Kerry Allen's Love Emporium

Eugenia’s dominant cardiovascular organ descended with the announcement that dormitory assignments would not be allocated by the administration. Self-selection in such circumstances served the socially skilled. Disadvantaged in that capacity, she remained seated while the auditorium buzzed with the formation of alliances. Someone would choose her eventually, either because she projected the image of a person who might be useful or because they would be denied a room until they had a foursome and she was the only single still available.

She was startled by the alacrity with which she was pounced upon by the dominatrix bounty hunter, Ivy, and her associate, Andi, who could have passed for an adolescent male if not betrayed by the pertness of her nose. Their instantaneous interest in her aroused her suspicion, which stimulated anxiety, which in turn provoked an elevation in body temperature that caused her glasses to fog with condensation.

She tucked her chin and peered through the minuscule clear spot on one lens rather than removing her glasses and cleaning them. “There’s a plethora of potential lodging partners from which to choose. What’s your motivation for selecting me at this juncture?”

“I had a great analogy going, but some people didn’t appreciate it,” Andi said, shooting a reproachful look at Ivy, “so let’s just say there’s Us and there’s Them, and Us need to stick together.”

“That is an egregious abuse of grammar.”

“Is you saying me don’t talk good?”

“Grow up, brat.” Ivy kicked her friend’s sneakered foot by way of reprimand. She drew a tight circle with her finger that pointed at each of the three of them in turn. “Some of us don’t fit in here. There’s safety in numbers.”

At the moment, Eugenia’s primary fear was the leather-garbed brunette addressing her. “Safety from what?”

“Pray you never find out.”

“Lighten up, gloomy,” Andi retorted, evading a second kick by springing up to sit on the back of the chair. She flashed her fist in front of Eugenia’s nose, thumb raised as a symbol of her triumph. “It’s like this: All these delicate flowers are here because they read too many fairy tales when they were little and were brainwashed into believing if they achieve some silly version of female perfection, Prince Charming will whisk them off to his fancy castle, where servants will wait on them hand and foot so they can live happily ever after, and they’re not going to let facts—like there ain’t enough royalty in the world to go around—stand in their way. I think you have a better grasp of reality, so what are you doing here?”

Eugenia indeed had a keen understanding of reality. Instead of fairy tales, she’d read encyclopedias during her formative years. “Throughout my academic career, the educational establishment has failed to challenge me. I hypothesize that the only means by which to evaluate the strength of my intellect is to test it in an endeavor in which reason is not an asset because poor judgment and abject stupidity are commonly rewarded with positive outcomes and in which beauty—an asset I do not possess—largely influences every aspect of existence.”

“Uh-huh. Could you break that down into terms an unemployed factory worker with a tenth-grade education can understand?”

She adjusted her language to reflect the fifth-grade vocabulary employed by most American periodicals. “I want to see if I’m smart enough to get good at something no one believes I can do.”

Andi’s hand flapped in a dismissive wave. “Come on, how hard can it be? We have classes in blushing and crying and thirty other bodily functions most babies have mastered.”

That was a simplistic assessment of the syllabus. “With the exception of How Not to Relieve Oneself for Four Hundred Pages, the focus of all those courses is performing the function prettily.”

“Don’t sweat the cosmetic stuff. I bet you’d be a total babe if you just lost the binoculars.”

“I’m unable to wear contact lenses. My conjunctivae are prone to irritation as a result of environmental allergies.” She withdrew the Kleenex tucked up her sleeve and wiped her nose, which demonstrated the same affliction in the form of perpetual rhinorrhea.

Ivy’s fierce brows plunged into a scowl. “In a crisis situation, you won’t have time to fumble with contact lenses. You need LASIK to permanently correct your vision so you can be vigilant at all times.”

“Is that the thing that peels your eyeball and blasts away the blurries with a laser beam? Seriously, who pays somebody to peel your eyeball and shoot a laser beam into it? I’d pay to avoid that shit.” Andi glanced at Eugenia, whose queasiness must have been reflected in her expression, and patted her shoulder. “Hey, nowhere in the curriculum does it say you have to be able to see. You probably get extra credit for being endearingly klutzy and dependent. Ivy’s obsession with vigilance aside, the important thing is looking the part.”

With the speed of a striking cobra, Ivy snatched her glasses and became a dark, menacing blur. Andi, given her proximity, was a slightly less blurry blur. Neither spoke. Their silence stretched until it became awkward.

Eugenia was well of aware what they saw. Her glasses served as camouflage, the clunky frames and distorting lenses drawing attention away from the bump in her nose, her shaggy eyebrows, pores in which she could store loose change, and the throbbing pimple that had sprouted on her chin that morning and felt rooted in the bone.

“Jeez, give ‘em back.” Andi seized the glasses and jammed them back on Eugenia’s face as if she couldn’t wait another nanosecond to reactivate their concealing properties. “Sorry for disputing your process. You obviously have an uphill battle ahead of you.”

Eugenia adjusted her glasses so the nose pieces rested in the dents caused by years of wear. “Indubitably. Therefore, I won’t have time to invest in friendships during my time here. In fact, historically speaking, I’ve accomplished the most while laboring in conditions of social isolation.”

Three dolls approached as a unit. “Oh, homely nerd girl!” they sang in three-part harmony. “You can be our charity credit. We’ll graciously let you be our roommate in exchange for—”

Ivy slammed her booted foot into the empty chair beside Eugenia, her leg forming a leathery barricade. “Turn around and walk away.”

Six eyes looked down three upturned noses. “We’re extending the hand of tolerance to the only useful one of you losers.”

“Let me rephrase that. Turn around and walk away before I extend the hand of knocking your perfect, pearl-like teeth down your slender, swan-like throats.”

The three turned and walked away, their dainty feet clicking in synchronized haste.

Eugenia committed the threat to memory, though she suspected it would lack its repellent effect uttered in her congested snivel. “Thank you, but your intervention is unnecessary. I’ve been coping with their kind all my life.”

“Imagine how much easier every aspect of that life might have been without their special brand of bullying.”

She failed to appreciate the subtle distinction in value between their bullying and the teeth-dislodging variety. “What is it you want from me?”

“I want you to do well because you swim against the tide of wickedness and depravity that governs this—”

“Ahem!” Andi’s wide-eyed, tight-lipped expression communicated an abundance of shut the hell up directed toward Ivy. For Eugenia, she had a benign smile. “I want you to do well because the pretty, pretty princesses are laughing at you now, and I want to see them explode like the Fembots they are when you zoom straight to the top of the class. Also, I don’t want to share a room with a Fembot, so I’ll owe you a huge favor if you save me from that nightmare.”

Eugenia believed her selfishness was genuine, but some forms of honesty were less than comforting. “I’m not certain I trust either of you.”

“Wariness is good. It will keep you alive while the unsuspecting around you become prey.”

Eugenia’s gaze shifted from Ivy to Andi. “She’s an alarmist.”

“Yeah, but she’ll probably let you try on her clothes, and don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to strap on a leather bustier.”

Such apparel had not previously been a subject of consideration, but the notion now intrigued her.

Ivy crossed her arms, exponentially increasing the intimidation of her stance. “A smart person would take advantage of the assets available to her, especially the human ones. Making things more difficult for yourself proves nothing other than you’re stubborn and self-defeating, qualities not generally associated with success.”

In addition to being terrifying, she made a sound argument for her position. “Very well, I accept your invitation to cohabitate.”

Andi rubbed her hands together. “Awesome. One more to go.”

Ivy scanned the room for a likely candidate. “How about that tall one over there?”

Andi looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “With the flowing, platinum-blonde hair and the pink sweater set? What part of ‘I don’t want one of those’ do you not understand?”

“Look closer.”

Eugenia looked, as well. She estimated the individual in question stood ten inches taller than anyone in the vicinity. There was something vaguely familiar about the forceful jaw and firm, uncompromising lips accentuated by a coat of rosy lipstick. “Is that… Ann Coulter?”

“No. No way.” Andi’s eyes widened. She lowered her voice so no one else heard her exclaim, quietly, “That’s a dude!”

“Inconceivable. The Academy may have been forced to relax its admissions policy, but they’re light years away from turning coed. ‘Heroine’ is an irrefutably gender-specific major.”

“Maybe they don’t know,” Ivy mused. “The mandatory gynecologic exam to inspect for ‘purity’ was axed from the new rules, and you’ve already named one example that proves you can’t be sure based on outward appearances alone.”

“Yeah, and I can’t see Miz Goldplated-Honeypot being so crass as to say to a potential student, ‘Hey, lift your skirt to prove you’re not packing meat.’”

Their quickness to pass judgment made Eugenia uncomfortable. “Don’t leap to conclusions. We can’t all look like mass-manufactured fashion dolls. Perhaps the distribution of genetic material that formed her zygote resulted in unfortunately masculine features.”

“An Adam’s apple, linebacker shoulders, size eighteen feet, and five o’clock shadow at noon are indeed unfortunate on a girl.” Ivy arched a brow. “On a man, however…”

“Hubba hubba.” Andi vaulted from her perch and shoved a path through the crowd. “Let’s go grab our fourth roommate.”

NEXT: Orientation: Drew Leslie

Enjoying this story? Consider supporting the author with a donation through the “10 Minutes to Write” button. Every dollar contributed buys 10 minutes of writing time.