Authors: Elizabeth Laban
Vanessa immediately started to take off her wet clothes. I walked right to the phone and dialed room service. It rang and rang. I dialed the front desk.
“We’re in room 956,” I said, confidently, I think. “Is there anyplace in the hotel we can get a hot beverage?”
“Housekeeping can bring up coffee or tea,” the man said cheerfully. “The restaurant is closed and room service won’t pick up again until five.”
“How about hot cocoa?” I asked.
“I think so,” the man said. “I’ll give a call down to housekeeping.”
“Great,” I said. “Thanks.”
Vanessa disappeared into the bathroom wearing only a tank top and wet jeans.
“Wait,” I called, and then briefly regretted it. What would she think? That I wanted to join her?
She poked her head around the side of the door and raised her eyebrows.
“I just wanted to say, don’t get into a hot shower with your frozen feet; that could hurt. You have to warm them up slowly. Soak them in warm water first, okay? Not even warm; tepid would be better.”
“Tepid?” she asked, a smile spreading across her face.
“Yes, you know, tepid. Lukewarm.”
“I know what
tepid
means,” she said, still smiling.
“Oh, good,” I said, hoping I hadn’t made a fool out of myself. And then …
“You’re not at all how I thought you would be,” she said, and closed the bathroom door.
I never asked her what she meant by that. Was I better or worse than she thought I would be? But really, I guess I didn’t have to. I saw the look on her face when she said it. I heard the tone of her voice. I wish you could have too.
I heard the water run in the tub, then she was quiet while she must have been soaking her feet, and finally the shower
started. I got the strangest feeling in my stomach, which I did my best to ignore.
I was still wet, but I had no idea how to deal with it. I didn’t dare start to change. What if she was about to get out of the shower? I finally heard the squeak of the faucet at the same time there was a knock at the door. I walked past the bathroom, where she was barely feet away from me toweling herself off, and opened the door. An older woman pushed a tray at me and turned to go. I immediately knew it was coffee—I could smell it. I wanted Vanessa to have hot chocolate; I wanted her to have everything she wanted, really. I remembered I had two Hershey bars in my bag, so I found them and crumbled one into each steaming mug.
As Vanessa emerged from the bathroom, I handed a mug to her. She took it, sniffed, and smiled. Her hair was brushed and wet. She was wearing a lavender T-shirt and flowered pajama bottoms. The image on her shirt was so familiar—I couldn’t place it. A lone bulldog—where had I seen that before? And then it came to me. The bulldog was the mascot of the Irving School.
Maybe there were other schools that had the same mascot. A bulldog was pretty common, right? It was probably the mascot for a slew of schools on the East Coast. Or maybe she had a friend at the school. That was likely, even. It was a nice shirt. If I visited someone who went to a school with that shirt, I would buy it for a souvenir. I have no idea
how long I stood there trying to mentally explain away the coincidence of the bulldog.
“Is something wrong?” Vanessa asked, hesitating at the bathroom door.
“No,” I said. My mind was telling me to just ask her, maybe I was overreacting. But I couldn’t. I guess I didn’t want to know. “Actually, I have a confession to make. This isn’t hot chocolate. It’s coffee with a Hershey bar melted in.”
“Mocha! Perfect!” she said, taking a sip.
I watched as she put her mug next to the bed, dug around in her bag, and pulled out a tiny stuffed monkey. Then she sat straight-backed and cross-legged with her head against the pillow, which she had propped up on the headboard.
“Nice lovey,” I said. My cousin had a little gray elephant that she took everywhere with her that we all referred to as her lovey.
“Thanks,” Vanessa said sleepily. “You know, I was wondering what time we should go back to the airport tomorrow. I meant to call the airline. Do you wake up early?”
“Usually,” I said.
“Well, don’t leave without me,” she said.
“Believe me, I won’t,” I said, smiling to myself. That was the funniest thing I had heard all night.
“Thanks,” she said, yawning. “I am so tired.” She looked really drowsy. It was so surprising to me that she could be that comfortable. But it was also a relief. This wasn’t going
to be so hard. She would fall asleep, and then I could shower and read. I could take my time getting to sleep. It would be almost like being alone, I thought.
“Hey,” I said quietly, just in case she was already asleep. I didn’t want to wake her; I could always ask her in the morning.
“What?” she asked. Her eyes were closed. She looked so peaceful. She was hugging the tiny monkey. I had the urge to tell her to lie down so I could tuck her in.
“What’s the deal with your bulldog shirt?” I asked.
“Oh—it’s from my school. It’s where I’m going. I’m a senior,” she said. Her eyes were still closed. “I’m sort of dreading it and also dying to get there at the same time. I had a big fight with my boyfriend, and I really want things to be okay between us when I get back. Things have been complicated. He hasn’t really been himself lately. He’s there already. He got there today. We were supposed to see each other tonight. I texted him to tell him about the storm and everything, but he didn’t text back. Ugh. I can’t even stand to think about it.”
She hesitated and then confessed: “I got him something.”
She leaned over and browsed through her backpack. Then, proudly, maybe reluctantly, she showed me a bracelet. It was some braided yarn thing.
“It’s nice,” I said. In my head, though, I was having a whole different conversation. Of course she had a boyfriend. People like her always had boyfriends. And those boyfriends were never people like me.
“What’s the name of your school?” I croaked out.
“The Irving School,” she said casually, taking another sip from her mug.
So our time together wasn’t over. And I had said and done all those stupid things; I felt like an idiot. And she had a boyfriend. Well, what would that matter? It wasn’t like
I
was going to be her boyfriend or anything. Suddenly the smell coming from the mug was starting to get to me.
“Where are
you
going?” she asked. This time she turned out the light on her side, leaving mine on, and settled into bed. She pulled the cover up high and closed her eyes.
When I didn’t answer, she opened her eyes.
“Do you go to school?” she tried again.
“For now, I’m just heading to New York. I have a few things I have to sort out,” I said. I couldn’t tell her.
“Where in New York?”
Her phone beeped then, alerting her to a text. She grabbed it and looked, then groaned. It must not have been the text she was hoping for.
“Hey, give me your phone,” she said.
“Why?”
“So I can give you my number,” she said, sitting up a little.
I got up slowly and walked to my backpack, found my phone, and handed it to her. She clicked the keys for a while and then handed it back to me. I could see she had written her name on my contact list in all caps—VANESSA—like
she was really important or something. I thought about deleting it. I knew she wouldn’t want to be in my phone when we got to school. How was she going to explain being friends with me? But I left it. I turned and put it back in my bag, and when I faced her again, her eyes were closed. Unbelievable.
I stood up, gathered my small pile of dry clothes, and went into the bathroom. It was still a little steamy from her shower, and I could smell the soap and shampoo she used. A few minutes before, I would have let myself enjoy the fact that I was stepping into the shower she had just stepped out of, and that I would be using the same soap that had just touched her body. But I didn’t let myself think about that. I locked the door, took off my wet clothes, and got into the shower. I didn’t even end up turning it on. Instead, I stepped out and put on my dry clothes. I pulled a dry towel from the rack and dried out the tub. Then I climbed in and stayed there for the rest of the night.
The first thing I felt was my stiff back. And then I heard the knocking.
Knock knock knock
, quiet,
knock knock knock
, quiet. I could not figure out where I was—it was pitch-black except for the tiny line of light coming through the door, where I guessed the knock was coming from. Was I in the closet back home hiding from the new owners? Had I been knocked out while going to the bathroom on the plane? Bathroom … Right, of course, I was in the hotel bathroom, and the person knocking on the other side of the door was Vanessa. That stunning girl who was nice to me for five minutes, who had a boyfriend, and who I would now have to see every day because, as luck would have it, I was going to be her classmate.
I stood up too fast and had to sit back down on the edge of the tub for a second.
Knock knock knock
, quiet,
knock knock knock
.
“One second,” I called.
“Oh, good,” she answered through the door, and I was struck by how familiar she sounded—like I had known her for much longer than a day. Come to think of it, the day before at that time I hadn’t even met her, had no idea she existed in the world. “I was worried you weren’t in there. Or that you had passed out or something.”
I tried standing again and this time turned on the light, blinking at the awful brightness. Once my eyes adjusted, I stepped out of the tub and took a look. In the unforgiving light, I was startling, even to myself. And to make matters worse, my clothes were completely wrinkled, and my hair, which had been wet from the snow when I fell asleep, was as messy as I had ever seen it. And my breath. Ugh.
Knock knock knock
, quiet.
“I’m coming,” I said, wishing that there was some alternative, some escape hatch in the bathroom—a window, even. But of course a window wouldn’t do me any good on the ninth floor anyway.
“It’s late,” Vanessa called through the door. “It’s almost nine. I phoned the airline, and they definitely think we can get out today. Come see. It isn’t snowing anymore. It’s beautiful outside.”
I had to pee so badly, but I didn’t know how to do it with her standing right outside the door listening. So I turned on the shower, hot. I quickly did what I had to do, rinsed off,
and put my wrinkly clothes back on. I used the mouthwash from the tiny bottle by the sink. It had been opened and about a quarter of the blue liquid was missing. Vanessa must have used some. I liked that idea as I took a swig. Now my only problem was a hairbrush. I ran my hands through my hair—not so bad—took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Vanessa was right there, still wearing her bulldog shirt and pajama bottoms. Her hair was messy but in a good way, a really beautiful way.
“What were you doing in there?” she asked.
“What do you think I was doing? I took a shower.”
“No, I mean before that. Did you sleep in there?”
“Oh, um, yes,” I said sheepishly. “It just seemed easier.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said. We were quiet for a minute, and then she pointed to the window. “I can still see our igloo, but it’s covered with more snow. Hey, do you want to order breakfast or go find something in the airport? I could use a pick-me-up now, even though I slept surprisingly well.”
It was so bright, I knew I should be wearing my sunglasses. I’m sure you never saw them because I spent the entire semester avoiding ever putting them on, but I’m supposed to wear them to protect my eyes from the sun. Another perk of being an albino. Needless to say, I didn’t.
Why was she still being so nice to me? But then again, as far as she knew, we would spend the morning together,
get on the plane, and go our separate ways once we landed in New York. She had no idea that she was going to be stuck with me. That she’d have to run into me and face me and, worse, face the wrath of her friends, who I was sure would never, ever understand why she might want to be friends with a freak like me. Believe me, I knew. I’d been through it more times than I liked to admit.
So here’s what I did: I decided I wouldn’t tell her. I decided I would enjoy the little time we had left together. I marched out of the bathroom and right over to the window. It took me a full minute before I could really look outside. I pretended to, but I had my head turned away from her and my eyes closed. Every few seconds I would open them and then shut them and then open them again. And every time it got a little easier. I could hear the doctor’s words in my head, telling me how important the glasses were, that it wouldn’t take long to damage my eyes beyond repair. But I also heard Vanessa’s voice in my head, and it was louder than the doctor’s voice, telling me to look at the igloo we made together last night. I remembered how she backed in beside me and we sat like that, so close to each other. It wasn’t just that I had never been so close to a beautiful girl; that’s true, but it was also the closest I had ever been to a nonalbino girl. My mother would wring my neck for implying that an albino can’t be beautiful. And just to be really clear—and I don’t know why I feel I
must confess this—there had been only one albino girl. It wasn’t like I knew a ton of other albinos.
Once my eyes had adjusted, I turned back toward her, and I think she was looking at me suspiciously. Maybe I hadn’t been as subtle as I thought. But she didn’t say anything about it.
“So what do you think?” she asked.
“It’s a masterpiece!” I said, forcing myself to appear as casual as I could while I looked out the window and down toward the lot where we had been the night before. “I think we are expert igloo builders. You know what they say: ‘Those who build igloos together—’ ”
“No, I mean about breakfast,” she said.
“Oh,” I said, feeling silly. “I don’t know, why don’t we go and grab something at the airport,” I said, worrying that if we stayed put, I might blab my secret, and I was determined to do my best to not ruin the moment. “I wouldn’t mind taking a walk.”