But Darcy just shrugs it off. “What’s more random than a sudden windstorm? Plus, all the muses are great. You really can’t go wrong with whoever you end up with!”
Fifi spends a few minutes studying the whole group of envelopes before she finally squats down to retrieve the one that’s the farthest away from her.
“Wait to open those until you’re in your room,” Darcy tells us. “It’s crowded enough down here. We can’t have everyone summoning their muses!”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I want my first meeting with my muse to be in the privacy of my own room, thank you very much.
After that, it’s a whirlwind going through the other lines and then getting all our stuff to the elevators. Once there, we find an upperclasser named Velvet, whose main job it is to escort us down a lot of weird, winding hallways filled with abstract tile mosaics that make it hard to get your bearings. Velvet’s other job is to explain the basic rules of the hall, which I listen to closely. I’m not going to be in Aphrodite Hall for long, but it’s important to know the rules. Not that any of them seem particularly strange—curfew and check-in is at ten for the first years, lights-out at eleven, no pets or animalsof any kind in our rooms, no one in our rooms after curfew (though we can hang in the student lounges until bedtime), and absolutely, positively no candles. No exceptions.
Fifi seems a little disappointed by that last rule, but I’m just as glad there’s one less chance for her—or anyone—to set the dorm on fire. No offense to the Aphrodites, but if there’s any hall that would be flighty enough to leave a candle burning and forget to put it out, this definitely seems like the one.
“Oh, and the party starts in three hours,” Velvet tells us as she scans a hall key to let us into our rooms. “Don’t be late or you’ll end up on cleanup crew, and you definitely don’t want that.”
“We promise we won’t,” Fifi tells her as she gently closes the door in Velvet’s face. She turns to me, back against the door, and beams. “Welcome home, roomie!”
I paste a smile on my face as I look around the room. It’s bigger than I expected, and there’s absolutely no glitter in sight—a surprise and a relief. Just two beds, two nightstands, two plain white desks, and two closets. From the second I saw the dorm, I was worried our room would be pink and red tie-dye hearts or something. Instead, everything is stark and simple, just the way I like it.
“It’s super boring in here right now, but we’ll have it looking fabulous in no time,” Fifi declares as she drops her bags in the middle of the floor. “But at least the rooftop is amazing—Levi says it’s the coolest place in the whole dorm. Charlie thinks the glitter room is better, so we’ll have to check them both out and compare.”
I’m not sure what to say about a glitter room, so I settle for a simple “What bed do you want?”
“You pick,” she answers, pulling out her muse allocation envelope and tearing into it.
“You’re doing that now?” I ask.
Fifi looks at me like I’ve sprouted another head. “Of course I am. I can’t wait to meet my muse! Aren’t you excited?”
Actually, I’m incredibly excited. Meeting your muse is one of the most important moments of your first year. Every student at Anaximander’s is assigned a muse to kind of be their go-between with the gods. They’re the ones who give us our labors when we first get here, and they’re the ones who keep up with us all six years. Plus, they help us out with stuff—if we get stuck or run into something we need help with, we can call for them and they’ll come. I grew up hearing about my mom’s muse—she still keeps in touch with her—and I can’t help but think that once I meet mine, she will be able to help me sort out this mess I’m in. Plus, after the morning I’ve had, I can’t wait to get the day back on track.
Still, I never imagined sharing this moment with my roommate.
But Fifi clearly has other ideas as she scans her letter and bounces up and down excitedly. “My muse’s name is Frankie. That’s a fun name! Fifi and Frankie!”
“It’s short for Francis,” a very prim, very Southern, verymale-sounding voice answers fromveryclose to me.
I look up to see a slender guy in a bright red three-piecesuit hop down from the windowsill. He’s completed the outfit with a pink tie and pocket square and the shiniest burgundy loafers I’ve ever seen.
“Muses can be guys?” I ask.
For some reason, I thought they were always female. Probably because back in the days of ancient Greece, the muses were the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne. But apparently those two like each other a lot, because over the last four to five thousand years, they’ve had a lot more kids.
“Actually, muses can be anyone now,” Frankie answers with an annoyed flick of his long, black bangs. “This year, there are five male muses, but once we prove we can do a good job, we’re hoping there’ll be a lot more next school year.”
He pins Fifi with a look from his startlingly turquoise eyes. “Youareokay with having a male muse, aren’t you?” Somehow his deep Southern voice gets even deeperandmore Southern with the question.
“Are you kidding me?” Fifi all but dances across the room to him. “I love the idea of having a muse as fabulous and unique as I am.”
Frankie beams his approval, white teeth gleaming against his light brown skin. “I do like the way you think, Serafina.”
“Serafina?” I repeat, wide-eyed.
Her normally bright smile quivers just a tiny bit at the corners. “I go by Fifi.”
“Of course you do.” Frankie looks positively delightedas he holds one well-manicured hand out for a shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fifi.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Frankie. I love your suit.”
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest.” He flicks his hair back again, this time pausing to make sure the light catches his perfectly sharp jaw as he does. “I was just about to say the same thing about your delightful little ensemble. Looks like red is our signature color.”
