The Reinvention of Moxie Roosevelt (5 page)

“305,” she said. “My name’s Haven. Your roommate is excellent. She tried to help me rig up an incense burner outside my window. Lighting it up inside is an expellable offense, apparently. It wouldn’t stay put because the brass base is pretty heavy, but she said she was going to find some duct tape and a counterweight to strap it down. Cool girl.”

That’s
why she looked familiar. She was the owner of the mysterious plummeting object.

“Spinky’s great,” I affirmed.

“What’s the story with your missing roommate?” Haven asked. “I heard she started last year, then she set something on fire in bio and got sent home.”

“Wow, I have no idea,” I said. Set something on fire?

“Maybe she’s just cycling into her fire era,” Haven mused. “She’ll be back when she transitions over to air or water.”

I nodded, like I had just been about to say the exact same thing myself.

Haven had baby-fine hair parted in the center that hung around her face. She was wearing a tank top decorated with a faded Buddha, and a gauzy peasant skirt. Completing the picture were feather earrings and a silver necklace from which hung a square pendant. She moved like she was underwater, slow and easy and languid. Her lips seemed to naturally reside in a small, peaceful smile. I got the feeling that firecrackers could go off right next to Haven, and she wouldn’t be especially startled.

Without thinking about it, I adapted my movements to hers. It felt nice to step into that sleepy, graceful posture.

“I’m Moxie,” I said. “I guess we’re next-door neighbors.”

“Cool,” Haven said.

My eye was drawn back to the pendant around her neck. It held a picture of an older man with glasses and a crew cut, wearing a maroon robe and the merriest smile I’d ever seen.

“Is that your dad?” I asked.

Haven laughed, but it was a sweet laugh, like little bells.

“That’s the Dalai Lama,” she said. “He’s kind of like my guru. So I guess he is my dad, spiritually speaking.”

I’d never met anyone who had a guru. Actually, I wasn’t precisely sure what a guru was, but it sounded exotic and enticing, and I immediately wanted one too. There was something soothing about Haven that appealed to me. She certainly didn’t look like she gave a second’s thought to what anyone might think of her.

“The vibration is nice in here,” Haven remarked, tucking her hair behind an ear. “High and bright, you know?”

I nodded thoughtfully, while wondering what Haven meant. Nothing was registering on my personal Richter scale. What exactly was a vibration? Just say something, I commanded myself.

“Definitely nice vibration—thank the goddess!” I declared. I’d heard that on a rerun of
Xena: Warrior Princess
, but it sounded good. And anyway, Haven could potentially qualify as a goddess herself, so I was just sort of being polite.

“Goddess worshipper, huh?” Haven said, her lips curving in a fetching half smile. “That’s cool. I’ve always dug Wicca.”

I was unable to translate Haven’s remarks into Moxie-Speak. So I changed the subject, because I wanted her to keep talking to me.

“What are you going to sign up for?” I asked.

“Already done,” Haven said. “I signed up for Green You when I came in.” She gestured toward one of the EE tables.

“That’s what I want to sign up for,” I exclaimed.

“Better hurry. It was already filling up when I got the clipboard.”

I abandoned Haven in a rush, and edged and squirmed my way up to the table I remembered having the Green You signup sheet. A hefty girl dressed in denim from neck to ankle edged in front of me. I scowled. Was she trying to ruin my life?

Denim Girl hoisted a clipboard in the air and bellowed across the room.

“Tiff! Tiffany! Are you signing up for Green You? It’ll fill up if you wait!”

Opportunity! In what I admit was an incredibly obnoxious move, I reached up and grabbed the clipboard from Denim Girl. The first page of Green You must have already filled up, because a new one had been added. I hastily signed my name, hoping it wasn’t too late, and handed the clipboard back to Denim Girl before ducking out of the crowd. Haven was waiting by the living room double doors. I squirmed past people and headed over to her.

“Did you get it?” Haven asked.

I nodded triumphantly.

“Someone had the clipboard right there, like they were saving it for me. I seriously think it was a legitimate instance of Divine Intervention!”

Haven laughed.

“Good for you, Wicca,” she said.

Had Haven just called me Wicca? A MEG nickname! A thrill shot straight through my toes and down into the heart of Mother Earth. I was legit. But I better get straight to a dictionary and look it up, so I could behave accordingly. I would be serene, organic, transcendental, and vegetarian. I would listen to the Beatles and watch Woodstock documentaries. I would wear peasant blouses and Indian-print skirts, and perhaps learn to weave in my spare time. I could get a poster of Jimi Hendrix for my room . . .

My room. Where Spinky lived. In my room, I was a DUCKI. If I was going to successfully try out my personalities, I needed to keep track of them. I pressed my hands over my stomach, where a trill of nervous energy fluttered. I would have to keep a list—a Personality Log, where I would write down details for easy reference, so I would not accidentally mention wanting tofurkey for Thanksgiving to Spinky, or asking Haven where to shop for combat boots. As long as I kept everything straight, the Moxie Personality Experiment could continue full blast.

“Should we go back up to Sage 3?” I asked.

Haven nodded. “I’m not really into crowds,” she said.

“The worst,” I agreed.

The din from Sage Living Room faded abruptly when we reached the foyer. Auntie Sparkles gazed gravely down at me from her frame. I flashed her a wide grin. I couldn’t help it—I felt so happy. Being a MEG felt great—it was definitely a top contender alongside DUCKI. Haven was amazing.
And
I’d signed up for Green You!

Life was good.

Kristen was standing in the center of the Sage 3 hall when we got there, like a gatekeeper. I wouldn’t have been all too surprised if she had intoned “NONE SHALL PASS.” But instead she waved Haven over.

“Haven, your roommate got in while you were downstairs,” Kristen said. “Want to come meet her?”

“Cool,” Haven said, nodding. “Catch you later, Wicca.”

“Later,” I said, shooting Kristen a glance to make sure she’d noticed what Haven had called me. I mean, how cool was I that someone with a guru was already my friend?

I don’t think Kristen noticed.

Still smiling, I went into our room, looking forward to seeing Spinky.

But the scowling person standing in the middle of the floor with her arms folded over her chest was most assuredly
not
Spinky Spanger.

“
O
h, hi,” I said. My inner MEG fizzled. Nor did my DUCKI rear its feathered head. I proceeded with caution. “Do you live on this hall?”

She shook her head, and my memory rippled. I felt I knew her from somewhere.

“Kate,” she said, pointing to herself. “I’m waiting for Spinky.”

Her clothes were nondescript. Short-sleeved shirt and jeans. No visible jewelry. She was a bit pale, with reddish blond hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Her features were a little pinched, like maybe her face had gotten a bit thinner than it meant to. She was neither Jock nor Rebel nor Hipper Than Thou—I wasn’t sure what to make of her. Unless hostile was a valid personality type.

“I’m Moxie Kipper,” I said, trying to remain expressionless. “So, you know Spinky?”

“Yeah,” Kate said, looking over my shoulder at the doorway. “From before.”

I opened my mouth to say something that would stake my claim as Spinky’s best and oldest friend at Eaton. But nothing came out. I couldn’t figure out this Kate person. How was I supposed to know the right thing to say to her?

We stood there, facing each other, like a couple of bookends. Kate was apparently not the sort of person who felt the need to make small talk. I, on the other hand, was. Desperately.

“So, do you live on one of the other Sage halls?” I asked in a cheerful voice. Cripes. I sounded like Dallas Kipper.

“Yeah,” Kate replied. “Sage 3 Long.”

Sage third floor was divided into three separate halls: Sage 3 Short, where I lived, Sage 3 Long, and Sage Zoo, which was mostly seniors.

“Um, did you by any chance go to Camp Migawam?” I asked, trying not to study her face too obviously.

Kate looked at me like I was a bug.

“No.”

I felt my face turn red, and a flash of irritation rose in my chest. Was it such an absurd question? What was her problem? This was
my
room after all. I decided to play the Spinky card.

“Well, have a seat, make yourself at home. Spinky could be back in ten minutes or five hours. You know how she can be!” I forced a laugh.

Kate took a seat on the spare bed.

“Yeah, I know how she can be,” Kate said. And she actually gave me a tiny smile. The lowest possible degree of one, but the corners of her lips turned up microscopically. Encouraged, I plunged ahead.

“Yeah, I love Spinky. Talk about lucking out in the roommate department. She’s the best.”

“My roommate is an idiot,” Kate told me. “Gucci this and Prada that. Christian LeBoutin shoes, blah blah blah. Her motto is apparently ‘Get the most expensive one.’ She plays classical music all the time like she’s just so highbrow. Please. I have no use for her whatsoever. Spinky Spanger—now
she
is real people.”

I tried not to frown over the classical music remark as Kate paused for a breath. Most of the CDs I had brought with me were classical. It hadn’t occurred to me that my personality modification should be extended to my music collection. But at least I could now define one thing about Kate’s personality—she disliked the wealthy. I nodded, thought of something to say, and chimed in.

“Do her parents drive a Hummer? I hate those things. There’s just no excuse to drive something that big and gas-guzzling,” I said, a little loudly. I was raised to hate all supersized personal motor vehicles, with a particular venom reserved especially for Hummers. My mother once reached into her reusable shopping bag and hurled a loaf of organic eight-grain bread at an unoccupied Hummer that was parked in a handicapped spot at the Shop & Save.

“Whatever,” Kate said. “I come from a family of cops. My dad is a cop. My two uncles are cops. My oldest brother is at the academy. This tiara-girl stuff is all new to me. Spinky’s no tiara-girl.”

“Oh god, no,” I said, laughing. “And neither am I.”

Kate looked at me, but she didn’t say anything. I got the feeling she hadn’t made up her mind
what
I was. Well, that made two of us.

“I’m here on scholarship,” I added. I deleted the detail that the scholarship was of the musical, “highbrow” variety.

Her expression softened.

“Oh, yeah, okay. Yeah—me too.”

Another long pause.

“So how’s your hall? Do you like the people?” I asked.

I sounded like I was hosting my own morning show, but the thought of sitting alone in my room with someone and not talking to them was like going to an all you can eat dessert buffet and not getting anything.

“Not really,” Kate said, looking glum. “It seems like all the trust fund babies ended up on 3 Long. They’re all richies.”

“All of them?”

Kate shrugged. “I don’t know. Most of them. The ones I’ve met.”

“I’ve only met one of my hallmates, but she’s definitely not a trust fund baby. She’s really spiritual. She has a guru!”

“That’s messed up,” Kate said.

“Oh, not at all,” I said. “No, she’s really cool.”

“Sounds a little culty,” Kate said, glancing at her watch. “Like that Scientology stuff.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “I don’t think it’s like that.”

Kate shrugged. I was ready to jump right back in and defend Haven’s honor, but Kate seemed to have lost interest in the subject. Another uncomfortable silence followed.

“Have you ever been to Pine Point? I’m just wondering if maybe we’ve ever run into each other somewhere. Piano lessons or something?”

Gah! I forgot I wasn’t supposed to mention my square-headed music habit.

Kate stood up.

“I’m tone-deaf,” she said. “I need to get going. Can you just tell Spinky I stopped by?”

I stood up too. Did she really have to go, or was she irritated with me? I had no clue how to figure this girl out. Nor would I want to, except for the fact that she and Spinky were apparently friends.

“I’ll definitely tell her. Kate . . . what did you say your last name was?”

Kate stopped in the doorway and looked back at me.

“Southington,” she said, after a second. Then she scowled a little.

“I’ll tell her,” I said.

Kate disappeared without thanking me.

Spinky remained missing until dinner, when we were joyfully reunited at the bread and salad bar. I noticed people looking at her, and I puffed up a little to find myself casually chatting with the tough-looking girl who wore a dog collar as a necklace. I followed her to a table where she had been sitting alone with a wide variety of beverages and several different bowls of partially eaten cereal surrounding the remains of her entrée. She had already finished most of her dinner, so I created a quickie meal of placebo salads—potato, macaroni, and pasta—that have very little by way of green leafy matter and are definitely not diet items, but still fall under the generous “salad” umbrella.

“I’m almost done,” I said, my mouth partially full. Our table was close to the double doors, which opened onto Auntie Sparkles’s foyer and faced the Sage Living Room, and I had noticed Spinky casting glances at the exit, like she was eager to get going.