Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [93]
Again they all talked in unison, still in disbelief. But arguing now, incensed.
“What? Who in their right mind would turn down …?”
“Michal would—that’s who.”
“You’ve got to go out with him, you idiot.”
“She’s not serious. You’re teasing, right? You are teasing us, aren’t you?”
Michal chewed on a nail, thoroughly enjoying their exclamations of displeasure, taking her time to answer. “Actually, no. I’m being serious. Allistair is … well, not as spiritually mature as I thought he’d be. In comparison? Stephen seems so much more mature.”
Stunned silence.
Michal started to inch forward, pushing herself up from the couch. “You know, I’d better get busy studying—”
Jessica grabbed her on the one side; Samantha and Lauren moved to hold Michal down on the other. “No way you’re leaving until you explain yourself. You think you’re dropping a bomb like that and then disappearing on us?” Lauren exclaimed.
“What bomb?” Beth stood in the doorway, appearing disheveled and worn-out.
All eyes turned to look at her, taking in the noticeable change in Beth over the last few months. Her hair looked wild. Bright red, it generally had a wiry, refusal-to-be-tamed unkemptness, but it appeared she hadn’t even attempted to calm the unruly curls that day. And it was dull, mostly devoid of the luster they’d all been envious of last fall.
Like Michal, Beth usually didn’t use makeup. But the dark shadows under her eyes and the hollows under her cheekbones—if Beth had gained weight, her face certainly belied it—cried out for concealment. Otherwise, her complexion was an unhealthy, pasty white.
Usually more meticulous about her clothes than Michal, today Beth was wearing a wrinkled, blousy top several sizes too big, and she hadn’t bothered to tuck it in. Instead, it hung out over a pair of jeans that were also ill-fitting, bunching awkwardly around her hips. The bottoms of the jeans dragged on the ground—getting frayed and filthy from the red clay of the area—completely hiding her shoes. If she had any on.
The word wretched popped into Michal’s mind, and she immediately felt ashamed.
“Are you okay? Beth, you look awful,” Samantha burst out. Michal shot her an angry look, silencing any further comments.
“What’re you talking about? What bomb?” Beth sounded defensive.
“I was telling them about my conversations with Allistair. And Stephen Jones,” Michal explained, searching Beth’s face. She stood up, taking her roommate’s hand. “Come on, Beth. I think you look plain worn-out.” Michal guided Beth tenderly, opening the door to their room and gently pushing her through. Over her shoulder, she offered, “We’ll talk more later at dinner.” To their loud protests, she reasoned, “Hey, I needed to study anyway. I’m sure you all do too?”
Michal received an assortment of groans and grumbles in response. A pillow was launched in her direction, though she easily dodged it. But they all got up and reluctantly filed into their respective rooms.
Only Samantha seemed to intentionally delay, waiting until everyone else had gone before whispering to Michal, “Hey, I’m sorry I said that. To Beth.” She lowered her eyes. “Will you tell Beth I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean anything by it?”
Michal squeezed her friend’s arm. “Beth knows that, Sam.” She lowered her voice. “I think we’re all concerned about her. I know I’ve been …” she let it trail off, unfinished, shaking her head. “See you when we go to dinner?”
“Later.”
Michal watched her go into her room and then turned to look at Beth. She was stretched out on her bed, facing the wall again.
“Did you want to talk?” Michal ventured. “Or just sleep?” Beth took in a deep breath, let it out slowly.
“I’m just tired. I think I have some kind of flu thing again.”
“Want me to call the nurse?”
“No.” Beth rolled over to face Michal, her face a mask of alarm. Realizing she was overreacting, she intentionally calmed. “I just don’t want to bother anybody when it’s nothing at all, really. I’ll feel better