Pennies in a Pint Glass, Actually
“Okay, so this pink monstrosity is an FM transmitter,” I said, handing Serena the earpiece. “Put it in your ear like an earbud.”
“This is, um—interesting,” she said with a laugh as she slipped the earpiece onto her ear.
“And this,” I said, holding up the tiny transmitter, “is the transmitter, but you can think of it like a microphone.”
“You got this when you went home?” Serena asked, still fidgeting with the earpiece.
I slipped the transmitter around my neck. “Yup. My mom convinced me to try to get Dr. Clément to wear it, and I thought maybe you and I could have a little fun with it before I decide I hate it all over again.”
“And you hated it before because?” she asked, elongating the last word.
I shrugged. “Less than stylish,” I said, playing off the real anxiety the transmitter gave me. “Obviously.”
“All right, let’s do this.” She patted the earpiece again, ensuring it was secured. She rubbed her hands together, shifting from foot to foot like a boxer warming up for a fight.
I stepped into the hall, my back against the wall outside our room as I slid to the floor. “So, this is it, boss. This is the transmitter. This is my, fingers crossed, other idea that Clément tasked me with bringing to him.”
I pushed my legs out, letting my feet fall to the sides.
The girls from the dance team were practicing in the lounge. Our neighbor’s alarm clock was going off. The elevator dinged open, but there was no indication anyone had gotten off.
“I’m sitting in the hallway talking to myself with my legs out like I don’t care. I wish someone would walk by. You know, knowing my luck, no one will be around to witness this. Me. Of all people. Sitting on the floor. In a skirt that took me a month to make.”
The door cracked open just enough for Serena’s camera-bearing hand to fit through.
“Don’t you—”
The camera clicked twice before I could finish my warning.
“I hate you a little right now.” I laughed as Serena pulled the door open.
“Trade?” she asked, pulling off the earpiece and holding it out.
I slipped the transmitter off and handed it to her. “Please, please, please, don’t yell. Okay?” I adjusted the earpiece as I looked up at my roommate. “Literally just speak in your normal voice.”
Serena held the transmitter at her side, a smile creeping across her face.
“Blink once if you understand,” I said, my finger pointed her way in warning.
“I promise I will not yell into your ear even though you are constantly yelling at me during volleyball. And even though you have literally never whispered into my ear. And also the fact that you once actually yelled in my ear that time at Michael’s house.”
“You were passed out in the backyard,” I said defensively.
She crossed her arms and jutted out her hip.
I tilted my head. “Are you done now?” I asked with a smile.
Serena smiled back as she pushed into the room and closed the door.
“So, I was thinking, you know how I have that photo series to do for Locations and Documentary?” Serena’s voice came through the earpiece.
I nodded as I pulled my legs into a crisscrossed position.
“I was thinking maybe you would want to be the subject of the series. I could chronicle the completion of your dress, and you could use the pictures for your portfolio for Paris. I know you probably don’t want me following you around with a camera, and I also know that the costume-shop drill sergeant doesn’t love photography in her shop, but still.”
I pushed up from the floor, pulling off the earpiece as I entered the room.
“Really?” I asked.
Serena smiled. “Yes, really. I think it would be a really unique project for me, and it would be a really cheap way for you to start developing your portfolio.”
I grimaced sarcastically, sucking in a breath through my teeth. “I don’t know. Having you follow me around with a camera makes me feel a little too glamorous, you know?”
“Too glamorous, huh?” Serena asked, hopping onto her bed. She was in pajama pants and the T-shirt she got for free at freshman orientation. That thing needed to go.
“Yeah,” I said with a nod as I took the transmitter from her and set it and the earpiece on my desk. “You know how I hate feeling glamorous. It’s why I always dress so muted and in clothing I got for free over a year ago.” I motioned to her shirt with my chin.
“Your sarcasm is not lost on me, boss,” she sighed, running a hand down the front of her well-worn T-shirt. “So, is it a yes?”
“It’s a yes, but an I-get-to-approve-all-pictures-before-they-are-displayed yes.”
Serena nodded, but as she responded, a crash and subsequent plink, plink, plink, plink, plink from above stole our attention.
“Please tell me that was a glass jar full of marbles,” Serena said, laughing as we both stared at the ceiling.
“I have no clue what you were saying when whatever that was just fell,” I said, righting my head so I could watch Serena’s face.
“I was just saying that of course you would have final approval of all displayed pictures.” Steepling her fingers together movie-villain style.
“Because that doesn’t sound ominous,” I said as another round of plinks showered down above our heads. “And when you tent your fingers like that, it doesn’t help.”
“Or does it?” she asked, continuing to steeple her fingers.
“It does not,” I said with a shake of my head.
“Or does it—”
“All right, fine. Take your pictures. Write your documentary stuff. And if you get an A, we’re splitting it.”
“As in we both get a C plus?” she asked, reaching across her bed for her laptop.
“Is a C plus half of an A?” I asked, reaching for my own laptop. “I feel like a literal half of an A would be an F, because if an A is, like, a ninety-five, then half of that would be in the forties, which would be a failing grade.”
“Then what you’re proposing is that you would also get an A in a class that you are not in and for work you did not do?” She put the tip of her pen in her mouth as she spoke.
“Yes—”
“Oops, I’m sorry,” she said, pulling the pen away from her lips.
“What? Why?” I asked, scanning my email.
“Because the pen was in my mouth when I was talking and I thought maybe you didn’t know what I was saying or whatever.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to figure out what she was even talking about.
“Because you always watch my mouth, I just assumed you were reading my lips.”
“Ever since you found out about my processing disorder, you’ve thought I read lips?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said with a shrug.
I laughed, hard. “I definitely don’t read lips, boss. I just watch your mouth to focus my attention.”
“Oh,” she said, her face contemplative as she nodded several times. “Okay, then. That explains a few things.”
“What explains what things?” I asked, putting my laptop to the side.
“Just Tony thinks you’re obsessed with his mouth,” she said. “He thinks he should be renamed Tony with the Lips.”
“What?” I asked, another hard laugh escaping. “He thinks I’m obsessed with his mouth because I look at him when he speaks?”
Serena nodded. “Yup,” she said, popping the p at the end.
I leaned back against the wall. “I guess I have to be more careful of whose mouth I watch.” I pulled my laptop back onto my lap. “And absolutely not, he will never be renamed Tony with the Lips. He is, and will forever be, Just Tony.”