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Jennifer White
Second year girls' dorm (Tag Mathilde Reinhardt)
Mon Aug 28, 2017 15:01
82.24.110.119

It was strange, Jen would agree, to admit that she barely knew the girl she had shared a room with for the last year of her life. But in practise it made perfect sense. Jen didn’t spend much time in her dormitory. She was out in the gardens skating, or she was in the commons or the library doing her homework, or she was on the pitch trying to convince herself (and failing) that riding a broomstick was as much fun as riding a skateboard, or she was in the Diner eating, or whatever. At the end of the day she’d come back to her room and say ‘Hey Mathilde,’ and that was about the most they had managed to interact.

Partly this was coincidental, but partly it was also because Jen suspected that her roommate didn’t like her very much. Jen wasn’t the neatest person around, and although she tried to be respectful to her roomie, it was inevitable that sometimes she’d discard a hoodie onto the floor at the end of a day, or leave her hairbrush lying wherever she’d last thrown it down, and her school bag was dumped indiscriminately on a clear surface, be it floor, bed or otherwise. She didn’t bring food back to her room, though, and never left wet towels in there, so things could be worse. She’d never heard Mathilde complain, anyway.

Honestly, she’d never heard Mathilde say much of anything. So when her Mom had asked about her roomate at midterm, and then again over the summer, Jen had felt bad about being able to do little more than shrug. It was time for them to have a conversation.

Jen came into their shared dormitory and she found Mathilde already there. Mentally readying herself for something they probably should have done a year ago, Jen scuffed the ripped hems of her skater jeans across the floor and she sat on her bed, facing the other girl. Her short, choppy brown hair was tidy at the front and just tickled her neck at the back, and she peered at her roomie through the lenses of her black, plastic, rectangular-framed glasses. “Hey Mathilde,” she started, as usual. Then she added, “I feel like I don’t know you. Like, at all. I guess we’re going to live together for the next six years, so, like, do you wanna tell me about yourself or something?” Okay it wasn’t the most eloquent proposal she’d ever made but it got the job done.

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