In Your Room (4 page)

He scanned the room to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything else, when he noticed that he had left the picture of Sylvia lying faceup on his desk. He picked it up and looked at it one last time before shoving it in his top desk drawer.

He was about to leave when at the last second he decided to lock the drawer with the small gold key that normally dangled from the desk. He then took the key out and put it in an old Nike shoe box that was lying around. He had no idea who would be staying in his room for the summer, and he didn’t really care, but there were some things he wanted to keep private.

He was just tall enough to reach the top of the bookcase, where he placed the shoe box, just out of sight, for safekeeping until he got back.

He zipped up his bag and walked out the door.

It was dark when they arrived, but the moonlight was bright enough to illuminate parts of the surrounding mountains. They were so close it felt like you could touch them, and there was no telling how high or wide they extended, the moon only allowing certain parts to be exposed at that hour.

“This is magnificent,” Laura said in awe as they slid out of the car.

“Why don’t you two go in and get settled. I’ll unpack,” Ron suggested.

“Don’t be silly, honey, I’ll help you. Molls, you go ahead and pick a room,” Laura said, unlocking the front door and turning on the hall lights.

“I’ll get that,” Molly said, intercepting Ron as he removed her laptop from the trunk.

“Oh, sure, sorry.” He handed it over. “State secrets?”

“Something like that.” Molly awkwardly took the computer, juggling it a little before gaining control.
Why is it always
so
uncomfortable interacting with Ron?
she wondered.

The wood-cabin aroma that assaulted her when she walked down the front hall made it seem like they were moving into a sauna. Not surprising when every available surface seemed to be paneled.

The downstairs was basic: living room, dining room, kitchen. And the décor reflected the style, or lack thereof, of people who were too busy to care about material things, kind of like Ron’s old apartment, which was a hodgepodge of secondhand furniture. Luckily, none of it had ended up in their house when he moved in. Whoever lived here still used a corded phone that sat atop a table in the front hall, like a relic from another era.

She made her way up the stairs and poked her head into the first room off the landing. Twin beds with matching pink comforters lined the back wall, which was also pink; two fuchsia beanbags slouched on the floor, and a long desk with two chairs faced the window. The desk’s ivory surface peeked through the neat rows of sparkly stickers pasted on top. Had she been about five years younger, this room might have been a possibility, but there was no way she could bear reliving her “pink phase” for an entire summer.

Moving on, she discovered what was clearly a candidate for master bedroom: a queen-size bed, a simple vanity, a rocking chair with hand-knit throws folded on top, a wall of bookshelves, with the overflow stacked in semi-neat piles against all the remaining wall space, and a tattered Persian rug haphazardly tossed over the scratched hardwood floor.

A quick look through door number three revealed a home office with an antiquated desktop and more book piles. With one room left, Molly crossed her fingers. She hoped it would be a magical oasis, perfectly suited to her taste and needs. She tentatively opened the door to complete blackness. With the curtains drawn closed, not an ounce of moonlight entered the room. She pawed around, first on the wall to the right, then to the left,
inching into the room, finally snagging her finger on a switch. The lights were the eco-friendly fluorescent kind, which had recently, because of Ron, appeared in her house as well. They lit up gradually like a dimmer in reverse. As the room glowed more brightly, Molly’s summer fate was revealed—a full (thankfully not twin) bed, a desk, a dresser, and a few torn posters haphazardly tacked to the blue walls that still had masking tape stuck to the molding, left over from the last time it was painted. The room was devoid of any personality or style.
The guy who lives here must be a total bore
, she thought, standing in the middle of the room, taking it all in.

“Here you go.” Ron appeared in the doorway, gripping her overstuffed suitcases in each hand.

“Oh, thanks. You can put them over here, I guess,” she said, pointing to the floor by the dresser.

He brought them in and took a look around the room. “You okay in here?”

No, not really
, she wanted to say, but that would only make things more awkward, since there was nothing either of them could do about it.

“Yup,” she fibbed, “I’m good.”

“Your mom’s downstairs making hot chocolate. Want some?”

“I’m actually really tired, so can you tell her I’ll see her in the morning?”

“Sure thing. Sleep well. We’re just down the hall if you need us.”

Molly felt a slight jab in her gut.
We?
She wasn’t used to her mother being part of a “we” that didn’t include her.

When Ron left she closed the door, stripped down to a T-shirt and underwear, turned out the lights, and ran across the room to the bed. Once settled, she turned on the lamp on the night table.

“No. Way,” Molly said, peeling back the flattened navy blue comforter.
“NO. WAY.” She got out of bed and pulled the comforter all the way back, revealing the sheets beneath, populated with various
Star Wars
characters, including the unbearable Jar Jar Binks.

Ugh! Thankfully it was warm enough that she didn’t need anything covering her, so she smoothed the comforter back over the bed and lay down on top. It was just too weird sleeping in some strange guy’s sheets, which for all she knew were still dirty. She wished she had thought about bringing her own.

She reached down for her computer bag by the bed and flipped open her laptop.

“Thank you, wireless,” she exclaimed when the prompt appeared asking her if she would like to join the “actnow” wireless network, and moved her mouse to click yes.

“Please be online, please be online,” Molly quietly repeated as she logged onto AOL instant messenger, hoping to see Celeste’s name in her buddy list. She had a desperate need to vent, but Rina was on her way to India, and she knew there was basically no chance Celeste would be home on a Saturday night. She had to settle for e-mail instead.

Molly hit send and closed her laptop. She turned out the lights and got up to open the curtains. “Wow,” she said, looking up at the stars. She was unaccustomed to seeing those tiny, twinkling lights in smog-filled Los Angeles, especially not this many. She lay down on her back so she could look out the window.

With the light cast from the moon and stars, she could still make out the contours of the surrounding mountains. Some were in fact snowcapped, and, like Celeste had said, it seemed like they were fifty thousand feet high—too high for Molly to ever reach.

• • •

“Palm trees,” Charlie said, as the minivan pulled into the driveway between two towering trunks. “I guess that means we’re here.”

“Palm trees don’t even come from L.A.,” Heather piped up on her way out of the car.

“How do you know that?” he asked, unfastening the straps on the bicycle rack.

“The Internet,” she said, like it was obvious.

“You know what they say,” he warned. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

“But this is true!” she insisted. “Everyone thinks they grow here, but they bring them in on trucks.”

Charlie scoffed. Was
anything
about this place real? He helped Sally unpack while Lisa led the girls inside and got them settled.

“Let’s deal with all this tomorrow,” Sally said once the bags were in the house. “It’s been a long day and we’re all pooped.”

“Good idea,” Charlie said.

Lisa, having taken a tour of the house, directed Charlie to what was to be his room for the next two months.

“Sleep well,” she said, kissing him good night. “I’ll make a big breakfast in the morning and we can figure out what we’re going to do.”

“Sounds good, Mom.” He turned around before going in and hugged her. He hadn’t shown either of his parents much affection since they dropped the house swap bomb. But he knew they were trying, and it was about time he did too.

“Good night, kiddo.”

Charlie pushed the door open wider and stepped in.

“What the…?” He walked in farther to get a better look. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

He had long ago come to terms with living in a girl-centric house, but he drew the line at sleeping in a girl’s
room.
He paced the floor, taking in the delicate floral pattern on the comforter, the candles adorning every available surface, and, worst of all, the girl collage—a four-by-six-foot corkboard on one wall, papered with pictures of indistinguishable girls. The room reminded him of Sylvia’s, as if there were a secret code to which all teenage girls adhered.

He went back out in the hall and counted the number of rooms—three, including the one he’d been assigned, and he noticed there weren’t any downstairs. He opened the door to his sisters’ room and went in.

“You didn’t knock!” Mia called out from the dark.

He fumbled around and turned on the lights, revealing Mia and Heather lying in single beds divided by a nightstand, pushed against the back wall, evenly spaced between the windows. A small writing desk abutted the left wall, and a tall dresser on the right completed the furnishings. The room’s décor was limited to a few etchings of birds and wildlife, and rows of old
National Geographic
s were stacked in the corner. Charlie would have taken this room any day, but the twin beds explained why it had been assigned to the girls. He was convinced, however, that once they got a peek at “his” room they would beg to switch, much preferring the opportunity to sleep surrounded by stuffed animals and collages.

But in the same moment he realized there was no way his moms would agree to the trade. They had been trying to encourage the girls to develop independent friends and interests, and separate beds were a major part of the effort.

Charlie sighed, turned off the lights, shut the door, and went back to “his” room. Everything seemed so clean, including the white rug that spread
across the middle of the floor. The duffel bag he’d absentmindedly tossed on top of the cluster of white pillows neatly arranged on the bed suddenly looked dirtier and more ragged than ever. He looked down at his sneakers and noticed the dried mud still caked around them from his ride the night before. He would have preferred sleeping in the cave all summer than here, worrying about what he was going to stain or ruin.

Once he put the bag on the floor, the bed looked so inviting. He was at least psyched to sleep on such a huge mattress all summer. He kicked off his shoes and threw his clothes on the floor. Since he didn’t know what to do about all the pillows, he just lay down on top of them. He expected it to feel weird and uneven but it was surprisingly comfortable.

“Meow.”

He sat up and scanned the room. A cat? Did these people have a cat? No one had mentioned it, at least not that he could recall. He’d been paying so little attention, he didn’t know anything much about the people who lived there.

“Meow.”

He walked around, following the plaintive sound, and was led to the open window, where a plump gray cat sat on the other side. The cat greeted Charlie with another meow, this one less mournful, followed by a steady stream of purring when Charlie patted its head.

“Who are you, little guy?” Charlie asked. “How’d you get up here?” He leaned his head out the window, spotting the trellis of bougainvillea climbing the wall to the second-floor ledge.

“Want to come inside?” He tried to lure the cat in, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Are you thirsty? Is that what’s going on?” He took a half-finished Evian
bottle from his backpack, emptied some change from a dish on the desk, and poured out water. He placed the dish on the sill but the cat ignored it and continued to squawk, staring right up at Charlie with its ice-blue eyes. “I’m not who you were expecting, am I?”

“Meow.”

Charlie went over to the desk and found an old piece of mail to get the name of the girl who lived there. He then took out his laptop, got online, and did a Facebook search to find a way to contact her.

Since everyone was asleep and knew less about cats than he did, maybe Molly Hill could tell him what to do to please this fat little gray one.