Wendy remembered the first day of college; she’d walked into her dorm room, seen Lacey sitting on the bottom bunk and thought, oh great, a blonde. She'd specifically gone to art school to get away from the fake-highlighted, tanned airheads at her high school who sneered at her paint-stained tees and faux-mistakenly spoke bad Spanish at her outside of language class. And now she'd be rooming with one all year.
"Hey," she said, dumping her duffle onto the top bunk.
"Hey," the girl said, smiling tentatively and looking a little lost. Then her smiled firmed up and got bright enough to dazzle. Wendy relaxed a bit despite herself. "I'm Lacey. Lacey Thornfield."
She refrained from rolling her eyes only through sheer force of will and the knowledge that her mother would smack her in the back of the head retroactively even if she couldn't see it. It could have been worse. She could have been Tiffani or Amber. "Wendy Watson."
Lacey broke out into a full-on grin. "Alliteration. I like it. It makes you sound like a trusty girl reporter." She ducked her head slightly, as if realizing that might not be the best thing to say to someone you just met, but Wendy smirked and relaxed even more.
"Yeah, I do that in my spare time in between bouts of crime-fighting."
Lacey lifted her head and grinned back. "Must be hard to fit in between learning photography and how to make your own super-strong silk webbing. Though I guess it’s handy to be able to make your own handcuffs."
"Kinky. Yeah, I am resourceful and a multitasker. Actually, I'm going to be studying painting, postmodern mostly."
"Ah, a woman of depth. I like. I'm a performance activist."
"Is that like vaudeville?"
"No, more like lying around in my own fake blood in front of butcher shops."
"Sounds fun. I should get you to do my Halloween costume. I'm going as Zombie 3 from Gutwrencher."
"Awesome! I can totally do you up gory."
They started unpacking and chattered away the whole time. Yeah, Wendy thought, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.