Played
Authors: Natasha Stories
Played
By
Natasha Stories
Copyright 2014 by Natasha Stories
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States
of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or
artwork herein is prohibited. This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All rights reserved.
Warning: Sexual content. Intended for mature audiences over the age
of 18.
Table of Contents
"Damn! That guy is hot! Your
brother-in-law?"
My new roommate was referring to Russ, my
guardian. He and his wife Charity dropped me off at the dorm and then went
shopping for stuff to fix up my side of the room. I was missing my baby
daughter, Grace and was trying to be quiet to avoid the tears that threatened whenever
I thought of her. I knew she was safe and happy with Charity and my sisters,
but the thought of not seeing her for a month felt like a punch in the stomach.
"What? Oh, no, Russ is my foster father.
I know I look a little like Charity, but it's just a coincidence." I was
afraid that would open up a bunch more questions, but maybe if I didn't
volunteer to explain, she wouldn't pry.
"My name's Rihanna, what's
yours?" she asked. Good, a generic question, nothing about my family. My
screwed-up, impossible family, whom I loved dearly and who weren't my family at
all, really.
"Um, Janey. Hi, Rihanna, nice to meet
you," I said. My voice sounded stiff and cold, not good.
"So, they're coming back, right?"
she said.
"Yes. Charity wants to get me
something to make my side of the room look homey. I hope you don't mind,"
I said.
"Shit, no! This room needs all the
help it can get," she answered. I goggled at her a bit, unused to crass
language at home, though I was aware the cowboys swore all the time outside our
hearing.
"Um, yes, I agree," I said,
casting around for a topic of conversation that might sustain itself for more
than a yes, no, yes, no exchange. "What's your major, Rihanna?"
"Undeclared. I'm going to live a
little and decide later. Highly recommended, according to my mom. Not that
she's a great example.
Her
parents were hippies, you know, from the
sixties? Mom never had any structure in her life at all. But, that's another
story. What's yours?"
I was still processing these interesting
bits of information. Undeclared? I didn't know you could do that. My major was Education,
with a concentration in English. Charity's influence, though it wasn’t hard to
turn me into a reader. Russ's library was excellent, and I devoured everything Charity
suggested. I wondered what a hippie was. Charity always told me that the only
stupid question was the one you didn't ask, so I did.
"What's a hippie?"
Now it was Rihanna's turn to goggle at me.
"Where the hell are you from? What's a hippie? That's…that's fucking
stupid!"
My mouth dropped open. She was calling me
stupid
?
Not only that, but with that awful word to make it even worse? Tears gathered
in my eyes, and I bit the inside of my mouth to keep them from falling. I was
not stupid!
Rihanna’s expression turned compassionate.
"Oh, hey, I didn't mean
you
were stupid. I meant, well, I don't
know what the hell I meant. I never heard of someone who didn't know what a
hippie was. So, it was a kind of philosophy and way of living in my
grandparents' day. I'll explain later, it's okay. But, why don't you know? Are
you American? You sound American."
I felt a little better, though still
inadequate. "I was raised in Arizona," I said. "In a really
little town, with no TV or books. Russ and Charity took me in, along with my
sisters, and I've lived on a ranch in Wyoming for the last three years. No
hippies there, at least as far as I know." I tried on a little laugh,
then, wondering if I would ever fit in on a college campus that had more
students than my hometown had residents. Or, in the bigger city, Salt Lake
City, Utah, beyond the campus. I sighed. Probably not.
"Oh, jeez," she said, "I had
this wild thought you might be an alien or something." Laughing as if she
had told a really good joke, she looked over at me to see my face once again
blank.
"Don't tell me…you don't know what an
alien is, either, do you?" I shook my head, more confused than ever.
"Well, don't you worry, hon. I'm gonna
take care of you. Before you know it, you'll know everything. You'll be
partying and having a good time like the rest of us. Do you like pizza?" Rihanna’s
changes of subject were beginning to make me dizzy, but this question I could
answer without hesitation.
"Yes, when I've had it. Do you?"
"Are you shittin' me? I
live
for it and on it. It's my favorite food. Come on, my treat." Rihanna
hopped off her bed, skipped over to me and pulled me up from mine by the hand.
"We'll be right back, there's a Pie real close."
I went with her, mainly because there was
no choice, but also because I was curious to see this pie she mentioned, and
find out what it had to do with pizza. I left a note on the door for Russ and Charity
first, though.
Rihanna didn't let go of my hand all the
way down the stairs and out the front door of the dorm, dragging me as fast as
my sandals would take me to a nearby restaurant with a big sign that said The
Pie Pizzeria. Oh. I began to realize that I just needed to learn the language
she spoke, and Rihanna would indeed teach me everything I needed to know. My
spirits rose as I understood that she automatically counted me a friend, just
because we were roommates.
~~~
Russ and Charity came back bearing shopping
bags that dwarfed Russ as he struggled up the stairs with them. Charity had
picked out two bed-in-a-bag sets, one to have on the bed and one as a spare
when the first one needed laundering. Two big, fluffy towels and several throw
pillows along with the bed pillow. All in pink tones.
Rihanna’s eyes went wide when she saw it all,
but thank goodness she kept her opinion to herself. I had learned in the last
two hours that she spoke her mind without filters or regard for decent
language. I thought Russ and Charity would be okay with it, but I didn't need
to find out right now. I wanted to keep Rihanna as a roommate, because she was
my total opposite. I could learn a lot from her.
On our way to The Pie, she had learned far
more about me than I had about her. She now knew I was an Education major, and
that Russ and Charity would be back after fall break to help me shop for a car
that they would pay for. That Russ was also putting me through school, and that
I had no other family besides my guardians and my sisters. I managed to keep my
early background private, as well as the fact that I had a daughter. Maybe we'd
become good enough friends to share that, maybe not. I wanted to wait and see.
"It's so awesome that your guardian is
putting you through college! Most foster parents are just in it for the
money," she opined.
"He and Charity have been wonderful.
We were very lucky," I said.
We continued to share information about
ourselves until Russ and Charity arrived with all the pink stuff, and then Rihanna
fell silent while they were in the room with us. When they left, the breath
whooshed out of her as if she'd been holding it. "Oh, my God, if I see one
more square inch of pink, I'm going to be sick," she exclaimed.
"I'm sorry," I said, helplessly.
"Charity's led kind of a sheltered life, too. She probably thought I would
love all this girlie stuff. I'll put it away."
"Oh, don't mind me, I'll get used to
it. Hey, let's go hang out and watch boys," she crowed.
We spent the next hour watching students
come and go, sometimes with parents in tow, sometimes in groups. The boys
weren't as well built as the cowboys at Russ's ranch, who got their muscles
from hard work. I watched Rihanna for clues about how to act, giggling when she
made a remark about someone's appearance. My new roommate kept me laughing
until it was time to go in.
I had little time to adjust before classes
started, just two days after the Saturday that Russ and Charity left me on my
own in the dorm. Charity, already beginning to show with her second pregnancy,
hugged me awkwardly and assured me for the millionth time that Grace would be
just fine. She had her half-brother, Amber's little boy, to keep her company,
and to tell the truth, none of the kids much cared who was Mommy and who was an
aunt. Unfortunately, Charity made these revelations without thinking, with Rihanna
all ears.
Once all the hugs, tears and reassurances
were done and my guardians gone for good this time, Rihanna coughed. I turned
to look at her, finding her eyes big as saucers.
"You have a
baby
? I thought
Amber was your
sister
," she hissed. "You guys both have babies
by the same father? Oh, shit! Oh,
fuck
!" she cried, becoming
agitated. "Was it
your
father? Is that why they took you all away
from him? Omigod!"
I sighed. It was plain I'd have to tell her
the whole story, before she spun a tale that was even worse than the reality,
which was bad enough. "Sit down, Ri," I said. "I'll tell you
everything."
So I did, with Rihanna punctuating my tale
every few seconds with a groan or little scream. No one I knew lived life as
large as my new roommate. I actually liked her for it. I was rapidly becoming
aware that I'd settled into motherhood far too early and needed to catch up on
some fun. I made short work of the story, though, because I had no wish to
relive it.
"Have you ever heard of polygamists, Ri?"
I started.
"You mean those guys that marry
umpteen young wives and make them wear old-fashioned dresses and funny
hairstyles? Yeah, they're all over the place, why?"
"I was raised in a polygamist
community," I said, my hands beginning to shake. I sat on them to keep
them still. I'd tried to put all of this out of my mind. Remembering was tough.
"My husband,
our
husband, had seventeen wives, including five of us
who were underage when Charity ran away from the compound. She found Russ and
asked him to rescue us. Then he turned Jed in, and took us in because we all
had children and we'd have been separated from them in the normal foster
system. My sisters aren't blood sisters—we called ourselves sister-wives until
we decided we'd just be sisters."
"Omigod, like the TV show!" Rihanna
squealed.
"I don't know about any TV show. We
didn't have it growing up, so we didn't really watch it on the ranch, just
turned the educational shows on for the kids in the mornings," I explained.
"That's why I don't know anything about the world."
"That is so…craycray!"
"Sorry?" I'd developed this
shorthand for 'what the hell are you talking about'; it didn't take as long, or
make me an object of curiosity while we were in public.
"Crazy. Over the top, wild," she
explained.
"Oh, right. Listen, Ri, I don't want
everyone to know about this, okay? I'm weird enough, not understanding slang or
knowing how to dress and all. Can it be just between us?"
"I'm down with that. I mean, sure,
okay. Shit, this is seriously heavy stuff." She was beginning to get it. I
had hopes that I could improve her vocabulary so she'd speak English, while
learning a bit of my own. For example, 'shit' seemed to be a good, all-purpose
tool. I was beginning to enjoy her liberal use of 'fuck', too. Maybe I'd add
that to my vocabulary; it felt deliciously naughty.
"So," Ri continued. "I'm
guessing you've never partied or anything, am I right?"
"You're right," I confirmed.
"So let's find a party and get
shitfaced tonight, then we'll have all day tomorrow to get it together for
classes on Monday," she suggested. Shitfaced, I knew. The cowboys used
that one. I'd never had a drink, was still underage for it and I suspected Rihanna
was too.
"How?" I started to ask.
"We'll have to get you a fake ID.
C'mon, I know someone." Once again, I found myself dragged by the hand out
of the dorm and into the warm late-summer sunshine of Salt Lake City. Telling
myself not to think, just go with Rihanna, I plastered a smile on my face and
hurried to catch up to her so she wouldn't be dragging me. She was babbling
about taking me to a consignment store and dressing me properly, and I began to
catch her excitement.
~~~
Our first stop was at a print shop, where Rihanna
spoke quietly to a boy who had terrible skin and what I took for earrings,
though they looked more like wheels for a tiny car, in both ears. I amused
myself by looking through the enormous holes in the center to see what was
behind him. After a moment, he nodded, and Ri gestured for me to follow them.
The boy, whose name was apparently Scrud, took a picture of me and told us to
come back in an hour.
After that, we went to a consignment store,
which turned out to be used clothing. When I told Rihanna I could afford new,
she just shook her head and went into the store anyway. We came out with a
bewildering array of leggings, short skirts, long tops, scarves and even a pair
of knee-high boots. Rihanna promised she'd show me how to put them all together
later, but said we weren't through.
It was time to go back to the print shop
and see what Scrud had done for an ID for me. Although I had a valid Wyoming
driver's license, Rihanna explained that this one would get me into clubs and
allow me to be served a drink. A little thrill of excitement went through me
then. Alcohol was forbidden in my upbringing, not really available on the ranch
except for wine, and in any case, I wasn't old enough. Rihanna swept all that
away.
"Oh, for godsakes, everyone I know has
been drinking since they were fourteen. Live a little," she scoffed.
"I'm down with that," I grinned.
In response, she grinned back, then formed her right hand into a fist and held
it out in front of her. I looked at it, puzzled, until it dawned on me that I
was supposed to make a fist myself and touch hers with it. As soon as I did,
she smiled even bigger and splayed her fingers out with an exaggerated gesture,
which I copied. All I had to do was follow her lead and no one would know I
didn't have a clue what I was doing. It was too bad we didn't have any classes
in common.
We picked up the false Utah driver's
license from the print shop, and I turned over one hundred dollars in cash to
the unattractive Scrud. Comparing mine to Ri's real one, I realized why it had
been worth that kind of money. Scrud turned out to be an artist. I wondered
when he'd begin to branch out into counterfeit currency. Then Ri pulled out her
fake ID, which had a birthday three years earlier than the one on her real one,
and other than that it was identical to the naked eye. These would pass muster,
I suspected, and began to visualize what it would be like, walking into a club
as if I owned the place, ordering a drink, flirting…
"Hey, Ri?" I said.
"Yeah?"
"What should I order to drink?"
"How should I know? What do you like?
Oh, right, you don't know. Better start with something that isn't too hard.
Maybe a rum and coke," she said.
"What does it taste like?" I
asked.
"Like coke, with something sweet in
it. It'll probably burn going down, and it'll warm you up," she explained,
inadequately as I learned later.
"Gotcha," I said.
Nothing except the TV shows I'd missed,
maybe, could have prepared me for the reality of a club. Rihanna explained that
up until a few years ago, the darkness, confusing moving lights, and overwhelming
noise would have been accompanied by heavy cigarette smoke, but now smoking
indoors was banned, even in the bars and clubs. I was happy about that. After
the first, too-large, swallow of rum and coke, I don't think my lungs could
have taken smoke, too. I sputtered and tears came to my eyes as I coughed. Rihanna
laughed and clapped me on the back until I got my breath.
"Just sip it for a while," she
said. This time, the alcohol didn't steal my breath, and it actually tasted
good.
A couple of young men noticed us, then came
over to us and asked if we'd like to share their table. Since it was standing
room only, we accepted, and, in the short intervals between songs, introduced
ourselves. As soon as I said 'freshman', a long look passed between them, and Rihanna
kicked me under the table. After the guys got up and left, abandoning their
table, Ri said, "Remember, you're supposed to be twenty-one, even though
you look about seventeen.
Don't
say freshman. If you have to admit
you're a college student, make it a senior."
"Sorry, Ri. Did you like either of
them? I'm sorry I chased them away," I really did feel bad. It still
hadn't registered just how many fish there were in this sea.
"Nah, don't worry. There'll be
others."
We left that club, Rihanna worrying that
the guys we were talking to might alert the club manager that we were underage.
We soon found another, though, and I managed not to put my foot in my mouth. We
stayed until closing, at one in the morning, and Rihanna called a taxi because
she couldn't keep both of us from falling over. I hadn't paid much attention to
how many drinks I'd had, but I really didn't feel odd while we were dancing.
Only when I tried to walk straight did I realize that I was, as she said,
shitfaced.
~~~
On Sunday, I couldn't remember much of the
night before and my mouth tasted dreadful. Rihanna said we had hangovers, and
we should drink lots of water and stay quiet until it went away. I hoped I'd
feel better by the next day, as I had my freshman English Lit survey class at
eight a.m. At least I didn't have the headache Rihanna did. She said it was
because I stuck to one kind of drink, while she'd been switching between
kamikazes and Long Island Iced Tea. I'd had a taste of each, but I didn't like
the kamikaze. I told her next time I was going to drink the iced tea, and she
laughed, but only one short bark before she clutched her head and moaned.
So far, this idea of living a little was a
wash. I thought I'd had fun on Saturday night, but on Sunday, I couldn't
remember what was fun about it, and I felt like I had the flu. It didn't stop
me from wanting more, though. Surely, if all those other people at the club did
this regularly, the fun eventually outweighed the hangovers.
Monday came too early, and I found my way
to my classroom, iPad in a shoulder bag along with my wallet holding both IDs.
The English Lit survey class was going to be boring, I discovered. I'd read
every book represented in the anthology that was the only textbook already.
After class, I caught the professor while he was packing up his stuff and asked
if there was a way just to take a test and pass, since this was a required
class for my major. He had been looking at what he was doing instead of at me,
but now he looked up, surprised.
"You've read all of these works?
Beowulf? Dr. Faustus?" he queried.
"Yes, sir. My guardian's library is
quite extensive," I said.
"Well, I suppose I could give you the
final, and if you pass, you pass. However, I doubt, without hearing the
discussions…No, it's quite impossible. I'm afraid you'll have to suffer through
the class, young lady."
It was disappointing, but I did have one
alternative. I planned to ask my adviser if there were a way to take the test
and pass, so I could take a more interesting English class.
I wasn't taking a particularly heavy load of
classes because Russ thought I might need to ease into it. I´d never had a
normal high school classroom experience, much less college. Homework for my
first semester classes consisted mainly of reading the textbooks, so when I got
back to the dorm ahead of Rihanna, I took the time to do the reading. Unless I
missed my guess, we'd be off on another adventure as soon as Rihanna was back.
On Wednesday, I socialized a bit before
class started, so I was startled to see the professor gesturing to me before he
called the class to order. "See me after class, young lady."
"Yes, sir."
Dutifully, I presented myself at the podium
as the other students filed out. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes. I understand you went to your
adviser for an alternative to taking this class," he said, peering at me
over the top of his reading glasses.
"Yes, sir. I feel I could pass the
test and be able to use my time more productively." If he thought a mere
freshman presumptive for such brave words, he suppressed any sign of it.
"Very well. Your adviser has asked me
to give you last year's test, so that if you don't pass it, this year's won't
be compromised. When are you done with classes today?" he said.
"At three, sir," I answered, my
spirits lifting.
"Come to my office at three and I'll
administer the test. If you pass, you'll get credit for this course and can
late-register for another of your choice. Good luck." To my surprise, he
smiled at me. I'd thought he was annoyed at my request. I smiled back, thanked
him, and skipped out, energized. I had nearly an hour left before my next class,
so I spent it on the ground under a tree, reviewing the material in Norton's
Anthology by skimming through the Table of Contents. In fact, every spare
moment between then and three o'clock was spent doing the same, and when I
arrived in the professor's office, I was confident I'd do fine.
