The Mix-Up

The lounge went quiet when Scott walked in. Not silent. A vending machine rattled in the corner, and someone near the window was still trying to open a bag of chips. But the conversations stopped so abruptly that he checked behind him, as though there might be someone else in the doorway worth staring at.

There wasn’t.

Six hours on campus, and he was already the subject of a floor meeting. Outside the windows, the last of the August light lay across a courtyard full of empty moving boxes.

A blonde woman stood beside the whiteboard with a clipboard against her chest. Her ponytail was pulled tight enough that not a strand escaped it. When she saw him, her pen moved before her smile did. “There you are. Come on in.”

Every available place seemed to involve squeezing between people who were watching him. He hesitated until a girl near the back nudged an empty chair outward with her foot.

She wore a cream hoodie several sizes too large. Red hair covered one cheek, and her fuzzy socks barely reached the floor. She kept her eyes on her lap.

Scott sat down. “Thanks,” he murmured.

She nodded without looking at him.

The woman clicked her pen. “Welcome to the first official floor meeting of the semester. I’m Dhalia, your RA. We have a lot to cover, especially regarding our unique living arrangement this year.”

“Unique.”

The voice came from across the room.

A girl with short black hair streaked green leaned back in her chair, arms folded. She wore a faded black band shirt beneath an open, frayed cardigan, dark cargo pants, and heavy lace-up boots. A chain hung from her belt, and small silver earrings caught the light when she turned toward him. Her gray eyes settled on Scott with an attention he would have preferred to earn some other way.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Gemma,” Dhalia said pleasantly.

Gemma kept her eyes on Scott. “Some of us still want to know exactly how this happened.”

Scott rubbed his palms against his jeans. “I’m as confused as you are.”

“Comforting,” Gemma said. “The confused guy is the one who gets to stay.”

A few people shifted. Someone gave a short laugh and stopped when nobody joined in.

Dhalia raised one hand. “Let’s start with the information Housing has actually confirmed.”

Scott had already heard it twice: once at a desk downstairs and once over a phone held between him and a woman who kept referring to his situation as an inconvenience. Neither explanation had helped much.

“A clerical error assigned Scott to this building,” Dhalia continued. “There are no available rooms in the other residence halls. Housing won’t be able to reconsider a transfer until next semester, when students move out and spaces open up.”

“Reconsider?” Gemma asked.

“For this semester, this is his assigned residence,” Dhalia said.

Scott looked at the whiteboard. Someone had written WELCOME HOME across the top in purple marker.

“So we all just deal with it,” Gemma said.

“You can raise concerns with me or directly with Housing. I’ll send everyone the contact information.” Dhalia glanced down at her clipboard. “Tonight, we’re going to discuss what living together will look like.”

“I didn’t request this,” Scott said.

Gemma turned toward him. “Nobody said you did.”

“It feels a little like somebody did,” Scott said.

Her jaw tightened. For a second he thought she would argue. Instead, she looked back at Dhalia.

“Nobody asked us either,” Gemma said.

There wasn’t much he could say to that.

Dhalia gestured toward him with the end of her pen. “Scott, would you introduce yourself?”

He stood because it seemed to be expected, then immediately wished he hadn’t. Sitting down had at least put him on the same level as everyone else.

“Hi. I’m Scott. Nineteen. First year. Media arts and animation.” He paused. “Sorry about the mix-up. I’ll do my best not to be a bother.”

The girl beside him glanced up. Green eyes, then red hair again.

“Good,” Dhalia said. “Thank you.”

He sat before she could ask for anything else.

“Scott has the single at the end of the hall,” she continued. “No existing room assignments are changing.”

“Bathroom?” Gemma asked.

Dhalia turned back to the room. “The main bathroom remains women-only. Scott will use the individual one beside the laundry room. His key opens it.”

He checked the unfamiliar brass key on his ring. One mystery solved, at least.

Dhalia moved through the other arrangements: common spaces were shared, messes belonged to the people who made them, visitors needed to be signed in, and quiet hours began at eleven.

“Nobody enters anyone’s room without permission,” she said. “A closed door means knock and wait. Emergency access is handled by staff.”

Gemma crossed one ankle over the other. “And the laundry room?”

“Still a laundry room,” Dhalia said.

The girl on the other side of the redhead laughed. Dark curls framed her olive-toned face, and her bright blue eyes held an expression that suggested the meeting had finally become worth attending.

Gemma ignored her. “If I’m doing my delicates, I don’t want him hanging around.”

Scott felt the room turn toward him again.

“I do laundry and leave,” he said. “Sleazing around a washing machine isn’t my idea of a good time.”

The curly-haired girl laughed harder.

“I’m willing to pick a regular time if that helps,” he added. “Sunday morning, maybe.”

Dhalia made a note. “I’ll check the sign-up sheet with you afterward. Everyone gets the same access to the machines.”

“Every guy says he’s not going to be weird,” Gemma muttered.

He heard her. He decided not to answer.

A sleeve rose beside him. The girl in the cream hoodie had lifted her hand just above the table. Dhalia was still looking at her clipboard.

“Someone has a question,” Scott said.

Dhalia looked up. “Oh. Yes, Trina?”

Trina lowered her hand as though she hadn’t meant to be caught with it up. “I was just wondering if…”

She looked at Scott’s shoulder, then at the floor.

“Does he have a girlfriend?” Trina asked.

The chip bag finally opened with a loud crackle. The curly-haired girl beside Trina nudged her with an elbow.

“Trin,” she whispered, barely loud enough for Scott to hear.

Gemma’s eyebrows rose.

Trina pulled her sleeve across her fingers. “Sorry. That wasn’t…”

“I’m single,” Scott said, before she could struggle through the rest. “But I’d rather not do personal questions in front of everybody.”

Dhalia’s smile held. “Fair enough. Let’s keep the meeting focused on housing.”

Trina gave a tiny nod. He couldn’t tell whether it was meant for him.

“I’m Katalina, by the way. Kat’s fine—everyone calls me that.” The curly-haired girl rested her chin on her hand. “For when we get to the questions afterward.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said, and was relieved when she seemed to hear the joke.

Dhalia moved on to laundry lint, maintenance requests, and a warning about leaving dishes in the kitchenette sink. The ordinary complaints helped. By the time someone asked about the unreliable heater, Scott had almost stopped noticing the weight of all those glances.

Almost.

“Anything else?” Dhalia asked at last.

“Does he have hobbies?” Kat said. “Or should we just keep calling him the clerical error?”

Scott smiled despite himself. “I draw.”

“Like portraits?” Kat asked.

“Mostly comics,” Scott said. “Illustrations. I spend a lot of time on it.”

Kat leaned forward. “Can you draw me?”

“You could let him unpack first,” Gemma said.

“I’m planning ahead,” Kat replied.

“He’s probably going to sit in his room all semester anyway.” Gemma looked at him. “That the plan? Shut yourself away and draw?”

Scott’s smile faded. “It’s what I’m used to. I don’t have a huge circle of friends.”

The room was quiet enough that he wished he’d stopped a sentence earlier.

“I’d like that to change,” he added.

“Well,” Dhalia said, “you’ll have plenty of chances to meet people here.”

Gemma watched him for a moment.

“Don’t do that,” she said.

“Do what?” Scott asked.

“Make yourself the sad little guy so everyone feels bad for you,” Gemma said.

Heat crept up his neck. “You asked. I answered.”

“Okay,” Dhalia said, with enough firmness to stop the exchange. “That’s the meeting. I’ll send the information to the floor group. Please make sure you’ve joined it before you leave.”

Chairs scraped. Conversations resumed around Scott, cautious at first and then louder. He checked the invitation on his phone while everyone found bags and water bottles.

Gemma stopped in front of his chair. “Welcome to the floor.”

“Is that the official version?”

“It’s the version you’re getting.”

Up close, he could see the uneven ends of the green streaks in her hair. She was pretty. He resented noticing it while she was making such an effort to be unpleasant.

“Why are you so cold toward me?” he asked.

“I don’t trust you yet. That’s different.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Exactly.”

“Then maybe give me a chance before deciding.”

She studied him, apparently waiting for something else.

“You always let people walk all over you?”

“Not on purpose.”

She let out a breath, rubbed the back of her neck, and turned away.

“Whatever. I’ve got things to do.”

Scott watched her leave. He wasn’t sure whether he had failed an interview or survived one.

Dhalia collected a few abandoned papers. On her way past, she paused beside him. “For what it’s worth, you handled that well.”

He wasn’t sure he agreed.

“You noticed Trina had her hand up,” she added.

“She was sitting next to me.”

“Still.” Dhalia glanced toward Trina, then back at him. For a moment she seemed about to ask something. Instead, she tucked her pen into the clipboard’s clip.

“Room 401 if you need me,” she said. “And eat something tonight. Moving day has a way of making people forget.”

Then she was gone, leaving him with the hum of the vending machine and the girl who had moved the chair.