He looked at me oddly for only a couple seconds before sighing in a way that said figuring me out wasn’t his problem, then rifled around in the drawer.
I bet Jillie would fix any damage he did first thing Monday morning. Something also told me that Jillie was the type to keep every variety of marker and pen at her desk, and I hoped I was right.
“Thank you,” I said with a smile when my suspicions were confirmed and he held up all three things I asked for. “I’ll bring the Sharpies back soon.”
He gave me the sadder version of the “implied greeting smile” and went back to his work without a word.
Fair.
The lobby was still brimming with people behind me,the couches and armchairs all taken, so I made my way down the hallway until I found a quiet bench and got to work.
The Beck duck already had glasses and “held” a paint palette on one wing and a brush on the other, so I got to work giving him shoulder length—wing length?—wavy hair with the Sharpies.
I held up the completed duck, inspecting my work.
It looked insane. I thought Beck would love it.
And hopefully Ireland would too.
Then I uncapped the black Sharpie again, propped my good ankle on my knee, and wrote my note to Ireland, bearing down on my thigh.
Coffee, Tea, or…?
It bothered me that I’d made pancakes without coffee to go with them this morning. Coffee was the one thing not included in our welcome baskets, and this was important information to have on my roommate.
And my future… friend. Or whatever.
Then I remembered her bringing her longboard into the Locc with her. What if she went back to the house without waiting for a ride? She shouldn’t be locked out of her own home, so I added:
P.S. Code is your bday
I pushed away my doubts and added one more quick “P.P.S” to that message.
After returning the Sharpies to the front desk, I followed the music again. Class should be over soon, and I was actually feeling kind of left out.
Pressing my hand on the dance room door, I felt its softvibrations transfer to my palm as I listened to the muffled strains of a cover of Elvis’s “Are You Lonesome Tonight?”
Turning away from the door, I made it three steps toward the lobby before the door flew open behind me.
Delly barreled out of the room, her eyes wide as they landed on me.
“Addy, we need you in here. Someone’s hurt.”
I pushed the duck and note into Delly’s hands as a sense of calm fell over me, my thoughts tunneling to a singular purpose as I entered the room.
I took in the scene with one sweeping look.
Scene is safe.
“Go ahead and get the medic on call,” I told Delly, who was hovering behind me in the doorway. She nodded and disappeared, and I made my way to the front of the room, encouraging the other students to step back.
An older woman sat on the floor with her back against the mirror, a stone-faced Ireland kneeling beside her, murmuring to her quietly.
“Hello, ma’am,” I said loud enough to be heard over the music. “My name is Adair, and I’m a paramedic. May I have your name?”
The older woman moaned in pain. “Trish Beauregard. Patricia.”
Red-faced, diaphoretic, but no obvious signs of trauma. No blood.
