Growth, Chapter 1

 [Co-Author's note: Trying a new way of sharing my fiction with you, friends. Let me know if you like this style, or if you'd rather I go back to sharing a link. Growth is written by me and Danielle Church.]

[cw for alcohol use in this chapter!]

“Heyyy, I’m home,” Zoë called from the door, shouldering it closed as she slung her satchel off and tossed it on the floor next to the boot mat. She swept off her toque and coat in a single motion, hanging them from the wall’s coathook, and furiously scratched her scalp before finger-combing her chin-length brown hair. “I really don’t wanna go grocery shopping tonight; what do you think about pizza?”

“Depends!” Sarah let her head fall onto the back of the old, worn-out couch so she could gaze in the direction of the doorway. Beyond her, incomprehensible YouTube videos played on the TV. “I don’t get paid until Friday. You picking it up?”

The apartment wasn’t huge, but it was comfortable, and the two had nearly finished unpacking. Really. All the important stuff was set up at least—couch, table, TV, Zoë’s writing desk that was already showing signs of clutter. And the couple boxes stacked in the corner with the skating gear piled on top practically made up for the fact that Sarah hadn’t gotten around to setting up her equipment rack yet.

“Yeah, I got this one,” Zoë replied, staggering over to the easy chair, smartphone already in hand. “Mom and dad started sending me food money after they tried the Arbuthnot cafeteria food. I honestly don’t think it’s that bad but I’m not gonna turn down free money to defend ACC’s honor.”

“Then hell yeah I’m in. I guess if it’s on you then I don’t get to tease you about your anchovies, huh?” Sarah smirked. “How was class, anyway? I forget, what do you have on Tuesdays?”

“Anchovies are delicious,” Zoë asserted, “especially with asiago. If you can’t smell a pizza from the next house over it’s too weak. You can have your pepperoni, I’ll have my… fish. And uh I have Women’s Lit on Tuesdays. Right now it’s Plath Week.”

“See, sometimes I wonder like maybe I shoulda tried the whole college thing, then you talk about stuff like that and I stop.” Sarah laughed.

“Why, have you got something against Sylvia Plath?” Zoë threw herself into the easy chair with a whumph.

“Yeah, we dated in high school,” Sarah deadpanned.

“You’re older than you look,” Zoë shot back. After a few moments of quietly tapping at her phone, she looked up and said, “people sure are different here, huh?”

Sarah snorted quietly. “Yeah, tell me about it. I think you probably get it worse than I do over at the campus, but yeah. Everything’s just more…” She brushed her hand back through her hair, sweeping her bangs out of her face as she searched for a word. They fell back in front of her face almost immediately. “Colorful here? Like, literally, I mean. Never saw so many shades of hair back home. Something happen?”

“Not really, no. I think I’m just used to everything being a little more comfortable. More boring.”

Sarah nodded, shutting the TV off before dropping the remote onto the couch next to her and slumping back against the cushions with a sigh. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to get out of Rushville, but yeah. Part of me misses it sometimes.”

“Mm-hmm.” Zoë glanced up. “Just pepperoni?”

“Yeah.” Sarah ineffectually brushed her hair out of her face again, letting out an exasperated snort when her bangs fell back in front of her eyes. “Ugh. Hey Zoë, how do you feel about cutting hair?”

“I only know how to cut boys’ hair.” Zoë smirked, miming running an electric clipper over an imaginary boy’s head. “Zeeeeer. I grew up with two younger brothers, and mom always made me give them haircuts to save us money. She’d send me to her stylist.”

Sarah pulled her long hair over her shoulder, holding it protectively away from her roommate with mock horror on her face. “Yeah I think I’ll pass, Zo. Guess I’m gonna have to find a salon sooner or later. You look for one yet at all?”

“Nah. My hair is pretty low-maintenance, if I’m honest. When my chin bob turns into a shoulder bob, I’ll start looking, or I’ll just do it when I visit my folks. Okay! Order’s placed.” Zoë set her phone down on the side table. “Say, didn’t you have a tinder date last night? How’d that go?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Eh. He seemed nice enough, I guess? Not really feeling it, though, I’m gonna keep looking.” She chuckled and added, “You’ll get a laugh out of this, though, dude’s name was Ro.”

“Ro?” That got a laugh. “What are you implying, Sarah? Hmm?”

“I dunno, it’d be pretty cute, wouldn’t it? Zo and Ro?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Ugghhh,” Zoë half-groaned, half-laughed. “I already told you! I’m not trying to date right now. I’m overwhelmed as it is and I wouldn’t want a boy to have to put up with me like this.”

“So what you’re saying is, I gotta keep putting up with you all on my own?” Sarah smirked.

“I’m afraid so. Hey, you want a beer?”

---

“I don’t miss it,” Zoë slurred at the mouth of her fourth beer. “I mean I miss it, a lot, but I don’t. Miss it? Indiana, I mean.”

“I miss my family,” Sarah commiserated. “They drove me crazy and I couldn’t wait to get out of there, but I still miss ‘em? Even my dad.” She peered down into her glass, eyeing her own beer with a betrayed look on her face. “Glad he can’t hear me say that.”

Staggering to her feet, Zoë hucked her empty beer can into the recycling bucket and walked semi-steadily over to the fridge to grab another. “You can miss someone even if they suck. It’s not your fault that you emotionally imprinted on a jerk face.”

“Jerk face,” Sarah grumbled in agreement. “Whatdya miss most about home? And hey can you grab me another can too? My glass’s almost empty.”

“I don’t understand why you can’t drink out of the can. It’s PBR. You don’t drink that out of a glass. That’s for good beer.” Zoë squinted in the fridge and pulled out a pizza box to get at the cans behind it. The fridge door attempted to close on her rear, and she grunted and hipchecked it back out of the way. Atop the fridge, a bottle of nice wine jostled toward the edge. “What do I miss most about home. Um, I think it’s the quiet. And all the greenery. Just fields full of plants.”

“Yeah, it’s weird. Like, I didn’t live on a farm? Most of my friends did, though. And I’ll keep my glass, thanks. Blame jerk face.”

“Me neither, and same.” The battle with the pizza box was a close one, but by bracing it under her chin, Zoë managed to get her fingers around two cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon and drag them out. “Hey, thanks for agreeing to pizza ‘n beer. I’ve been really anxious and this is helping. I’ve felt really weird lately.”

“Hey, no big deal, ‘swhat roommates are for, right?” Sarah pillowed her face on her arms as she gazed over the back of the couch towards the kitchen. “Long day at the warehouse anyway, I needed it too. Weird how?”

“I’ve had pretty much like. No appetite. None.” Back in the fridge went the pizza. Slowly. Carefully. Then, the transfer of the beers from one shaky hand to two steady ones. So far so good. “I literally forgot to eat on Tuesday and I didn’t even notice. Didn’t feel hungry. How fucked up is that?”

Sarah frowned. “Zo, you gotta take care of yourself, okay? Like, if I’m not allowed to go out with the dude with the, the fedora, you’re not allowed to not… forget to… not… eat, okay?” She furrowed her eyebrows. “You haveta eat. Is what I’m saying.”

“I know! I know. That’s why I was like, ‘I should ask if Sarah wants to get’—” Mission successful, Zoë straightened upright quickly, slamming her head on the bottom of the freezer door. “Mother fuck!”

“Zoë!” Sarah yelped, struggling to unfold herself from the couch.

As Zoë crouched on the ground, clutching the back of her head, the 1998 bottle of Chateau Peu Importe (okay, Sarah couldn’t remember what it was actually called in the moment that it started falling, sue her) toppled from its home atop the fridge and plummeted directly toward the girl crouching in pain, aimed to make a perfect second blow to her already-injured head.

“Zo!” Sarah shouted, lunging over the back of the couch, her hand outstretched as she reached out towards her roommate, far too far away to do anything but watch as the unexpected projectile fell.

The wine bottle froze in midair, an inch from Zoë’s head.

Sarah stared for a moment. She hiccuped nervously and the bottle quivered. Then she twitched her hand and the bottle slid sideways before dropping onto the floor with a muted clunk.

She scrambled over the back of the couch, half-staggering, half-crawling over towards the other girl. “Shit, Zoë, are you okay? That almost fell on you!”

“Awwrrrr,” Zoë whined, slowly unclenching her body. “Ohhh, that really hurt. I hate this fridge!”

“Yeah, it’s a real asshole,” Sarah agreed, giving Zoë’s shoulder a squeeze before standing up slightly unsteadily and opening the freezer door. “Hang on, I’m getting you some peas. Show me where you hit your head.”

“I don’t think it’s too bad. I can feel a little egg forming but no blood.” Leaning against the counter, Zoë winced as she probed her scalp.

“That’s good, show me anyway,” Sarah said, wrapping a package of frozen peas in a dishtowel and handing them over before putting a hand to the taller girl’s shoulder and nudging her downwards. “Siddown so I can see.”

There was some whining, but ultimately Zoë obeyed, plunking down into a folding chair. She set Sarah’s beer on the card table, then cracked her own open. “Stupid physics.”

“Seriously.” Sarah examined the injury as well but finally concurred, taking the hand that Zoë was holding the peas in and pressing it lightly against the bump. “Hold that there. You’re not wrong, Zo, it’s gonna be a hell of a bump.” She grabbed her own beer and cracked it open, retrieving her glass so she could refill it.

“I don’t want a bump!” Zo whined. “I’m going to concentrate really hard and become a paranormal so I don’t get a bump.”

“I, uh,” Sarah began, staring down into her beer and then taking a long sip. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Zo. On any counts.”

“Boo. That should be how it works.” Zoë pondered that for a moment, gently chewing the edge of her beer can. “Do you know any paranormals? Is that why you know how it works?”

“Ummmmm,” Sarah hedged. “I uh,” she said eloquently.

“Maybe I shouldn’t pry, it’s none of my business.”

“Shit that’s not, uh, I mean,” Sarah stammered. “Look, I’m a, a paranormal, okay? Ugh, it’s embarrassing.”

Five solid seconds crawled by, then Zoë laughed. “Okay, I walked right into that one. No, but really though. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Sarah laughed in relief. “It’s no big deal, okay? Like, it’s fine, really. But yeah, that’s, y’know. A thing.”

“What’s a thing?”

Sarah grimaced under her roommate’s gormless stare. “Like, bein’ a weirdo, okay? Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. I try to like. Not do stuff where anyone can see.”

Zoë blinked several times, brown eyes widening as realization dawned. “You… wait, you weren’t kidding. You weren’t kidding? You’re actually a paranormal?”

Sarah’s own eyes widened, then she dropped her face into her palm, her shoulders shaking with a helpless chuckle. “Oh shit, you mean you didn’t…? I mean actually yeah sure, I was kidding, just a stupid joke, right?” She lifted her head just enough to peer sidelong at Zoë and stage-whispered, “Do you think she bought it?”

Zoë looked crestfallen, then dubious, then confused, then piteous. “I’m confused,” she finally said in a small voice. “Are you messing with me?”

Sarah sighed. “Sorry, Zoë, I shouldn’t tease, you’re still hurt. No, I’m not.” She watched Zoë grow even more confused, then she rolled her eyes. “Ugh, here, okay?”

She pointed to where she’d set her empty beer can down on the card table. It slid an inch to the left.

Zoë gasped. “That! What was that! It moved!”

“Yeah, that’s… that was me. I actually really totally am a para, Zo.”

“You can move stuff with your powers! You moved it! With your brain! That’s… so cool!”

“It’s weird, all right?” Sarah shifted uncomfortably. “I try not to talk about it, but I mean, you’re my roommate, so I guess you should probably know anyway?”

“Weird? Why is it weird?” Zoë’s attention turned back to Sarah, her expression quizzical. “It’s really cool, and useful. Does it hurt you or something?”

“I mean, no? It’s pretty exhausting, though, and it’s basically always easier to just pick things up with my hands. And, y’know, it’s unnatural.”

“Oh.” Zoë’s head dipped. “You really think it’s unnatural? You didn’t choose it, you know?”

Sarah sighed, slumping back in her chair. “I know I probably shouldn’t be so down on it, but it’s reflex, y’know? And it made my life hell for a few years, so.”

A pause. “I’m so sorry.”

Sarah shrugged. “I mean, I learned to hide it before I went to high school, so it turned around a little after that. Old habits, y’know?”

“Yeah. And, like, I understand why you’d be careful about it with people from our home state.”

Sarah nodded. “Blame jerk face.”

She picked up her glass and took a long swig, letting out an explosive sigh and giving Zoë a lopsided smile. “I do use it when no one’s around to get things down from the top shelf sometimes, though,” she said. She hesitated, then added, “Things that aren’t breakable.”

“Geez,” Zoë breathed. “That’s… I can’t imagine. But I think that’s really cool, Sarah. And I promise I’ll try not to be weird about it.”

Sarah smiled, a little more easily this time, and gave Zoë’s shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks, Zo. I really appreciate it.”

“I mean.” A little smile crept onto Zoë’s face. “That’s what roommates are for, right?”