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SIMON
This girl looks like she could kill me. For a moment, I think: Yeah. That sounds great. Let’s do that.
Except I think I might actually be in danger. And I might deserve it.
“You fucking idiot!” she snaps. Her voice is low, raspy — it’s not what I expected to come out of those elegant, burgundy-painted lips. “You’re not even supposed to have drinks in the library!”
“You have a Starbucks cup right there.” It’s the absolute wrong thing to say to someone when you’ve just dumped tea all over the table you’re sharing. In the crowded library. During exams week. I wince.
The girl’s eyebrows leap up her face in daring angles, her mouth dropping open in disgust. She grabs her Starbucks cup, her slightly soggy textbook, and her backpack and stalks off to find another table, long dark hair swinging behind her.
I sigh. I rescued my beat-up laptop from the spill, so I tuck it into my giant tote bag and go off in search of napkins. The media specialist gives me a stack and reminds me of the rule against food and drink. I nod, then return to mop up my mess.
It’s been a long fucking day, hasn’t it? I guess that’s every day in the lead up to finals. I’m perpetually behind on studying, so the snowball of it always whammies me at the end of term. My students down at the fencing studio could tell I was off my game. Today’s class was mostly eleven year olds, and they sought out every opportunity to make the session more chaotic. “We’re handling weapons!” I kept shouting at them. “Respect the blade!”
They ignored me. No one died, that was my accomplishment today.
Then I came to the library (I hate the library) and pissed off the prettiest, most terrifying girl I’ve ever seen. And lost my tea.
I will not be able to get through writing this paper without tea.
Scanning the library, I see that the girl gave up trying to find a new seat and settled on the floor against a bookshelf. I grab my bag and walk over to her. Maybe I should put my hand out, like when you approach a nervous dog. I mean no harm, I think in her direction. I come in peace.
“Hey,” I say, a little too loudly. The girl (and several other students nearby) glare at me. “I’m sorry. Is your book okay?”
“It’s fine,” the girl huffs. She looks back down at where it’s lying in her lap, continuing to read with a highlighter in hand. I could end it there. But this girl’s hair is just very shiny, isn’t it? Several glossy strands have fallen out of her messy ponytail, but it still looks good. Plus, I can tell her legs are miles long, even though she’s got them all folded up right now. What am I supposed to do about that? Just let it go, get some more tea, and work on my paper?
I guess I’ve been staring for a minute, because the girl looks back up at me, cocking a brow. My cheeks heat up.
“I’m going to get more tea,” I stammer.
“Tea is not allowed in the library,” the girl says, bringing her own Starbucks cup to her lips. There’s a deep red stain on the rim from her lipstick.
“Right,” I agree. “I was wondering if I could get you something? To, like, make up for before.”
The girl stares at me for a moment, expression carefully blank. She shakes her drink — the slosh is lackluster. She nods.
“I’d like a venti pumpkin mocha breve, hot,” she says.
“A venti… what?”
The girl frowns at me, then checks her watch, which sits on a thin silver bangle.
“You’re going to the Starbucks around the corner? Just tell the blonde girl at the counter it’s for Baz, she should still be working.”
“For Baz,” I repeat. She widens her eyes at me, like speaking to me is putting her in pain. I nod, then turn on my heel.
It’s late, so the Starbucks is nearly empty. I stand at the counter for a little bit before a cornsilk head pokes out from the back room.
“Oh!” Her voice is melodic. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
Have I infiltrated a pack of angels or something? Or maybe something far darker. Because standing in front of me is another gorgeous girl. She’s tall with long golden hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, her eyes a golden brown. She smiles at me with full pink lips. Her name tag says “Agatha.”
“What can I get started for you?”
“Uh, just a tall earl grey for me. And then, a, uh….. she said I could just tell you it’s for Baz?”
Agatha raises her eyebrows, surprised.
“Is Baz being so pathetic in the library that cute strangers have begun taking pity on her?” Agatha asks.
“What?” I stammer. “No, I spilled my tea all over the table we were sharing. I’m trying to make it up to her.”
Agatha giggles as she makes my tea.
“I bet that’s going well,” Agatha says.
“I am worried if I get her coffee order wrong I might end up in a ditch,” I admit. Agatha laughs, handing me my cup.
“Baz is too posh to put anyone in a ditch,” she says. “I think poison would be more her style. Or, like, psychological torture.”
“Cheers to that,” I say, holding up my cup. She winks at me. Angel. Demon. Nymph, perhaps.
“She wants her disgusting pumpkin thing, right?” Agatha asks, walking toward an espresso machine.
“I think so. Something something breve.”
“I should have never let her invent a drink,” Agatha says, sighing. “She’s a monster, keeps asking my manager to put it on the menu. And he just might if she bats her eyelashes at him one more time. Stupid, pretty thing.”
“Oh,” I say, gears shifting in my head. “So are you two, like, together?”
Agatha looks up at me over the machine, one eyebrow raised. Man, is that just a thing supermodel types can do? I’m going to practice in the mirror when I get home.
“Nope,” Agatha says, popping the “P” extra hard. The whirring of the machine stops, and she comes around, handing me the coffee. She gives me a big, silly grin. “Baz is single. Very single. If that’s what you’re wondering.”
I’m blushing as I fumble with the card reader. Agatha watches me, still smiling.
“Keep an eye on my girl tonight, would you?” Agatha says as I gather my things. “She’s very intense. End of term is rough on her. And let her know if she wants a ride home she needs to come meet me here in an hour.”
“Yeah,” I say. My tote is falling down my arm, and I try to hitch it up without disrupting the drinks in my hands. “I’ll do that.”
“See you around!” Agatha calls. I smile at her over my shoulder on my way out the door.
BAZ
The nightmare girl makes a scene on her way back in, nearly dumping both our new drinks on someone as she exits the elevator.
“Sorry!” she exclaims loudly, pissing off everyone in the vicinity. I tamp down a smile as she weaves her way over. She sits down on the floor across from me, her knees nearly touching mine in the narrow space.
“Agatha says your drink is disgusting,” she says, handing me my new coffee. Honestly, this is working out very well for me. I was going to have to make one more caffeine run tonight anyway, so that’s extra study minutes for me.
Especially since I’ve wasted so much time already tonight staring at this curly-haired menace. She plopped down at my table a few hours ago with a deep sigh, and spent about ten minutes with her head down in her arms. She’s got these cute bronze ringlets that bounce when she moves her head, cut messy at shoulder length. It’s a bit of a little-orphan-Annie vibe, but in a very good way.
“I don’t give a shit what Agatha thinks,” I snap, taking a sip. Just because it’s unconventional doesn’t mean it’s not good. For example, this girl is wearing ultra-short denim cutoffs and an oversized Watford University Fencing pullover. (I didn’t know we had fencing. Is fencing the sport with the toothpick swords?) Anyway, the point is that I haven’t been able to take my eyes off her all night.
“She also said that if you want a ride, you have to meet her at the Starbucks in an hour.”
“Are you and Agatha in cahoots now?”
“What?” The girl looks confused, her eyebrows furrow in this way that is truly intolerable. I roll my eyes.
“Listen, thank you for the drink, and for relaying information Agatha could have texted me,” I say. “But I’ve got a huge exam tomorrow morning, and I really need to prepare.”
“Okay, yes, sorry.” She’s blushing, still sitting across from me with her knees unbearably close to mine. She has freckles all over her legs. They’re probably over her whole body. I heave a sigh, highlighting a random sentence in my textbook just for something to do. Then I scribble a little X in the margins so I won’t freak out later about why I highlighted it.
The girl shifts a bit to the right so she can stretch her legs out beside me. She kicks off her bright yellow crocs without any shame, and tugs her laptop out of her tote.
“Are you staying here?” I ask, without lifting my head from my book.
“Oh, I mean, there’s no tables anymore,” she says. “And I really have to finish this paper.”
I look up then, smirking.
“Remember, long ago, when we were lucky enough to have a table?”
The girl beams at me and I nearly sink through the floor. Who gave her the right?
“We could’ve kept the table if you hadn’t stalked off like a drama queen. I would’ve cleaned it up, and then I still would’ve bought you coffee while you held our spot.”
“Hmm,” I hmm. “Yes, I see now how this is my fault.”
The girl laughs. I can’t help it — a real smile sneaks onto my face.
“I’m Simon, by the way.”
“Simon,” I say, letting the name roll around in my mouth. I like the taste of it. “Simon, quit distracting me and write your paper.”
Simon salutes me and opens her laptop. It’s a few moments before she stops smiling. It’s a few more moments before I look away.
I do, eventually. I lose myself back in my textbooks, the study guide on my phone, my notes on my laptop. My marks in this class have been good so far, and when I’m looking at the material, it all seems to make sense. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something, that I’m going to get stumped by an early question that’ll throw off my timing and my confidence. I’m not good at overcoming obstacles in the moment, but I’m very good at planning to avoid obstacles before they happen. I scour the course material, eliminating every possibility for failure.
I don’t notice the time until Simon is waving a hand in my face. I blink up at her, realizing the library is nearly empty. A student staffer is walking away from us, and Simon’s mouth is moving.
“Wow, Agatha was right,” she says, blue eyes wide. “End of term really does mess you up, huh?”
“Christ, shut up about Agatha,” I snap. “I didn’t know you two shared such a bond.”
Simon frowns, but doesn’t take the bait.
“We’re getting kicked out,” she says. Her voice is gentle. I must look as unhinged as I feel. That’s really wonderful — I’m so glad I met a cute girl on a night when I’m actively falling apart. I’m so glad my best friend saw it fit to warn said cute girl of my neuroses. Smashing. “Do you have a way home? It’s been well over an hour, I’m sure Agatha is gone.”
I sigh, beginning the agonizing task of cleaning up the nest of books and school supplies that I have created around us.
Simon has collected my highlighters. She hands them to me now, fingers brushing against mine. They’re sort of rough, maybe from the fencing. The callouses remind me of the feel of my mother’s hands when I was young, which is not a thought I can afford in this state. I fight the lump in my throat and blink down at my book bag. Dead mum depression is not a valid doom spiral to engage in during exams week. I have plenty else to spiral about.
“I’ll just take the night bus,” I murmur. Simon is standing now. She offers me a hand, pulling me up to my feet. “If only our lovely university used our tuition funds to staff the library overnight on finals week.”
“Would you stay here overnight, if you could?” Simon asks. She bins both of our drink cups as we pass by. I don’t even remember her picking them up.
“Sure,” I say. “As is, I’m just going to go all the way back to Chelsea, study, and come back in seven hours.”
“You could come to mine,” Simon says, hitting the button for the elevator. I raise an eyebrow at her, and she blushes. It’s marvelous to see. Her cheeks are like little rosebuds.
“I just mean, I live nearby,” Simon amends. Her giant tote smacks against the side of the elevator as she walks in, almost knocking her off balance. I put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “I’ll be up all night too, finishing this paper.”
Is this weird? Am I making this decision for good reasons? Am I making this weird? I probably am — we’re silent in the elevator as it reaches the ground floor. Simon fidgets with her overly long sweater sleeves.
The elevator dings, letting us out in the building’s lobby.
“Okay,” I say, voice lacking the bravado I usually try to put on. “That would actually be really nice, thank you.”
She smiles at me, skipping ahead to hold the door open for me. I feel a flush crawling up my neck at that. It’s a little windy out, and Simon’s curls fly around her face as we walk. My feet are aching in these heeled booties I’m wearing. Maybe I’ll downgrade to some nice trainers, just for the rest of the week. If only I was the type of person who looked nice dressed down; I could never pull off crocs.
“So, what course are you studying for?” Simon asks. I shake my head.
“No, we need to find a different type of small talk,” I say. “I cannot talk about uni right now without losing my shit.”
“Okay, okay,” Simon says, laughing. She’s quiet for a moment, her tote dropping to the crook of her elbow. I’m tempted to yank it away and carry it for her. And buy her a proper backpack. “So, the weather? Been nice and warm for a London May.”
I giggle, a testament to my exhaustion. Simon winks at me, the devil.
“It’s fucking freezing, Simon,” I say, wrapping my thin jacket tighter around my torso.
“Aw, are you one of those little cold people?” she asks.
“I’m taller than you.”
“Only because you’re wearing heels.”
“These are two inch heels,” I say. “I’d still have at least three on you without them.”
“Regardless,” Simon says, smiling up at me. “You’re one of those snuggly blanket people. Always cold. Always shoving your freezing feet under other people’s thighs.”
I huff, but I don’t respond.
“Knew it,” Simon says, chin in the air like she’s won some kind of prize. “My best friend Penny is the same way. She says I’m a human furnace, which is funny because my middle name is Snow.”
“That’s unique,” I say. “Baz is actually a nickname for my middle name.”
“What’s it short for?” Simon asks.
“Ah, I’m adding that to the ‘banned for the night’ list.”
“What about your first name?”
“On the list.”
“Damn, that bad?” Simon asks, but she’s smiling. “Agatha did say you were posh.”
“Did you two get stuck in a time loop in that Starbucks?” I ask, shaking my head. “How did you manage to discuss so much in the ten minutes you were gone?”
“It’s possible,” Simon says, sighing. “She looks like a magical creature, doesn’t she? Maybe she cast a spell on me.”
“Hmmph,” I say. Agatha does look like a magical creature, but I’m the jealous beast deep down. Perhaps I’ll pick a petty fight with my best friend later for this thing she can’t control.
“Pretty girls,” Simon says. We’ve stopped in front of a set of stairs, and Simon turns around to look at me pointedly, shaking her head. “I guess they run in packs.”
It’s dark enough that I have hope Simon doesn’t see me blush. No such luck. She beams at me, then dashes up the stairs to unlock the door.
“Fourth floor,” she tells me in the stairwell. “Preserve your strength.”
We’re both out of breath when we get to the top of the stairs. Simon opens the door, throwing her tote into a chair and collapsing on the sofa. I shove her legs to the side and sit down next to her.
“Ugh, mean,” Simon says. Then she stands up, which is not what I wanted. “Do you drink tea, or just crap?”
SIMON
Baz falls asleep just as the sky lightens to a dusty blue. She is such a cold person — her socked popsicle toes find their way under my thigh not five minutes after she loses consciousness. It’s cute as fuck.
Honestly, I can’t believe this is happening. My paper is going to be shit, all I’ve been able to focus on is the fact that Baz is in my home and not even because she’s going to kill me. She is not half as scary as I thought. Underneath the cheekbones and the eyebrows, it’s just squirmy anxiety and cold feet.
Or maybe this is the psychological torture. Maybe she’s lulling me into a false sense of security so she can strike. Either way, it works for me.
I give her fifteen more minutes to nap, since she clearly needs it, then I gently shake her arm. Baz gasps awake, almost knocking my laptop to the floor as she jerks around.
“Baz, it’s okay,” I whisper. Which is probably not very comforting, since I’m essentially a stranger.
“Simon?” She says, eyes whipping around the flat. “What time is it?”
“You’ve only been asleep for a few minutes,” I tell her. My hand is still on her arm.
Baz slumps a bit, nodding.
“Sorry,” she breathes out, laughing a bit. “I’m a little stressed out.”
“No kidding,” I say. “Do you still need to study, or do you want to use my bed and sleep?”
“My test is in three hours,” she says, yawning. Her knees are tucked up to her chest now, and she winds her arms around them. “Will probably feel worse if I try to sleep for just an hour or two.”
“Actually, I read an article on that. The science says that it’s better to lie down for however long you can, even if it’s just to close your eyes for half an hour.”
“Well, if the science says,” Baz mumbles, rolling her eyes. “Are you going to sleep?”
“I think so,” I say. My paper is done-ish. I’ll pass. I’m not even certain I’ll use this degree, but my boss at the fencing studio says I can make more money just by having any degree.
“Ok, I can just stay out here and study, then,” Baz says. “I sleep through my alarms sometimes. Can’t risk it today.”
Her eyeliner is smudged on one side. She took her lipstick off with a tissue ages ago, but her mouth still looks a bit wine-stained. The whole thing is sad in a lovely sort of way. I want to scoop her up and carry her around in the pocket of my hoodie like some kind of demented kangaroo mother.
“Nah,” I say, standing up and holding a hand out. “Just come with me, spider legs. I have a big mattress and I’m a light sleeper — I won’t let you be late.”
I’m expecting more of a fight. But Baz just takes my hand and nods.
BAZ
I wake to whispered words and warm arms. I shoot up, almost falling off the bed. Luckily, this bed is a mattress on the floor — fairly low-risk, all things considered.
“Man, do you always wake up in a panic?” The mattress belongs to Simon. Right. Because I’ve let a girl cosplaying as an American frat boy into my life. I check my phone — the alarm is snoozed already, seven minutes left until it goes off again. I have more than enough time to grab a coffee and get to campus.
Simon’s pulling at my shoulder, easing me back down onto the pillow, wrapping her arms around my middle. This is how we were sleeping, I think. It’s nice. I let myself sink in. Just for five more minutes.
“You were right, you did sleep through your alarm,” Simon says. “You’re very lucky I’m here.”
“My hero,” I murmur. She gives me a sleepy grin. Soft yellow light filters in through the windows, turning her curls golden.
“You should come back,” Simon says. “When your test is done.”
“Why?”
“You can take a nap before your next one.”
“Will you even be here?” I ask. I don’t know why I’m being argumentative. I would very much like to come back, but I guess I want to make sure the offer is real.
“Yeah.” Simon yawns, big and goofy. “I don’t have an exam until noon. I’ll study now and then we can nap when you get back.”
“Why?” I sound like my five-year-old sisters. Why why why?
Simon shrugs.
“I like this,” she says. “Do you?”
“Yes,” I say, closing my eyes.
“Okay.” Simon knocks her forehead against mine. “Go take your exam. Then we’ll take a nap.”
“I should probably just study for my next final when I get back.”
“We’ll see.”
Simon lets me go and I sit up, more reluctant than normal to get out of bed.
“Baz,” she says, voice low and sweet.
I look back down at her, eyes squinty, curls splayed out on the pillow, smile on her little pink lips. I send a quick thanks to any existing god who had a hand in making me a lesbian.
Simon sits up a bit, just enough to peck me on the lips. I smile.
“Why’d you do that?” I ask.
“For good luck?” She’s blushing.
“Okay,” I say.
Simon rolls off the mattress and comes around, pulling me up to my feet. I feel particularly gangly around Simon’s sturdy, curvy figure. I like the way she handles me. She squeezes my hips then lets me go, wandering into the bathroom.
“Exam,” she shouts. “Then nap!” The shower is running. Simon pokes her head back out into the bedroom. I’m still standing in the same spot.
“You’ll come back, right?” she asks, earnestness in her blue eyes.
She took off her shorts, so she’s standing there in baby blue hipster briefs with pizza slices on them. I walk over and put my hand under her chin.
“Exam, then nap,” I confirm. I kiss her again. For good luck.
“You’ve got this,” she says, as if this ridiculous girl I’ve known for nine hours knows anything about my academic abilities. She grins impishly at me as she pulls the bathroom door shut.
I stumble into the living room in a daze, putting my boots on and slipping my student ID and credit card into the back of my phone case. I leave my bag on the sofa when I leave for my exam. I’ll be back soon, anyway.
