• Read the descripton. -.-

    Chapter 1

    I tapped lightly on the door, no reply. Using the key I had recently picked up from the front office, I unlocked the wooden door. I was reminded of a hotel room when I walked inside my dorm, it was clean and the beds were made, a relief to me considering that I was diagnosed with OCD. My roommate, who ever he or she was, had not yet arrived, so I set out to unpack my suitcase, which was trailing behind me on its squeaky wheels. There were two beds, In front of the two beds was a T.V on a rather nice looking stand, on both sides there were a set of drawers, perfect for organizing my clothes. I always grouped my clothes by color, wash, fabric, and type. It was slow work, I folded and re-folded until all of my clothes were perfect squares, then I stacked them neatly in the drawers. I took three framed pictures out of my suitcase; all of them were depicted in the country, on a beautiful farm I used to call home. There was me, with my four brothers and three sisters, my parents, and one of me and my twin brother. I felt, only slightly, a pang of home sickness, boarding school was my idea though. What with the bad economy, I payed my own way here, having left my parents with fewer mouths to feed. Maybe, if I worked really hard, I could get a scholarship and head off to college. I was just jumping ahead now, but I suppose that’s not such a bad thing to do. I set the pictures on the night stand next to my bed; I took the liberty of choosing the bed close to the window, which had a marvelous view of the bay. The window itself was plain, but it did have a bench-like window sill, which would be good for reading. After placing the photos I put the case to my violin atop my dresser.
    I had been playing the violin and piano since I was five-years old. I had always thought the music was magical, seeming to replace all of the worries we'd ever had. If only for a little while, at least. My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, and a boy with messy black hair poking his head through. "Hi, I’m Kazuya" he said, walking the full distance to get inside the dorm. "I guess I'm your roommate." They weren't just kidding when they said boys and girls would be in the same dorms. "Hi, I'm Skylar Lee. Pleased to make your acquaintance." I said, giving a small smile, my voice has a somewhat noticeable southern accent, and is very light and airy. "It’s nice to meet you to Skylar." Kazuya said, he was wearing a black hoodie and black skinny jeans. I’m not sure, but I think the style was called...emo? I couldn’t remember, but it was so different from my white sundress, I hoped we'd get along ok. I tucked my long blonde hair behind my ear and asked, "Are you hungry? I was just about to go cook." Kazuya looked at me strangely, like no one had ever cooked for him before, didn't his parents ever make him supper? "Um...sure?" he said uneasily, I nodded and went into the small kitchen, it had a stove, a microwave, a pantry and a smaller-than-standard-size refrigerator. I decided by what they had provided to make Garlic Chicken Pasta, one of my mom's recipes.
    It took only about thirty minutes to make and soon the dorm was filled with the delicious aroma of garlic. I was weary about using the traditional amount of butter, I didn’t know if my roommate would like it, but my southern side won out and i spooned all the butter in. Down south, we use butter for everything, and we used lots of it. I plated the finished product, and brought one plate to Kazuya, who had hung a few paintings. They all seemed to be of the same city skyline, just at different parts of the day. "This smells really good." he said, taking a huge bite. "Oh my gosh, how did you learn to cook? This is great". A tiny bit flattered I replied "My mom taught me." Kazuya swallowed his bite and said "You need to introduce me to your mom, I've never had food this good." I smiled; glad I didn’t have to make something else for him. "So, did you paint those pictures?" I asked observing the city scene on the walls. "Yeah, from my mom's apartment in LA." I blinked, they were really good. "Are you signed up for the art class?" Kazuya nodded and finished off his plate. "There’s more in the pot on the stove if you’re still hungry." I told him, finishing my own plate. I put it in the sink, and Kazuya got himself another serving.
    I yawned; Kazuya had been working on a painting while I had been reading my book for the past hour or so. Glancing at the clock, it read 10:00pm. I finished the page I was on and closed my book gingerly. 132, I burned the number into my memory, not wanting to forget my page. I clicked the lamp on my bedside off and slipped under the down comforter. Just as my eyelids were closing, I heard Kazuya slip into his bed, and ever slowly, I drifted to sleep.