that one simple word adds twenty or thirty dollars to the price of a piece of clothing. Her jeans are ripped—maybe if she did them herself like me there’s hope for us yet. Her shoes are dark gray platforms, at least three inches high, which means she’s even shorter than I first thought. Short girls are lucky. They can wear heels and be taller. Tall girls can’t do anything to make ourselves shorter. Except sit down.
    “Hi,” I manage to say. “You’re cute, too.”
    Her smile grows wider. “I am kinda cute, huh?” she says. “But not like you. You’re gorgeous.”
    I don’t know what to say to that. If I’m so gorgeous, where are all the guys? A line from a Sara Evans song pops into my head, something about straight haired girls wanting curly hair and brunettes wishing they were blond. Probably all the short girls wish they were tall. I wonder if the built ones wish they were flat. Somehow, I doubt that. Anyhow, I’m pretty sure I look uncomfortable.
    “Don’t worry,” she says, grinning. “I’m not hitting on you or anything. I like guys way too much.”
    “No, no,” I say. “I didn’t think that. I’m just kind of awkward sometimes. Sorry.”
    “I’m Marissa,” she says, walking toward me. “You must be Heather.”
    “Yes,” I say, extending my hand to shake hello.
    She walks right past my hand and envelops me in a tight hug. “Great to meet you, Heather. We are going to have some fun this year, Roomie. I just know it.”
    I have to admit, Marissa does seem like someone who knows how to have fun. That would be very good for me. And with luck, her outgoing personality will pull some attention away from me, which is how I prefer it.
    Marissa lets go and steps back. “My brothers are bringing my stuff up,” she says. “They’re usually a pain in the ass, but they’re good for some things.”
    The elevator dings across the hall, and a moment later, three short, muscular guys trudge into the room carrying Marissa’s boxes and suitcases. Two look so much alike they have to be twins, probably three or four years older than Marissa. The third looks like he’s still in high school, maybe a junior.
    Marissa introduces them. The twins are Jason and Jeremy, and her younger