On an Edge of Glass (2 page)

When he glances down
quickly and chews on his bottom lip, I just about fall out of my chair.  A swarm of frenetic butterfly wings are flapping against the walls of my stomach. 

So much for being an empowered
independent woman, Ellie
.  Apparently, I’m just as susceptible to a sexy look from a mysterious guy as the next girl. 

He finishes stirring his coffee and slips
the lid back on his cup.  He hesitates.  He chews that bottom lip some more and when he glances over at me again I just know that he is going to come talk to me. 

I’
m not sure how I feel about this.  On the one hand, this boy is completely intriguing.  The problem is that I do not need to be dealing with any distractions now—just when my life is about to get serious. 

I ta
ke a deep breath and pretend to still be working on my paper.  In reality I’m trying to hold my head at an angle that I think shows off my long neck and angular cheekbones. 

Fou
r seconds.  Five.  Six.  I can sense someone beside me.  Someone tall.  Someone male. 

He clears his throat
, and I raise my head, and bat my eyelashes, and… 

“What is that face for?
”  My best friend Mark scrunches his nose.  He adjusts the strap of his leather messenger. 

My mouth is slack.  I know that I must look like an idiot.

With a huff, Mark slips into a purple chair opposite me.  He grabs my coffee cup off the table between us, and without further question, helps himself to a long sip. 

Squaring his shoulders, he settles back and glares at me. 
“Do I have spinach in my teeth or something?”

Before I can answer
, Mark holds up his hand dramatically and closes his eyes.  Long lashes dust his cheeks. “No.  Never mind Ellie-bear.  I don’t even want to know if I do.”  He shakes his head slightly.  “I have had the
worst
day ever, and if I find out that the entire time I was talking to Hal Shepherd I had green goo stuck between my teeth, I will kill myself.” 

“Your
teeth are fine,” I say, hurriedly pushing the words out of my mouth and twisting to the side to look around the coffeehouse for my mystery man.  The last place I saw him was by the cream and sugar counter, but now there’s just a bunch of girls there. My eyes move to the corner and then the door. 

“Damn it,” I murmur.  The guy
is nowhere to be seen.  Gone—just like that. 

“Seriously chica, what are we
looking for?”  Mark cranes his neck to follow my gaze.

I look
down, trying to conceal the disappointment that’s threatening to take over my face.  Swallowing against the sour taste that’s building in my mouth I mumble, “Never mind.” 

“You look upset.”  Mark’s voice is laced with skepticism.

That’s because I
am
upset.  Upset and insanely disappointed. 

I take a deep breath and
remind myself how absurd I’m acting.  I haven’t missed out on anything because nothing actually happened.  He was just some random guy that I exchanged a few dozen words with.  The encounter was nothing more. 
Nothing.
 

“It’
s honestly nothing,” I say tersely, adjusting my laptop and scooting back in my chair.  “I just thought that I saw someone from class.”

Mark downs
the last of my coffee.  Dropping the cup to the table, he scoots back in his chair and frowns.  “Whatever.  Like I said, I’ve had the worst day.  Starting with the fact that Greenly gave me hell about that paper I turned in last week.  He said some crap about having to redefine my source material.  As if I even know what that means.”  He pushes a stray blond curl away from his forehead and sighs, loud and breathy.  “Before I forget—Ainsley called my phone looking for you.”

I pitch my head to the side. 
“What did she want?” 

Mark moves his bag from his knee to the floor and begins
sifting through the contents looking for something.  Probably the latest in that romance series he’s been obsessing over lately. 

“She sa
id something about you forgetting your phone at home and gave me a teary diatribe about a momentous thing occurring at your house, and blah, blah… and more blah.”  He twirls his hand in the air.  Mark Temple is a hand-talker.  “Honestly, I wasn’t really listening, but I did catch that your ass needs to get home as soon as possible.”

“Ooooh scary.”  I force
a smile.  “Knowing how Ainsley is, I probably forgot to put my cereal bowl in the dishwasher and she wants us to have a heart to heart so that she can express her feelings on the matter.” 

My roommate
, Ainsley, tends to be a bit on the sensitive side.  She means well, but occasionally I feel like I’m living through an extended episode of
Dr. Phil
.

Shaking my head,
I stand to pack up my laptop and books. 

As I gi
ve Mark a hug, I swear to myself that I’m not looking over his shoulder for my savior.  I. Am. Not. Looking. 

Not even when I
deliberately circle the coffee shop so that I can throw my cup in the trashcan that rests against the opposite wall instead of the one by the door.

And I tell myself that the feeling that lurches in my gut when I walk out the door and into the brilliant blue of a fall day is actually the salad I ate for lunch digesting wrong.

I sigh and head toward home.
 

Here, on the edge of campus, where the University blends into the comings and goings of everyday life, the sidewalk is active with people.

              I have to duck around an older couple stopped in front of a shop window, discussing the merits of a china pattern on display.  I wonder if I’ll ever be old enough to care about china patterns.  I hope not.

             
Passing a stand of bike racks, I pull a study sheet from my bag.  I might as well keep myself occupied on the walk.  With less than two months until I take the LSAT, every opportunity for study time counts.

             
LSAT stands for: Law School Admissions Test.  You need to take it to get into law school.  Obviously.

             
And to get into Columbia Law, you need to do well on the LSAT.  Very well. 

Columbia
.  It’s my mantra.

I
t’s where I’m headed next year.  It’s where both my mother and my father went to law school.  It’s where my father’s father went to law school.  Getting accepted to Columbia Law is what has been expected of me since birth.

Just thinking about it gives me goose
bumps.  This time next year, I’ll be living in New York City among glittery, wonderful people, and on track to be a corporate attorney like my parents.

             
I shake the last remnants of my hot boy induced delirium away and glance down at the study sheet gripped between my fingers.  It’s probably for the best that the coffee shop guy didn’t come over and talk to me.  I have a plan, and distractions have no part in it.

Hannah, the Deserter

“I don’t understand,” I say shaking my head, letting my fingers drop to the couch cushions.  “What do you mean she’s not coming back?”

             
“Ellie, I mean exactly what I said.  Hannah, our lovely roomie, has decided not to come back home,” Ainsley says carefully.

She
takes her long hair and begins separating it into even segments and winding them over the splayed fingers of her hand.  After living together for over a year, I’ve seen her do this before, and I know that it’s a sign of stress.  The puffy eyes and red-tipped nose are an indication that tears aren’t far away.  

             
“What did Payton have to say about this?”

             
Ainsley swipes her palms against her cheeks.  Then she stands and walks to our small kitchen. 

“Oh, you know
how Payton is,” she says to me over her shoulder.  “She freaked out for about ten minutes, and then she redid her makeup and told me not to worry—that she’d start looking for a new roommate today.” 

“A new roommate?”

“That’s what she said.”  She pauses so that she can fill her electric tea kettle with tap water.  After flipping off the faucet she turns back to face me.  Her blue eyes are watery.  “Ellie, I just don’t know how we’re going to find someone this late in the year.  It’s not as if reliable homeless people are falling out of trees.  And if we can’t find a new roommate, how are we going to cover another person’s rent and Hannah’s portion of the electric and...”

             
I can tell that Ainsley is about to start up the water works in a big way.  I am at her side quickly.  With my arm draped across her thin shoulders, I murmur that she shouldn’t worry.  But the truth is that
I’m
worried.  Our fourth roommate, Hannah, called the house this morning while I was at class.  She curtly informed Payton and Ainsley that she would no longer be living in the house with us.  Effective immediately. 

             
The four of us lived together in on-campus housing last year.  We were randomly paired up with one another, and at first, it was uncomfortable.  We could not be more different.  Payton’s a heavy partier, Ainsley’s a sweet sorority girl, Hannah’s into intramural sports, and I’m the studious one.  It took us a few weeks, but once we got over the initial hurdle, everything clicked into place.  I guess, sometimes the most inexplicable things end up being the ones that work the best.

F
or our senior year, we decided to take the plunge and rent a small four bedroom house on a quiet street that borders the north side of campus.  It’s quite a bit more expensive than the dorms, but it’s a whole house. 
And
, there were supposed to be four of us to split the bills between.  At the time that we signed the lease, it had seemed doable.

             
Today, not so much.

             
My parents have the money, but I’m on a fairly strict student budget.  They tell me that learning to manage my spending will build character or something like that. 

             
“I just don’t understand this!  What the hell is Hannah thinking?”  I let my head fall back against the wall with a thud. 

             
Ainsley’s shoulders waggle.  She pours hot water from the electric kettle into her favorite mug and drops in a tea bag.  The mug is decorated with little cartoon owls and proudly states “Owl have some tea” in girlish pink writing along the rim. 

“
I doubt that she’s thinking at all,” she says grimly.

“
I know.  But—what the hell is wrong with her?  We’re her best friends!” 

“
I agree.  Hannah was always a bit reckless, but this is ridiculous.”  She adjusts the tea bag and looks at me. 

Ridiculous
just about sums it up.  Back in August Hannah was invited for a three week program in London starting in September.  Her major is International Marketing, so the program had seemed like a golden opportunity.  We’d all encouraged her to take it.  In fact, we threw her a going away party, complete with a batch of jello shots and a cake decorated with the Union Jack.

None of us could have
anticipated that she would fall head over heels for some British dude in a matter of weeks.  Or that she’d decide to bail on us and her last year of college in America.

“Ainsley, I’m sure that when Payton gets home we’re going to figur
e this all out.”  With my arm still around her fragile shoulders, I lead her over to the couch.  “You know, maybe I should try calling Hannah.  Last spring, do you remember when I talked her out of getting that God-awful fairy tattoo on her butt cheek?  I might be able to reason with her this time.” 

“Don’t even bo
ther.” Ainsley settles into the cushions and sniffs the air.  “She was being so bitchy on the phone this morning.  She and Payton really got into it.  At this point, I doubt that she’ll answer a call from any of us.” 

“
She will if she knows what’s good for her,” I warn, but even to my own ears the threat sounds empty.

“
Oh my God Ellie, do you realize that my parents are going to kill me?”  Ainsley lifts her blonde head.  Her blue eyes are round and full of salty tears.  “They
told
me that I should stay in the dorms.  They said that it was safer and made more sense financially, but I insisted on getting this house with you guys.  Now the whole thing is a debacle.”

“A debacle?”  I ask
, fighting back the beginnings of a smile.

Ainsley’s eyes
narrow at me.  “Yes, Elizabeth Jane Glass.  A
debacle,
” she snaps.

I ho
ld up my hands in mock surrender.  “Okay.  I get it.  We’re in a bit of a bind here.  Just let me think.”