Saving Ben Read Free

blowing hot air, which is the last thing we need in this hundred-degree heat.”
    “At least your parents blow something. Mine are as cold as icebergs,” she said, the bitter tone in her voice contradicting her smile.
    “Our parents are the ones who missed out.” I draped my arm loosely across my roommate’s shoulders. “And if we don’t get started on this room, we’re going to miss out too—on our first night of college.”
    For the next two hours, we scattered rugs and hung curtains and strung strands of white icicle lights along the perimeter of the ceiling. We were hot and sweaty and in desperate need of a shower, but by the time we finished, we had transformed our room into a cozy and inviting home.
    “Now for the difficult decision.” I opened the door to my closet. “What does one wear to a fraternity party?”
    Emma joined me and together we flipped through my clothes. “Ooh . . . this is pretty.” She removed a black sleeveless top with a low-cut ruffled neck. “I’m digging your taste.”
    “My mother’s taste, actually.”
    “Wait a minute,” she said, wide-eyed. “You mean your mother buys your clothes?”
    I nodded. “Mainly because I hate to shop and she’s compulsive about it. She gets excited about going to Target to buy athletic socks for Ben.”
    “Sounds like your mother and I would get along just fine. I’d shop all the time if I had the money to buy anything.” She went to the mirror, holding the blouse up to her body. “Besides, my parents feel the need to control every aspect of my life. My wardrobe is just another battlefield.”
    “That bad, huh?” I asked.
    She nodded. “But let’s not ruin our first day together by talking about them.”
    I shrugged. “It’s your call. But just so you know, if and when you are ready to talk, I’m here for you. Deal?”
    Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Deal.”
    I nodded my head at the blouse she was still holding up in front of her. “By the way, you should totally wear that.”
    When I returned from the shower, I found Emma admiring herself in the mirror wearing the black top with a pair of low-rider white jeans. She had curves in places I was flat, and because she was at least three inches taller than my five foot six, the tank stopped well above the jeans and exposed quite a bit of tanned skin below her bellybutton. If her father was so concerned about his daughter covering her body, where had she gotten the jeans? They certainly weren’t mine.
    She fixed her crystal eyes on me. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked, bouncing around on her bare feet. “I was just trying it on. I still have to shower and everything before I get dressed.”
    “It looks great. Really.” I nodded enthusiastically.
    “But you’ve already been so generous. I would never want to take advantage of you.” She was serious and sincere and grateful, so much so I would have lent her anything.
    “No worries. I’m happy to share,” I said, towel-drying my wet hair.
    Emma tilted her head to the side, watching me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you ever thought of letting it grow long?” she asked.
    I ran my fingers through my cropped locks. “No way. I have too many cowlicks and not enough patience for long hair.”
    She looked at me from one angle and then another. “Not many people can wear their hair that short, but it works for you. You have that Winona Ryder thing going on.”
    “Great.” I plugged in my hair dryer and turned it on. “How old is she anyway, forty?” I shouted over the noise.
    “Maybe, but she’s still beautiful,” she yelled back at me.
    When I was finished drying my hair, Emma came at me with a can of hair spray and her bag of tricks. For what she lacked in clothing, she made up for in makeup. She had one of every tube and stick and compact available at Walgreen’s. “Sit still and close your eyes.” I felt a tug at my eyelids followed by a flutter across my cheeks and a rubbing along