"Tell me a little about yourself?"

It was the standard question I had been asking in the roommate meet-ups. I kind of felt like an ass saying it, like I was giving a job interview and took myself way more seriously than I had a right to, but it was a question that had worked out well enough so far to get a sense of who the other person was.

Sasha Thomas, though, was the first person whose answer I was genuinely interested in. Not because she was hot- she wasn't, exactly, not in the way that usually comes to mind when you think of an example of someone sexy. Actually, she looked like the sort of girl who would try to keep herself from being noticed, the girl who would stick to the walls in a party, if she showed at all. She was cute enough, but she kept her light brown hair in a limp ponytail, she wore glasses instead of contacts, and no makeup at all, not even mascara or lip gloss. She was of average height and smaller than average build, but her hooded sweatshirt and loose-fitting athletic pants were blah colors and seemed a little too big to be the right fit for her. She seemed kind of lopsided in how she carried herself, holding most of her weight shifted over towards her right, as though an invisible weight pulled her hip slightly out of alignment.

Looking her over, I couldn't decide if she truly didn't care how she looked, or if she just didn't like the thought of drawing attention to herself by making an effort.

If I'd met her anywhere else, I probably wouldn't have registered her being in the room. But something about the crooked, nervous grimace of her smile, the awkward hunch of her shoulders, and the delicate way she grasped my hand when I held it out for her to shake, struck me, almost touched me. I wanted to put her at ease, to earn a real smile from her.

"I'm…I'm not sure what to say," Sasha stammered, biting down briefly on her lower lip. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, we can start with your most embarrassing moments, and work our way up to your darkest secrets and biggest fantasies," I deadpanned.

When Sasha's eyes grew wide, and she took a step back, already primed to retreat right out of the library's doors, I gave her a reassuring smile, holding up my hands.

"Sorry, I'm kidding. I'm kind of a sarcastic asshole sometimes, just ignore me. You can tell me whatever you feel like, no pressure."

"Oh," Sasha breathed in obvious relief, her face relaxing into a small but real smile. "Oh, good."

"I'll start," I offered. "I'm Caitlin Bailey, I'm nineteen, and I need a roommate because I have a dead-end job but haven't figured out how to get a better one yet without doing something to deserve one, like going to college or having actual skills. I'm an only child because my mom was smart enough to learn from her first teenaged oops, and I'm free of any prevalent religion, political affiliation, or talents. But I like to think I manage to be pretty cool anyway."

"Oh," Sasha stammered, ducking her head, then forcing her eyes up to meet mine. "I'm…I'm Sasha Thomas. I'm nineteen too. Um…I'm going to community college, part time, and I have a job in the cafeteria, but I didn't have enough financial aid to cover rooming. So…uh…"

"So, you're looking to share space and expense?" I summed.

Sasha nodded, biting down on her lower lip again. I wondered, watching her, if she knew when she was doing that, if it hurt her. Or was it something unconscious, like people who bite their nails? Was she normally this shy, or was there something about this meeting, or maybe meeting me, that made her especially nervous?

I took a chance, reaching out on impulse to take hold of her hand. Sasha's shoulders jumped, her eyes opening wide with her surprise, but she didn't jerk back or resist my gesture. Her hand felt small and cold in mine, and I gave it a squeeze, trying to warm it. I got the feeling she wasn't very used to being touched, at least not by someone she didn't know, but she didn't seem against it so much as startled that I would bother. I gave her another smile, trying to tone myself down in level of sarcasm for her comfort.

I don't normally censor myself for people. But for Sasha, even then, I wanted to, if it would put her at ease.

"Hey, relax," I told her softly. "This isn't a job interview. I'm on trial here as much as you are, you're perfectly free to decide I'm too much of a crazy bitch to live with for your standards. This is just as much for you to check me out as for me to check you out. Anyway, after the complete insanity of the last few applicants, it would take a hell of a lot for you to flunk the low bar that's been set."

I paused, replaying my last few spoken sentences to myself. "Huh, I'm kind of swearing a lot, aren't I? Probably not the best first impression to give off. Is that bothering you? I can actually be polite and even professional on occasion, when I try."

Sasha's lips twitched into a small returning smile, and I noticed that her shoulders dropped down a little, her posture relaxing. She shook her head, still not pulling her hand away from me.

"No, no, it's okay. I'm just…I guess I'm nervous. I've never had a roommate."

"Same here," I told her, shrugging. "So hey, that means we won't have overly high expectations, right? Neither of us probably know enough to know if the other person kind of sucks at it."

Sasha actually giggled then, a sound that seemed kind of out of place with her serious, less than girly-girl demeanor. She flushed, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth like she was embarrassed by it, but I thought both the giggling and her reaction to it was kind of endearing. Actually, I thought it was pretty damn adorable. I wanted to hear it again, so I kept going.

"I probably do, actually. I'm an only child, and you know what they say about them. Spoiled, lonely, needy brats, right? Not used to sharing their toys or their space, always wanting all the attention on them. I'm probably worse than most, since I didn't even share parents, it was just me and my mom. I'll apologize in advance if I write my name on all my food or change use up all the hot water in the shower. All you have to do to put me in my place is poke me or make funny breathing noises. Isn't that what siblings fight over? You know, "she's looking at me, she's on my side of the room?"

Sasha ducked her chin, trying but failing to hide her second cluster of giggles. I watched her with a grin, feeling stupidly pleased with myself. I noticed and appreciated how her nose crinkled at the bridge and small lines creased at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. It was the kind of detail most girls probably don't like about themselves, but that I loved for its uniqueness, like a stamp of a person's self.

"I think I could handle that," she said. "I have a sister, and we always had to share."

I had already made my decision by then that I didn't want to meet any other applicants. She was the one; how would I find someone else that would be a better fit, when this girl made me want to draw her out into liking me, opening up to me, within minutes of meeting her?

It wasn't because I was attracted to her, although I won't deny I was. I knew it was a bad idea to live with someone based on sexual attraction, whether or not they returned it. If they didn't, it could make for an awkward, uncomfortable situation for us both. If they did, and we let something come from it, that could make an even bigger mess when the sex ran its course, if they weren't on the exact same page that I was.

I'd never worried about being in love or having someone fall in love with me; I figured if those things were going to happen, they would happen naturally and mutually, or not at all. So I wasn't worried about loving Sasha, and I decided within five minutes of meeting her, while still holding her hand in mine, that I wouldn't worry about being attracted to her either. I was nineteen years old and I'd asked for a roommate who was under 25. What was I supposed to do, ex out any people who weren't ugly?

"So, do you have any questions for me?" I asked. "Because as far as I'm concerned, Sasha, you pass. If you want it, welcome aboard as my roommate."

Sasha hesitated, then shook her head. I gave her hand another squeeze, then released it, taking a step back.

"Great. So why don't we set up some times to apartment hunt together this week, get things rolling."

We had discussed the days and times that would work best, the limits of our budgets, and how many belongings we would be bringing in versus what household appliances and furnishings we would need to buy, when I realized I had left out one pretty big personal requirement for anyone agreeing to be my roommate. The girl with the punny Christian shirt had reminded me of something I'd left out in my ad, not finding it necessary to mention, since I didn't think in this day and age it was a big deal to anyone even somewhat reasonable. But then again I'd just been freshly reminded of how few reasonable people the world held, so it was probably best to check that Sasha Thomas could be counted as one of them after all.

"Oh, one thing though, before we sign any dotted lines," I said, keeping my tone casual, but watching her expression closely as I laid it all out for her. "You do need to know from the get go, before you make up your mind on living with me, I'm pansexual. That doesn't mean I'm a whore, like I'll sleep with anyone and anything with a pulse, or that I have no standards. It just means I don't limit myself to only sex with people who happen to have a penis. I won't shove any sexual encounters I might have in your face, and I don't expect you to have to even meet them. Chances are I won't be taking anyone home, because I'm not even really looking for dating or sex right now. And if I did, I'd be polite about it, it's not like you'd have to walk in on crazy sex parties or listen to me being loud and rude about it with someone."

I paused, taking a breath. Sasha's eyes were wide again, but then I was also kind of rambling on about my sex or potential sex activities with hypothetical people, without actually getting to the point, so I reserved judgment on her possible judgment.

"Anyway, what I'm getting at is I need to know that if I did happen to bring home someone female or transgender or any other shade under the rainbow, as a date or otherwise, would you be cool with that?"

"Yes, that's okay," Sasha said softly, but I pressed a little further. I wasn't going to leave any space for misunderstanding on this, since for me, it was pretty damn important.

"I need you to understand and believe that being gay or bi or trans or pan or any other label beside pedophile doesn't make me crazy or confused or a sinner going to hell. And I need you to understand that I'll mind my own business and try to be respectful about yours. I won't be creeping on you in the shower or spying on you getting undressed, or perving on your body if you change in front of me or something, just because I happen to find some women attractive. If you get all that and understand, then we're good."

I half expected Sasha to stammer and have trouble meeting my eyes. After all, I'd just talked pretty explicitly about my sexual orientation, even if it was more about what I wouldn't do than what I do or prefer. But she surprised me. Raising her eyes to mine, she answered quietly but sincerely, seeming to want to assure me. It made my respect for her shoot up even more, how she responded.

"Of course I understand, Caitlin. That isn't a problem. Thank you for telling me."

"Good," I said in relief, relaxing. "Then I can't think of anything else to ask. Anything else I should know about you, or are we good to go?"

For a few seconds, Sasha hesitated, and I thought I saw a shadow pass across her eyes. But then she shook her head, giving me a smile that seemed forced, in hindsight.

"No, that's okay. I'm pretty simple, really."

That's the only time I'm aware of that Sasha lied to me. Because simple and Sasha were not two words that could even remotely be used to fit together in a description. And soon my new life with Sasha as my roommate would be pretty damn complicated too.

88

I could tell that Whitney liked Sasha, when they met. That was another positive sign for me, a plus sign in the forecast for our roommate relationship. Whitney was usually a decent judge of someone's level of crazy or bitchy, so when I saw the genuine warmth of the smile she directed towards Sasha and the way she squeezed her shoulder in casual affection whenever she had to brush past her, I was happy.

I thought Sasha was reacting pretty positively to my mother too. She had seemed nervous when I told her Whitney would be coming with me when I met up with her to apartment hunt. I could understand her reaction. Sasha was obviously pretty reserved, and she wouldn't know what to expect from someone's mother coming along and offering up her opinion on our choices, possibly judging her, her budget, and her preferences. Even though Whitney wasn't that type, I would have gone alone with Sasha, only I had no idea about what to look for or how to bargain with landlords, and Sasha had already acknowledged she had never lived apart from her parents either. One thing Whitney was experienced with was negotiating rentals and arguing with their owners. My entire childhood had consisted of moving from one place to another, from crappy duplexes where neighbors smoked pot on the other side of the wall to the pretty decent house she was renting now.

Whitney got to business right off after the introductions, detailing what she thought was most important in rentals, what to avoid, and what to stay the hell away from at all costs. Sasha's preferences were almost nonexistent and hesitantly voiced, but lined up well with mine- a room of her own, no smoking in the property, decently maintained utilities, and reasonably priced. Whitney agreed that this was all important, with one addition.

"You also need a landlord who's female if possible, girls, and who can keep his eyes in his skull and his privates in his pants if he's a man."

I was used to Whitney, obviously, but Sasha's eyes had widened, and she looked at me with lips twitching in between laugh and nervous uncertainty in how to respond. Seeing her look, Whitney touched her arm, explaining herself earnestly.

"You think I'm crazy now, honey, but it's important, believe me. When Caitlin was little, there was a guy I was renting from that would always wait until late at night, when he knew she would be sleeping, and he'd come up with some excuse to come knock on the door for "maintenance duties." Why it's important to check my water pressure at 11 pm I have no idea, but he gave off enough vibes that I broke our leash and got us out of there. Three months later, he ended up on the front page of the news. Why? Rape and attempted murder."

"Whitney! You never told me that!"

Whitney shrugged, as though it was no big deal to narrowly escape being the target of murder.

"Well I'm telling you now when it matters, aren't I?" She leaned in close to Sasha, patting her arm in what I guess was supposed to be reassurance. Sasha's face, drained of its usual color, didn't regain any back despite the effort.

"Don't you worry, honey, I was young and dumb in the face of the lower rent he was offering. You girls are smarter than that, aren't you? And you've got each other, you'll have each other's backs. Still, we'll make sure you pick a place with a good bolt."

Whitney was her usual self for the rest of the day, attacking landlord claims, pointing out the negatives in each place without an effort to lower the usual volume of her voice, and making the kind of comments that made Sasha alternate between flushing and going pale. I was half worried the overdose of my mother would make Sasha rethink any connection with me, but by the end of the day we had managed to complete the goal of selecting an apartment that met Whitney's as well as Sasha's and my approval and signed a lease. Somehow, even with Whitney and her mouth along for the day, Sasha had still agreed to living with me, starting in two days' time.

"Sorry for the Whitney factor," I whispered to her as we hugged goodbye. "She won't be there on move in day, she's working."

But Sasha held onto me for longer than I'd expected in the hug, long enough to whisper back to me with complete and surprising sincerity.

"Sorry? But she's really awesome. You're so lucky, Caitlin. I wish my-" she stopped herself, seeming to nearly physically swallow back whatever words she had been about to say, and I felt the tension come into her body before she pulled away, changing her sentence.

"You're lucky. She's pretty neat."

I didn't push her, but I did wonder. I figured then that Sasha had stopped herself from making a negative comparison of her mother to mine, and maybe she had. Now, I'm not so sure. Was that the first time that she almost told me the truth?