I don’t hate her.
—
I wake up the next morning on the hardwood floor underneath the open window, a fleece blanket over me, and one of the lumpy pillows from the couch tucked under my head.
I feel something on my forehead, and frown, peeling off a fluorescent pink sticky note and squinting at the loopy cursive.
Couldn’t wake you up. Gone to get groceries. (Shocking, I know). Be back in a bit.—M
I smile at the tiny M, rubbing the spot on my forehead where the sticky note had been, last night washing back over me, my stomach fluttering with butterflies as I think about…
Beep, beep, beep!
I rip the fleece blanket off, fumbling around until I find my phone, the screen lighting up to show my 10:05 a.m., YOU’RE LATE FOR CLASS alarm.
Oh crap. I jump up, the butterflies floating straight out the open window as my back splinters into a thousand pieces, a night of sleeping on the floor taking its toll.
Throwing the blanket and the pillows back on the couch, I limp-run into my room, closing the door behind me and sliding into my desk chair. I manage to log in before the actual lesson starts, saved by my Calculus II teacher wrestling with technological difficulties and slow Wi-Fi.
I try to pay attention and take notes, but I find myself distracted by every little noise on the other side of the door, my head swimming with thoughts of Mia.
About halfway through the lesson on parametric equations, I finally hear her come back, the front door creaking open, the sound of her feet shuffling back and forth across the floor as she sanitizes everything in the hallway before bringing it inside.
I pull my eyes away from my professor’s face, holding my breath and listening as she moves, from the entryway, to the kitchen, and then eventually back to her room, the door closing behind her as my heart dances noisily around inside my chest.
I’m so deep in thought I barely realize when class ends. And even after it’s over, I don’t budge from my seat.
In fact, I hide in my room for most of the day, trying, and failing, to study for my Art History exam on Monday, my new and unexpected feelings much easier to deal with when I don’t have to see that smug smirk and those cool blue eyes and the newly discovered dimple on her right cheek that appears only when she smiles.
Sighing, I pull open my desk drawer and stare at the pile of double-A batteries sitting at the bottom.
I roll my eyes and lean back in my chair. Get ahold of yourself, Allie.
Never in a million years would I have predicted this. A crush. On Mia. Infuriating, annoying, keeps-me-up-all-night Mia.
But I can’t help but feel like…something shifted between us last night. All of our months of head-butting and frustration and animosity changed shape into something else entirely.
For me, at least.
Does she…could she…feel the same way?
I groan, in part because my back decides to hit me with an alarmingly painful post-floor-sleep twinge, and in part because I am stuck in an apartment for the foreseeable future with a girl I thought I despised, but really like a whole heck of a lot.
—
My room is still dark when I wake up.
Rubbing my eyes, I reach out for my phone, the illuminated screen blaring out 2:53, only minutes before Mia’s usual middle-of-the-night, post-studying kitchen pop concert.
I roll over on my side and stare at the faint light trickling into my room from underneath the door frame, my ears straining for the familiar music that’s blared its way across our apartment every night for over a week.
I wait and I listen, tossing and turning.
3:00 comes and goes. 3:05. Then 3:10.
Soon, it’s almost a quarter past, and there’s still nothing. Only an ear-ringing silence.
Is she awake?
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pull back my covers and get out of bed, padding across the floor to my bedroom door.
I pull it open, peeking outside to see that the kitchen light is on. Creeping across the living room, I pop my head around the corner to see Mia in a staring contest with the toaster oven, two slices of cinnamon raisin bread getting steadily crispier on the other side of the glass.
My stomach flip-flops at the sight of her.
She’s humming away, a pair of white earbuds sticking out of her ears, the cord looping its way down to her cellphone, tucked safely into her back pocket.
A pair of earbuds?
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I storm across the kitchen and pull the left one out of her ear, shaking my head in disbelief. “Mia. You’ve had these this entire time?”
She jumps in surprise at my sudden and very unexpected appearance.
“Jesus, Allie,” she says, clutching at her chest. “It is three in the morning. You can’t just sneak up on someone like that.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Uh…yeah,” she says, her eyes flicking down to the earbud in my hand, and then back up to meet my glower.
“And you didn’t use them because….?”
“Because if I’d used them you wouldn’t have come out here to yell at me every single night.” She leans closer and grabs the earbud back from me, the corner of her mouth ticking up into that familiar smirk of hers. A smirk that’s more charming than infuriating now, the dimple on her right cheek appearing as it transforms into a smile.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but smile back, something about her words making me feel the tiniest bit hopeful.
“Why would you want me to come out here and yell at you every single night?”
“Well…” She swallows, her voice trailing off. “Well, with quarantine and all, you’re pretty much the only person I see. And you’re in your room most of the time, so, you know…it can get
