Late night/early morning Sophomore year found Arnold in possession of the same tiny apartment and the same two roommates as the last time around. They’d had the option to upgrade, but honestly, the three boys had grown attached to their living arrangements. And to one another, really, despite their obvious differences. Collin was an athlete and member of a couple fraternal orders, at least one of which was academic. Smitty was a stoner just trying not to flunk out. Arnold was a nerdy artist who occasionally dabbled in their respective affairs, not a stranger to Beta Kappa Beta events and also not a stranger to smoking. As ever, he was the middle child of the situation. That was his place, trying to hold desperately to balance.
He emerged from his middle-door closet of a bedroom around four in the morning one night, giving into tonight’s bout of insomnia and, his stomach gurgling, procure some sort of not-quite-breakfast. Given the apartment’s size, it was impossible to walk about without sparing a glance to the living room area, and Arnold was shocked (and embarrassed, in his current state of boxer shorts and no shirt) to find a girl on their couch.
She noticed him at the same time he noticed her, and to say either of them was more visibly uncomfortable would have been a difficult decision. For a split second, they just looked at one another, but Arnold broke the stalemate as he rushed quickly back to his room. A moment later he emerged in pajama pants, hastily adding a plain blue t-shirt to the mix. “I’m, um….” he fumbled. “Sorry about that. Are you, uh, Smitty’s girlfriend?”
“Collin’s, actually,” she returned, her tone matching his for obvious discomfort. “He went to bed about an hour ago, but I’ve got a seven o’clock class and a dorm on the other side of campus, so I decided to just stay here and work on some homework. Sorry to, um, catch you off guard. Collin didn’t think anyone would be up and about until after I was gone.”
“Oh,” said Arnold, reassured a bit at least by the confirmation that she wasn’t a completely random stranger on their couch. Looking at her now, she felt oddly familiar, like he had known her in a past life, or at least he should have. He came around the couch and sat beside her, offering his hand. “Well, I’m Arnold Manger.”
He didn’t catch it, but something flashed through her eyes at the name. She smiled and shook his hand. “Desiree Kent.”
Arnold glanced down at the papers she had spread across their coffee table. “Introductory with Dr. Roberts? So you’re a freshman?”
“Yup,” she answered. “I’m a Gamma Fi,” she added, as if it were some sort of answer. Arnold got what she meant, though: the Gamma girls did a lot of cosponsored stuff with the Beta boys, so the implication was that it was how she had met Collin.
“Cool.” There was a brief pause. “I’m not in any of the fraternities, myself,” said the redheaded sophomore.
“What’s your major?” Desiree inquired with seemingly honest interest.
“I’m a double-major,” he replied. “Art and psychology.”
“Wow, that’s interesting,” she said, again seeming very genuine. “And pretty different. I’m still undecided.”
“There’s honestly no rush,” Arnold reassured her. Something in him instructed him to place a hand on her shoulder to deepen the reassurance, but the conscious part of his brain hissed at that instinct to shut up, because touching a girl he barely knew--who was his muscular, Quidditch-playing roommate’s girlfriend, especially--was pretty uncool. “I just declared a couple weeks ago. I’ve always been into art, right, but I really liked my psychology class last year, so I talked to my advisor about what I could do to incorporate both. The goal now is to become an art therapist.”
“That’s awesome,” Desiree smiled. “Helping people. That’s great. I want to find something to do that’ll help people, too.”
“There’s plenty of ways,” he said, smiling back a bit too widely. There was something there, some kind of connection, that was starting to startle him, so he pulled back. “Well, I’m gonna make something to eat,” he stated, rising abruptly from the couch and moving over toward the kitchen. “I’m thinking eggs. Want any?”
Desiree too had some sort of spark in her mind, it seemed, because as he moved, she too became restless, cleaning up her papers and sticking them into folders, then into her backpack. “Actually, I think I’m going to just go out for breakfast,” she answered. “Thanks though.” Desiree shuffled over to the door, which she opened, but she paused before leaving. “It was really nice to meet you, Arnold.”
“You too,” he echoed, and the door shut and he was gone, leaving him to wonder just who this Desiree Kent was, and why he felt so pulled toward her.
As Desiree walked down the hallway of the complex, she pulled her cell phone out of her jeans pocket, her hands clumsy with some sort of nervous energy. She dialed quickly and held the phone to her ear. As she emerged from the complex, the person at the other end picked up.
“Hey, Mom,” she said into the receiver as the cool, late-October winds flourished around her. “What? No, no, I’m fine. I promise. Yeah, I know it’s early for you. It’s even earlier for me…. No, again, Mom, I’m fine. I’m on my way for breakfast after an all-nighter at-... That isn’t the point! Mom, listen to me. I just met... someone I think you should know about.” Desiree looked around her, and her voice grew more hushed. “Arnold Manger.”