Little Distractions Read online

  Little Distractions

  by K.G. Brightwell

  While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  LITTLE DISTRACTIONS

  First edition. June 21, 2022.

  Copyright © 2022 KG Brightwell.

  ISBN: 979-8201944728

  Written by KG Brightwell.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Little Distractions

  1 Mission

  2 Collision

  3 Classics

  4 Recital

  5 Take Care

  6 Substitute

  7 Roomies

  8 Twenty Questions

  9 Welcome

  10 Asian Adonis

  11 Thanks

  12 Gaylandia

  13 Results Inconclusive

  14 Hookups

  15 Person

  16 Changes

  17 Weeks

  18 Honesty

  19 Stage Lights

  20 Babysitter

  21 Normal

  22 Plans

  23 Scenic Route

  24 Camping

  25 Check-in

  26 Amenities

  27 Dinner Date

  28 Trouble

  29 Roman Holiday

  30 Morning

  31 Shameless

  32 Found

  33 Fabulous (Middle School)

  34 Courage (High School)

  35 Swipe Left (College)

  36 Otherwise Engaged

  37 Not a Drag Ball

  38 Final

  39 Careful

  40 Neanderthal

  41 Range of Motion

  42 Spring Semester

  43 Leave

  44 Job Prospects

  45 Betrayal

  46 Visit

  47 Internships

  48 When it Rains it Pours

  49 Surprise

  50 Repairs

  51 Visitor

  52 Away

  53 Sorry

  54 Silent

  55 Home

  About the Author

  For Nami who gave me a push in the right direction

  Freshman Year

  1 Mission

  People aren’t really my thing. That might be an understatement. I don’t much like the phone either, but since Tea is one of the few people I can stand, I agreed to these weekly calls. She calls them “proof of life.” As if I’m being held hostage on my college campus.

  “So, Richard, are you making any friends? Or are you being your usual self?”

  “Forget it. I don’t actually want to talk to you,” I say. “Hanging up now."

  Tea laughs. “Is your roommate still irritating the crap out of you?”

  “Who, Matt the stoner? No. He’s not here much anymore. Haven’t seen him in more than a week when he stopped by to get his soccer cleats. He has his own stoner girlfriend now with off-campus housing. I pretty much have a super single.”

  “Sounds super.”

  I sit down and put my feet up on my desk. There is no way to be comfortable in this room. The bed is too narrow. The desk is too low. The chair doesn’t even lean back. I hate the shade of the curtains. They’re in between royal blue and steel gray. I think they only became this color after years of constant exposure to sunlight. They look tired. I never thought I cared about these things. Apparently, I do.

  “I guess this Matt person is not going to be your new bestie at college.” she says.

  “Bestie? Really?” I pick up a pen from the desk and twirl it between my fingers.

  “Yeah. You know, close pal, buddy, partner in crime, compadre?”

  “I know what the word means. And no. He’s not a bad guy, but Matt will not be my ‘bestie.’ I don’t need one anyway. I came to college to get a degree, not make friends. The course load for biochem is killer—twice as many lab classes as the other majors. I can’t afford distractions.”

  I know Tea is frowning. I can hear it in her voice. “If by ‘distractions’ you mean human contact, you are wrong. You are so very, very wrong. Okay, maybe bestie isn’t the right word. But Richard, you can’t stay in your room every day and only come out for meals and classes.”

  “Have you been spying on me?”

  Tea laughs. “I’ve known you for a while now. And I’m telling you that you need to take off your lab coat once in a while and socialize with other humans. You, my friend, need to find your people.”

  “Yes. Well, as you say, you’ve known me for a while. And I don’t like people. This is the chief benefit of having a super single.”

  “Fine. I’ll cut you some slack.” Tea sighs. “We can start slow first semester. Forget ‘people.’ But at least find a person. I’m not saying you need to become some sort of social butterfly and attend epic campus parties. But I’m afraid you will need to talk to more than one individual in order to find an appropriate candidate.”

  I stop fiddling with the pen and set it on my desk. “Candidate for what?”

  “For your bestie. Weren’t you listening?”

  “I thought we decided against the use of that term. And against the waste of time trying to find this mythical person.” The light is shining in my eyes through a gap in the tired curtains. I turn in my chair to face the other direction.

  “So. Not bestie. I get it. What term would you prefer? Best buddy? BFF?”

  “No. I’d prefer if you left it alone. I’m fine. Look, it’s not like I’m hidden away from the world in some cave. It’s a big campus. I spend enough time outside my room. And I talk to plenty of people.”

  “Really?” Tea pauses. “Prove it. What’s your lab partner’s name?”

  “Uh...” I actually can’t remember her name. “Chem?”

  “Sure, chem. Or biology. Either one. Who’s your lab partner?”

  “No. That’s her name—my lab partner for chemistry. I call her Chem. She calls me Bio. Gives me crap about majoring in biochem since she’s straight up applied.”

  Tea pauses to let this information sink in before saying, “So... you’re telling me that you don’t even know the name of this person you spend hours and hours with every week?”

  “Possibly. Unless her name is actually Chem. It could be. You never know.”

  Tea scoffs. “Okay, we’ll start even smaller. Your assignment is to find out her actual name. I’ll give you the whole week to muster up the courage to ask her.”

  “It’s not courage. It’s that I don’t care what her name is. I don't like her. And she smells like dryer lint.”

  “You don’t need to like her. This is practice for speaking to someone more likely to suit our purposes. Think of it as training to be an actual functioning human. Ask her name. Tell her yours. Make small talk.”

  “Can we appreciate the irony of you trying to teach me to make small talk.”

  “Hush. I’m a pro now.”

  I laugh harder than I expect at that, partially falling off the chair before clearing my throat so I can speak again. “Yeah. I’m sure that’s true.”

  I am completely unprepared for Tea to shout into my ear when she gets a sudden flash of inspiration. “Oh! I’ve got it! Forget finding out Chem’s name. That is no longer your mission for the week. You, my friend, are going to attend a freshman orientation activity,” Tea says triumphantly.

  “Pretty sure I’ve already been orientated.” I’ve been at school for a month.

  “Nope. If you had been successfully orientated you would be out with actual people instead of forcing me to speak on the phone.”

  “Who’s forci
ng who? I can always hang up.”

  Tea ignores me. “Okay. I found it. I love when they put such detailed schedules out in the universe for all to see. There is a freshman mingle in your dorm this afternoon. Go. Think of it as an early birthday present.”

  “This is the crappiest birthday present I’ve ever received. And my sister once gave me a pair of used socks.”

  “I meant an early present for me. Seriously Richard, I worry about you.”

  “Why? I’m not getting in any trouble with administration, I haven’t stormed out of any classes, my grades are better than expected, and the cafeteria serves brownies with fudge icing on Fridays. Life couldn’t be better.”

  “Person,” Tea says firmly. “Mingle. Go.”

  “This will make you happy?” I ask.

  “Ecstatic.”

  “Okay.”

  “Really? That easy?” She sounds shocked.

  “Don’t get all excited. It wasn’t because of your amazing powers of persuasion. I’m going as a favor to you. So you know that you don’t need to worry.” When Tea gets worried, she sometimes worries herself right into the hospital. Only once, and it was for reasons, but I don’t want to bring her any more stress than she brings on herself.

  “Okay bye!” Tea sounds overly excited.

  “Wait, just like that? Done talking? What about filling me in on how things are going with you? Aren’t these regular phone calls supposed to be two-way conversations? I know I suck at small talk, but I am familiar with the concept of dialogue.”

  “Yeah. Whatever. We can catch up later. I don’t want you to miss out. What if your person is waiting?”

  I don’t tell her this, but I’m pretty sure that she’s my person.

  There are posters up in the hall advertising this afternoon’s event. I’ve managed to avoid participating in any scheduled activities in the dorm since opening week. I wonder if all the dorms have so much programming or if it’s just the ones that cater to first-year students.

  Grey waves at me from across the lobby. It looks like they will be running the mixer or whatever. Good. I actually like Grey.

  “Richard! I’m so glad you could make it,” they say with a smile.

  I nod. “Yeah. I promised a friend.” Their hair looks different, but I’m not sure how.

  “You like it? The hair?”

  Oh. I remember. Their hair used to be dark brown. Now there are silver highlights. “It’s like your name. It suits you.”

  “Thanks!” Grey smiles.

  Grey is one of the first people I met here and one of the few people I know by name. They’re the resident assistant for my hall, and have a room directly across from me.

  I don’t know anyone else at the mixer or mingle or whatever, and I’m not sure I want to. I am even less interested in meeting new people after a tall guy across the room calls out, “Grey told us to stand over here, didn’t she?”

  Idiot.

  How hard is it to remember someone’s pronouns? We have all lived here for a month. Grey being nonbinary is not new. I mean, sure I don’t know anyone else here by name—but there are only four RAs in the building, and even I know them all on sight.

  Grey has us do a bunch of stupid ice breakers. If some teacher was requiring this in a class I would probably walk out, but Grey’s a nice enough person, so I go along with their plans. I follow directions. I behave. Mostly.

  Of course I only manage to behave by avoiding the people who have already managed to get on my nerves. The tall dude who can’t remember pronouns steers clear of me on his own. I think he caught me glaring after he misgendered Grey.

  After doing some aimless wandering and answering pointless questions, we do this activity where we put one of our shoes in a pile and then have to locate the person whose shoe we have. We’re supposed to get to know them somehow. This doesn’t seem like the basis for any kind of friendship.

  My shoe is picked up by some kid from India named Ravi. We talk for a while. He asks me some questions. All I remember about him is that he is a music composition major, and we both wear size ten.

  The person whose shoe I picked up is a girl from right here in Indiana who uses a wheelchair. She’s white, has very long hair and a crooked nose. She tells me she had to threaten a lawsuit against the college so they would correct the slope on the ramp to our building. She’s a design major and did some genius modifications to her chair. She seems badass. I don’t remember her name; it was something unusual.

  None of the kids I talk to are majoring in science. They are mostly fine arts and humanities. The chem and bio labs are clear on the other side of campus, so it makes sense there aren’t a lot of science majors here. It never occurred to me how much the dorms would be segregated by major. The walk across campus is not a hardship.

  I didn’t choose this place for its location. Hanover was the old student center. It has a small movie theater and bowling alley in the basement. That’s why I picked this dorm, as far away from the science labs as it is.

  I don’t care about bowling, but I do care about movies. Genre doesn’t matter much to me. Lately I’ve been partial to older films for whatever reason. Mostly they show second-run movies, but they have a regular schedule for the classics.

  I only stay until the official activities are finished. I can check this off of Tea’s growing list of things I must do in order to be a “fully functioning human.”

  Mission accomplished.

  2 Collision

  I’m not particularly a morning person, but I don’t mind getting up early. I know some people plan their whole class schedule around not getting out of bed before noon. But I get up whether or not I have a morning class. Force of habit.

  I wake up at my usual time and head out for breakfast. I like to get there before the rush and leave in plenty of time to get clear across campus before my first class.

  My feet collide with something solid right outside my door. “Holy fucking hell!” I catch myself at the last moment, managing not to land on my face. But I lose hold of the stack of textbooks I’m carrying.

  There’s a person seated directly outside my door, which wouldn’t be a problem if I exited my room while staring at the floor. But I don’t. So before I notice he’s there I almost step on him, and I do drop my books on his head—which is hardly my fault given that he’s the one who chose such a poor spot to sit.

  He winces and rubs his head. They are chemistry textbooks. Not light.

  I feel bad for yelling at him, but honestly he scared the crap out of me.

  Why is he sitting in the hall wearing his bathrobe? It’s obvious he recently got back from the shower. Besides the blue terry cloth bathrobe and the matching flip flops, which are dead giveaways, his hair is wet and he’s got a shower caddy full of supplies on the floor next to him.

  But why is he sitting in my doorway?

  I think I recognize him from around the dorm. He’s the short kid from the end of the hall. His hair is very black, his eyes are very dark, and his skin is a pale tan color. He’s Asian, I think. Or Hispanic. Something less white than I am, anyway.

  I take his hand to help him up. But he winces and I drop it quickly. “Crap. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Sorry.”

  He shakes his head. “That wasn’t you. I mean, the books were totally you,” he says, putting a hand to the back of his head. “But not the wrist. I injured it at rehearsal. One of the perils of being a dancer.”

  “Oh. I never thought of that. Wrists, I mean. How’s your head? And why are you here? This is a bad place to sit.”

  He smiles at me as he pushes himself off the wall and stands up. “The head is okay. I’ll live, anyway. And I didn’t mean to be part of your morning obstacle course. Sorry. I left my key in the room and got locked out.” He gestures vaguely down the hall.

  “What about your roommate?”

  “Not home.”

  “Grey?” I point at the door across from mine.

  He nods at the sign on the door: “Out for a run.” r />
  I should have noticed that. “Oh. Well, you’ll have a long wait. They’re hardcore. I think they’re training for a marathon.”

  I stand there wondering what else to say. Is there a right way to handle things when you trip over an unknown, mostly naked person outside your room and nearly give them a concussion with your organic chemistry textbooks?

  “Do you want some clothes?” I ask.

  The kid laughs. “I’m sorry, what?” He looks me over slowly from head to toe and raises one eyebrow. I am easily a head taller.

  “I know. My clothes will be too big for you. But you can borrow some for a while anyway. Until Grey gets back. That way you can eat. If you want.”

  “You are too sweet. Thanks.”

  I let him into my room and he sits in the chair at my roommate’s desk while I look for something he can wear. Stoner Matt wouldn’t like this. He could be kind of a dick about his stuff. But he’s not here so he can’t object. Besides, it’s university furniture, not his.

  I find some clothes that are least likely to fall off of this kid. He’s even smaller than I thought. I hand him some drawstring sweats and a Pink Floyd T-shirt that my sister got for me.

  He looks ridiculous wearing my oversized clothes with his flip-flops. Nothing fits, of course. He has to roll up the pants so he doesn’t trip over them when he walks.

  “Well, you look like a homeless person. Let’s go.”

  He looks amused, which means I probably said something offensive, but he doesn't seem overly offended. That’s good. People who are easily offended are not good company. Or rather, I am not good company for them.

  “I suppose I should ask your name,” I say as the door swings shut behind us. “I’m Richard.”

  He gives me a crooked smile. He has very white teeth. “I know. We met at orientation.”

  “Oh.” Sometimes I’m not very good with faces. Or names.

  He’s still smiling. “I’m Jesse.”

  “Okay.” I nod.

  When we get to the cafeteria, Jesse follows me to a table and takes a seat beside me. This surprises me. I thought he would probably have friends to sit with. Maybe they aren’t up yet.