Her Swedish Billionaire's Baby(7)

 

She came over to her side of the table, tossed her books down, and sprawled into the chair next to her. “No wonder you’re reading that like you find it interesting.”

 

Samara lowered her book again. “It’s one of my favorites,” she announced unapologetically. She was sick of pretending to be normal, especially when it didn’t help, anyway.

 

“Oh. So, then ... I sound like a real asshole. Sorry.” The girl put a leg up on the table and sighed.

 

Samara eyed her leg. “The librarians are gonna kick you out,” she said quietly, as a public service. Alison had always thought it was hilarious what a do-gooder Samara was, always trying to help people out and keep them from humiliating themselves, but she couldn’t help herself.

 

The girl grinned at her, and suddenly, she looked pretty, like her beauty was something she usually hid from the world. That little glimpse, realizing she wasn’t the only one who had something to hide, arrested her. “Aren’t you the little Girl Scout?”

 

“Really not,” she said feelingly. The girl was one of those who thought they were badass, and by societal standards, probably were, but even they would be horrified by stuff Samara considered commonplace and everyday.

 

The girl eyed Samara while she tried to read. Finally she gave up and set her book down again. “What do you want?” she said, feeling like she was back in her old, normal life again for a second, where she was always having to confront shifty characters and divine their motives.

 

The girl really liked her question, like it made her feel as if she was playing the mysterious villain in a movie. “Well ... I don’t want to interrupt your love affair with Homer, there ...,” Samara rolled her eyes, “but, uh ... my room is a much nicer place to study. We could order a pizza.”

 

“Why would you invite me to your room?” she snapped. She looked stunned--and there it was, another flash of what was underneath--hurt.

 

“Sorry, never mind,” she muttered, and got up.

 

Samara stood up with her and grabbed her arm. “Wait. I’m sorry. I’m just ... I’m new here, and I haven’t gotten the warmest reception. You’re the first person who’s been nice to me, so ... I just ... didn’t know how to react.” She must have jarred loose her mask, because all her feelings were plain on her face: vulnerability, hope, sympathy ... and a very familiar loneliness. She was lonely, just like her. Anyway, even if she did have some nefarious intention, she knew how to defend herself. “If the offer still stands ... yeah, I’d love some pizza.”

 

So this was what her dorm-mates were doing when they were hanging out together in their rooms without her. She hadn’t seen the point--usually they claimed they were ‘studying,’ but obviously no studying was getting done--in fact, they didn’t appear to be accomplishing anything at all--but now she got it. It was just nice, to hang out and get to know someone, talk about school or life or whatever, eat pizza, anything. After a while, she found herself smiling. She felt like she was really having that ‘college experience’ she’d seen in movies and read about in books. They didn’t even pretend to study.

 

“So, no TV, eh?” she said. She had a single room, too, and she’d pushed the two twin beds together so she had one big bed. That was a good idea--if she did that in her own room, maybe she would be able to fit her whole body on the bed, if she lay across it diagonally. As it was, her feet hung off the end. It took up most of the floor in the tiny room, but it was comfortable to sprawl out on. “Were your parents against it or something, or could you just not afford it?”

 

Samara thought about the answer, how it would only lead to more questions. Anyway, thinking of Dad and Alison stabbed her in the heart. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to talk about it at this point without crying, so she said quickly, “I don’t want to talk about my family, but ... tell me about yours.”

 

“Oh, I have to tell you about mine and you don’t?!”

 

“No, I ... sorry. I have no social skills.” She shrugged apologetically. “It seems like most people like talking about themselves and don’t really care about what anyone else has to say, so I thought that would make you happy.”

 

She smiled. Somehow she only seemed to find all her awkwardness charming. Samara was beginning to gather that the girl’s tough persona hid a fear of people. Maybe her awkwardness made her seem appealingly unintimidating. “I am interested. Okay, no talking about them, but ... short-answer questions, one for one. How ’bout that?”