Player's Roomate It was hot at my parent’s funeral. That’s all I remember. Wait…let me rephrase that. That’s all I wanted to remember. I was itching at my skin the whole ceremony, sweat rolled down my legs as I stood awkwardly around my sparse, nameless relatives. Everyone around me had tears streaking down their faces, smearing makeup and dripping onto the ground. Everyone except for me. As much as I had wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to cry. Nothing would come out.
I guess I should explain some things. My name is Emma Hark. I’m sixteen. I live in a small, unknown town buried deep in Washington. It’s nice and peaceful, which I like; big cities just aren’t my thing. I’m an only child, sadly. I’d always wanted a little brother or sister, but all I got was a snooty cat. I had two loving parents, but of course, they died. It was a car accident that did the job. I guess I had it coming, as luck seems to dodge me.
After my parents, that was it for my family. Everyone had already passed away. I was the last Hark. There was no crazy, hair-brained aunt twice removed or some foreign uncle. I was it. And before you start thinking I’m off to a dirty, old foster home in foggy London, you’re wrong. Why would I tell you about that? No, I’m here to tell you about the Stephens family. The rich-beyond-imagination, well-known, high class, involved, loving, entertaining Stephens family. The only family who would actually take me in. Don’t ask me how my parents even knew these god-like people. We were so below them. But in the well-planned will of my parents, it stated, “Emma Lucille Hark is to move in and live with the parents of Henry and Michelle Stephens”. As the old, bearded man from the funeral home read this aloud to me, my mouth dropped and I asked him to repeat that sentence at least four more times. I couldn’t believe it!
But right after the service, I spotted the infamous black Escalade roll up to the funeral home and out came Michelle Stephens. She was primped to perfection and a touch of sadness tainted her expression. When she saw me, the pulled me into a tight, very awkward hug. I felt like a poor, scrappy peasant next to her. She said some soothing words, signed some papers, gave a few smiles, and soon I was buckled in to the passenger seat of her toasty, elegant car.
“Don’t worry, Emma. Everything’s going to be all right. We’re just going to go back to your house and you can gather up some of your things. I’ve already got your room ready and everything! Oh boy, I can’t wait to see what it’s like to have a daughter.” And off she went, rambling about bras and flowers and pink things.
I was sharply reminded of the fact that she only has boys. Two boys, to be exact. The youngest was Charlie, a moppy-headed cute kid who had a bit of a smart mouth. But it didn’t matter, as he was only in 4th grade. And then there was Ricky.
His full name was Roderick, but everyone just called him Ricky. Tall, dark, and handsome; a perfect description of him. He was A-team, popular, gorgeous, and a senior. As a lanky, awkward sophomore, I heard a lot about him. All the underclassmen girls obsessed over him. The few friends I had basically worshipped Ricky. But, the spell he put on all the girls just didn’t reach out to me. I didn’t see it.
But as I got closer to my new house, I could feel my stomach begin to bunch up. Suddenly, I realized. I was going to be roommates with him.
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