The Pieces We Trade

1. Gray

This will not be a night that will change anything. There's no momentous feeling of buildup or anticipation. No excitement. Just the same Friday night motions I've been going through for the past three years. I'm just hoping there's still a chance for me to bargain my way out of this proposition.

I find myself in the midst of what can best be described as a warzone that, for the most part, resembles a bedroom. "If you believe you're getting me out of this room tonight without a fight," I warn. "I regret to inform you, you are sorely mistaken."

"I'm not worried," Fallon replies airily, trudging through the sea of makeup, hair products, and clothes that lay scattered on our bedroom floor. She casts a glance at me over her shoulder, a little smile playing at her lips. "The cavalry is already on its way."

I groan dramatically, hanging upside-down over the edge of my bed. Of all the things to do on a Friday night, attending a party filled with rich boys whose fashion sense doesn't stray from polos, khakis, and boat shoes—and who get handsy when they drink—is at the very bottom of my list. Right under brushing my teeth with sand-paper.

Normally I'm not one to pass up a frat party, but I've just spent the past hour freezing my ass off at a football game. And after winning by a landslide, it's pretty safe to assume the football guys will be in the mood to wreak a little havoc. Game nights render each and every one of them particularly insufferable. I just don't have the brain capacity to deal with that at the moment. Also, my room is warm and quiet and I have finally regained feeling in my hands. Wild dogs couldn't carry me from the spot in which I lay.

The door, which has been left ajar, swings open, and a tall figure stands at the threshold. "I heard," Jamie says, leaning his weight against the doorframe, "Someone was in need of my assistance."

Fallon, who at this point is three-quarters of the way inside the closet, casts him a bored glance before pointing at me. "She won't get up."

"Before you come any closer," I warn, "There's a curling iron right within my reach, and I won't hesitate to use it as a defense weapon."

Jamie laughs, closing the door behind him as he steps into the room and crosses the floor towards my bed. "If you were trying for a threat, it didn't work. 'Cause twisted upside-down, your little frown just looks like a smile." He crouches down to be at eye level with me, crossing his arms over his knees. "Cute try though."

I scowl at him and he smiles in return, pinching my cheek. "No weapons need to be drawn, since I'm not here for you anyway," he assures. "This was all part of my plan to infiltrate your dorm and steal your snacks." Jamie leans over and starts to rummage through the storage drawers under my bed.

I huff out a breath, swinging my legs to the side and sitting upright. "There's a burrito for you in that container over there," I tell him, "And before you ask, no it's not old, I got it on the way home. However, I am only 93% sure it's not been spat on. The lady was just about to close the stand when I got it."

Jamie tears open the tinfoil wrapper and takes a bite, never mind the health hazards, speaking through a mouthful of rice and beef. "You're a lifesaver," he sighs blissfully.

I'm not, though. He's just predictable and always forgets to eat after games. Content, he sits next to me on my bed and practically inhales his dinner.

"What about this one?" Fallon asks, holding up a little black dress she bought for me for my birthday last year. In the time Jamie and I have been occupied with food and conversation, she's changed into a red dress with thin straps, which looks exactly the same as the one she's holding out to me, just in a different color.

"You do realize that we're well into December, right?"

"Well, you know what they say," Fallon replies. "Bad bitches don't get cold."