On an Edge of Glass

the above the waistband of his pants. 
    I take a deep, shaky breath and force my eyes back to the refrigerator.  I’m supposed to be looking for a bottle of water to take with me on campus, not drooling over my new housemate.
                  From her perch on the kitchen counter, Payton is eyeing me with brash curiosity.  She holds a mug of steaming coffee clasped between her palms.  Her short hair is held away from her face by two disheveled pigtails.  The small silver stud in her right nostril glints under the florescent kitchen light.
    “Like what you see?” She winks conspiratorially and chuckles.
                  In response, I say nothing.  I simply shake my head blandly before stuffing the water bottle into my bag and heading for the front door.             
    “He’s hot,” Payton throws out at me.
    “And?”  I challenge, paused half-in and half-out of the house , my fingers touching the doorknob. 
    She shrugs and turns away.  “It’s just a casual observation.”
    I don’t even respond.  I just let the door slam shut behind me.
    That night, Ainsley and I make bad grilled cheese sandwiches and collapse on the couch to watch our favorite nighttime soap series.  The house is quiet and I finally relax for the first time since Friday afternoon. 
    I’ve been informed that Ben is at band practice.  Apparently he is also the “band type”—some indie group that Payton’s friend Megan says is “killer.”  Honestly, it isn’t all that surprising given his looks.  There’s no way a face like that stays hidden in a pit behind a cello all of the time. 
    With my legs propped on the coffee table and Ainsley’s head resting on my shoulder, I decide that the whole arrangement isn’t so bad. 
    I can do this. 
    Unlike most girls my age, guys have never , ever been my weakness, and I’m not about to let one ruin anything for me now.  After all, if the past few days are any indication, I’m barely going to see Ben Hamilton and his gorgeous face. 
    What’ s that old saying?  Out of sight, out of mind.  
                  By Wednesday, I start to think that having a man sleeping in the room next to mine at night is actually a good thing.  A bonus, if you will. 
    Just t hink of the spiders Ainsley, Payton and I won’t have to catch, or the clogged toilets that our male roommate can plunge for us, or the high closet shelves that can be reached without the assistance of a stepladder. 
                  That’s when the incident occurs. 
                  That’s really the best way to think of it. 
                  Kiss sounds so much more intimate.
     
     
                  I get home from class around three in the afternoon and collapse on my bed.  Last night I stayed up way too late catching up on assignments and going over the LSAT practice material that my mother insisted that I complete.  She’s sort of obsessed.
    To say that Columbia Law is a “big deal” to my parents would be the understatement on the century.  Columbia is where they met.  It was the launching pad for their prominent careers. 
    And it is a universally accepted fact that after my own graduation from Columbia Law, I will join their Washington D.C. practice.  It’s something that no one questions—like you don’t eat sandwiches from gas station vending machines, you don’t talk politics at weddings or Bat Mitzvahs, and Elizabeth Jane Glass is going to be a successful corporate attorney like her parents.
    It’s just that my senior year of college might be turning into more than I bargained for.  I signed up for a slew of graduate level classes and now I’m paying the price with more than my fair share of late nights.  So, it isn’t really a surprise that my eyes close almost the moment that my head hits the pillow.  When I wake a few hours later, my room is cast in the dusky blue-black of night. 
    I roll to one side and gi ve myself a few minutes to adjust to this new state of being.  Slowly, the disorientation of daytime dreams slips away and I start to notice things—like the sound of faint music filtering in underneath my bedroom door, and the warm, savory smells that are tickling my nose.  Scratching sandy sleep out of the corners of my eyes, I throw my feet out of bed. 
                  Some band that I’ve never heard before is playing from the small speaker over by the