Chapter 8

My heart fluttering, I adjusted my grip on my box of possessions, with Miranda’s head balanced carefully standing upright on top, so I could knock on the door. Technically, this is my own room now. I shouldn’t have to knock. But in another sense, it wasn’t really my own room until I had been in it at least once.

There was no response to my knock. I supposed Grant had gone down to the gym. I pushed open the door, and nearly dropped the box. Grant was there, on his bed, looking in my direction—he hadn’t answered the knock because it was very hard to talk in the neck trainer.

I frowned, walking into the room and depositing my possessions on the other bed. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in reminding you we’re not allowed to use that alone.”

Grant put his hands on the handles to push himself up and take the stress off his neck. “Suppose any student’s ever actually died using one? I don’t mind rules when they make sense.” He let himself back down again, once more supporting his upper-body weight with his neck muscles.

Grant had shrugged indifferently when he’d been summoned to the dorm parents’ room and asked whether the new arrangements were okay with him. Most likely he regarded any roommate as little more than a mechanism to make hanging practice possible. It probably doesn’t even matter that my first words to him as a roommate were a criticism. Grant was one of that small number of people whose self-assurance was genuine, not a cover for insecurity. Any critics of his behavior or techniques were automatically wrong, and no cause for concern.

I sat on the bed that would be mine, wondering if there was some way to establish a relationship on a more friendly basis. I cleared my throat. “I really like those moves you do when you’re hanging. I keep trying them, but I can’t breathe right when I’m doing them. Do you think you’d be able to give me some pointers?”

Grant, clearly annoyed at being interrupted once more, pushed himself up again to speak. “I don’t really have any magical training secrets. I don’t have some way that I do it. I just do it. Now could you give me a few minutes here?”

I sighed. “Sure.” I stood and decided I may as well start distributing my possessions. I began by reverently putting Miranda’s head on the shelf that corresponded with the one it had occupied in the room I’d shared with Susan. I’d nearly finished getting my things put away, when Grant decided he’d finished with the trainer. I heard Grant behind me, putting the device back in its holder, and heard Grant’s curious question, “Who’s that?”

I turned and saw that Grant was looking at Miranda’s head. He had to be the only student here who wasn’t aware that I had Miranda. One after another, it seemed every student in the school, including the Second and Third Years who had known Miranda personally, had made the pilgrimage to my room to see Miranda and reminisce about the girl they’d all admired. Somehow Grant had been out of the loop, but maybe that wasn’t as surprising as it seemed. Students had learned very early on how pointless it was to try to engage Grant in small talk.

I smiled, as always when the warm memories of my day with Miranda came flooding back. “This is Miranda. She graduated the year before last—the Third Years now were First Years when she was finishing. She was hanged at my house.”

I’d never before seen Grant impressed by anything. His eyes were fastened immovably on Miranda now, his mouth slightly open. “She’s a graduate? You saw her do her show?”

I nodded eagerly. “I even got to help.”

Grant seemed to pull himself together. “That’s pretty cool.” I could almost see his barriers falling back into place, as if by conscious effort.

It was frustrating on many levels. Beyond the practical need to get to know my new roommate better, I was physically attracted to Grant, yet also constantly repelled by his rejection of personal contact.

I was suddenly appalled at myself—somehow I had avoided considering the possibility that I had sexual reasons for deciding to room with Grant. My only conscious thought, beyond the need to help Shawna, was that I could give myself a chance to learn from Grant. His hanging techniques far surpassed those of anyone else in the class.

Okay, fine, I thought. Don’t lie to yourself about this anymore.

In any case, I could meet neither my physical nor my intellectual goal unless I could somehow crack the shell that surrounded Grant. Trying quickly to catch Grant before he was totally inaccessible again, I said, “I’m going down to the gym to get in some workout time. Want to come with me?”

Grant shook his head. “Going to watch some hanging vids.”

I thought about staying to watch the videos with Grant, but after my invitation to the gym, changing my plans would look like a pathetic attempt to ingratiate myself. I suppressed a sigh. “Okay, see you later.”

Grant had already turned to a pile of video disks, and made no response. I left, furrious with myself.

After my workout, I went to Larry’s and Laney’s, and spent the night. As I lay between them, I had trouble remembering that Larry was Larry and Laney was Laney, and that neither naked body snuggled against mine was Grant’s.

Next morning

I went back to our room to get a fresh uniform. Grant was in the neck trainer again. I decided to tackle the problem head on, waited until he finished, then turned to face him directly.

“Grant, we need to talk.”

“Okay, so talk.”

“You obviously don’t realize why you have a new roommate.”

“Am I supposed to care?”

“After Susan was hanged, I’d planned to move in with Erland and Jackie. But Shawna came to Gil and Bridget in tears, asking to change roommates. They couldn’t do it because you need a roommate for obvious reasons, and all the other students have formed friendships or more with their existing roommates. I decided to come room with you because I’m the second best student in the First Year, and there’s a lot I can learn from you.”

“Well, obviously.”

“But you’re not helping. You don’t make suggestions, you don’t share what you’ve learned except to put people down. That’s all you do: you eat, you sleep, you study, you practice, and you make everybody else feel like shit. Do you know what would have happened if I hadn’t volunteered?”

He shrugged. “Nope.”fsusan was ha

“Shawna would have volunteered for our first party next month. That would have left you without a roommate.”

“So I’d get another.”

“You don’t get it, Grant. There is not one student in the First Years who would have you for a roommate. I guess Gil and Bridget have the authority to force somebody to room with you, but it would be the same unstable situation as with Shawna. Sooner or later, Gil and Bridget are going to give up on you. Or if they don’t, there will be a general strike by the First Years. The dorm parents can force somebody to accept a room assignment, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to do hanging practice with you ... Being assigned a room doesn’t mean they’re actually going to sleep there.They’ll sleep in another room, like I did last night, and they’ll do hanging practice with their friends.”

Another shrug.

“What are you going to do if nobody will do hanging practice with you? Nobody to pull the lever and start you hanging, nobody to push it and bring the platform back up.”

“Did you read about the Fifteen?”

“Of course.” The Fifteen was discussed in the Student Manual, which I’d read before I’d even gone to watch the New Student Orientation.

“I’d get a lever like that, positioned so I can kick it with my foot.”

“So you have a high opinion of your ability to stop hanging before you lose consciousness. Maybe you’re even right. But do you think Gil and Bridget are going to approve? Do you think the Dean will?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Anyway, right now I have a roommate.”

Another shrug. But he looked thoughtful, a little. I gave up. Either he’d “get it” and improve his behavior, or he wouldn’t. Either way, there was nothing more I could do about it.

I wish I wasn’t so nervous, I thought as I pulled off my shorts and briefs and dropped them atop my shirt on my bed. It’s not like Grant hasn’t seen me hang before. That was in group practice, though. I’ve never done it alone with him before. He’ll be my entire audience, and even if he doesn’t say anything, I know he’ll be critiquing me in his mind, noticing all the things I’m doing wrong and feeling superior. I hope he does tell me if I’m doing it wrong. That’s the biggest reason for having a partner to practice with—well, other than having somebody to keep you from dying, of course.

I caught myself nearly grinding my teeth as I watched Grant strip off his own uniform, to stand naked waiting for me to step up onto the platform. It wouldn’t be so bad if there was any possibility at all we might play some sex games eventually, but I have to look at that body and think, Damn, can’t touch.

It was two days since I’d moved in with Grant, and I’d procrastinated as long as I could before suggesting hanging practice. Grant and I had barely said ten words to each other in the two days. I had slept in the room with Grant last night for the first time, telling myself it would eventually feel more natural. Grant and I both slept nude, Grant with no evident self-consciousness, nor any obvious awareness of what seeing him that way was doing to me. I had lost any shyness about showing myself to anyone else, and in fact felt a growing confidence that other students were admiring my body in the gym as I continued sculpting it the way I wanted it, but I still didn’t feel in the same class with Grant. As I lay in bed, a fantasy, no doubt hopeless, of sharing Grant’s bed and intimacy had begun to overwhelm me, and I lay on my side under the bedsheets and worked myself to the quietest orgasm I could manage. I felt fairly sure Grant hadn’t been able to tell.

I turned now and stepped onto the platform, and blinked at seeing Grant holding a length of rope instead of handcuffs. Grant noticed my surprise, and shrugged. “I just like it better. Doesn’t matter to me if it takes longer.”

I nodded, and turned away with my hands behind me. Grant secured my wrists quickly, and hopped onto the platform to pull the noose down over my head, tighten it and adjust it. I turned to look at Grant. “Four minutes, okay?”

Grant gave me a little smile. “Sure.” I could read the smile: what, only four minutes? I had gone longer in practice, but wanted to try some of Grant’s moves, at the cost of a little time.

The instant my feet left the platform, I knew I’d made a mistake. I’d been concentrating so hard on visualizing the hip thrusts and leg swings I’d wanted to make, that I hadn’t filled my lungs enough before swinging. I tried to make up for it by using the head-rolling technique and sucking in as much air as I could, but didn’t have enough experience with the technique to get caught up to where I needed to be. Furrious with myself, I waggled my right foot in the standard gesture barely a minute after getting noose-borne. I felt the platform come up to support me, knowing my face was redder than the hanging would account for. Damn it!! I tried to avoid looking at Grant, but couldn’t manage to miss his eyes looking the question at me.

I took a deep breath and sighed. “You know you’ve seen me do a lot better than that in class. I just messed up.” With anyone else I would have laughed it off. Nobody else, though, was Grant, and nobody else could have induced such deep humiliation in me. “I want to try it again. Give me about five minutes to catch my breath, okay?”

Grant nodded, his usual smirk on display, and sat on his bed, pulling a book from his shelf and opening it.