Why did I spend four years in high school again? Oh yeah, so that I could graduate just to go to university for another four years at a different school in another part of the continent. Why? To slave my way towards a degree here in order to graduate and maybe get accepted at… Well, you get my point.
This is my reason for being here, unloading my parents oversized SUV, arguing with my mother over my choice of dress, and trying to fend off the prying eyes of college boys making their way towards my little sister. Ocean View University was where I had doomed myself for the next four years. I didn't see the big deal so far, though the campus was rather luxurious with old buildings and nice green (very green) lawns. I was wondering if the name was just lying, because so far the View part of the Ocean was non-existent. I should sue them for false advertising.
I'm just a Canadian girl in California, so maybe that's something I'm going to have to get used to here. False advertising, too green lawns, and being the kind of sister who doesn't invite her sister to visit in fear of her being ogled.
"Keep your eyes in your head and keep walking, buddy!" I shouted at a guy with longish brown hair who was dressed in a wet suit and was carrying a surfboard under his left arm. It was probably the twentieth guy I'd shouted at, okay, the first guy I'd actually shouted at. The others got a beating in my mind.
"Rose, dear, please calm down." I was happy my mother had at least bothered to call me Rose, but I was unhappy because she was oblivious to the many looks and stares her youngest daughter received constantly. Juliet, my fourteen-year-old sister, looked more my age than she did her own age. She was well-developed, long-legged, and looked more and more model than kid every single day. I feared for her life, I really did. That girl is the reason I'm a black belt in tae-kwon-do.
"I don't care if you don't notice that people visually rape your daughter, but I'm not going to stand and watch." I'm pretty sure my parents just think I'm jealous because the first guy they noticed check me out was when I was fifteen and at a Farmer's Market. The guy was my ex-boyfriend's, Tod, seventy-four-year-old grandfather. I shudder at that to this day.
"It's alright, Rosie," I frowned at my Dad's nickname as I slung my bag over my shoulder. "Julie is fine, you're fine, and we're all just great. Your sister can take care of herself." I severely doubted that as my sister batted her eyelashes at some muscled guy in a wet suit. I gave him a crazy look and he got the idea and walked, quickly, away. Juliet frowned at me and crossed her arms.
"Okay, time to go inside!" My mother exclaimed as she made my sister put on a jacket and put a large cardboard box in her arms. "Ben, honey, grab that suitcase." When he started to complain, my mother slapped him on the back of the head and yelled at him. "Benvolio, the suitcase!"
You heard right. My sixteen-year-old brother's name is Benvolio. My sister's name is Juliet, and my name is Rosaline. Sound familiar? It should. My mother, after meeting her own Romeo (really, his name is Romeo), sort of fell in love with the whole Romeo and Juliet thing and decided to name all her children as such. Maybe my mother just liked the whole, "Rosaline made a vow of celibacy" thing and counted on me to do the same. I did, of course, but the thought still kind of maddened me.
We trudged our way up the main stairwell of my dorm, choosing to then take the elevator instead of using the other stairs to make our way up to my room on the third floor. Oddly, I was becoming more and more excited. The ride up the elevator turned out to feel like the longest moment of my life; we stood in silence, the only heard thing was the bleak music coming out of a small speaker above the doors. When the doors opened, it revealed a tidy, nice long and wide hallway that was crowded with the faces of my future classmates and their families.
"Which room is yours?" My sister asked, struggling under the weight of the box she was carrying. I checked the letter I'd received a few days earlier, telling me the classes and pretty much everything I needed to know.
"It's room… three-oh-nine." I pointed to the side that I assumed it to be on.
At the very end of the hallway stood room 309- my new home. The door was a nice brown colour and had a whiteboard on the front of it. I made a mental note to write my name on it later. Since it was my room, I wasn't going to bother knocking. Well, I guess that was a pretty big mistake.