After Matreya’s class, Kiddu has her women’s edu­ca­tion class in the Temple’s kitchen down­stairs. But my after­noon is free. I head upstairs to my dorm room, hop­ing to take a nap before my room­mates get in. I end up star­ing at the yel­low­ing map of Quu oppo­site my bed for an hour before I fall asleep.

 

I wake up to the sound of obnox­ious drum­ming music, sharp and tinny-sounding through our room’s ancient crys­tal.

Hal­parun­tiyas, my room­mate, is sit­ting by the small win­dow, absorb­ing the evening cool­ness. In his under­wear. Strange how he was thought­ful enough to not wake me up when he came in, but doesn’t seem to care about putting music on.

Oh well. I would have woken up any­way because a few min­utes later my other room­mate, Aku, comes burst­ing in, breath­less with excite­ment. Shara, his girl­friend, fol­lows him. This prompts Hal to knock over a chair try­ing to put on his robe before she can see him in his shame.

I can’t stop look­ing at the water clock on the wall. The wooden ceil­ing fan revolves around, half-broken, slug­gishly push­ing the dead air. I usu­ally like my room­mates, as much as you can like your room­mates if you’re an intro­vert. But they aren’t doing any­thing to calm my nerves.

Finally, a lit­tle after mid­night, there’s a soft knock on the door.

 

“Hey,” Kiddu says. “Ready to go?”

She’s wear­ing a long hooded robe over her dress.

“Where are you two going?” Shara says.

“There’s a con­cert,” she lies. “At the com­mune across town. Can you cover for me upstairs?”

“Cer­tainly.”

Awk­ward silence now.

“Yeah,” I say. “Can you guys cover for me too?”

Hal­parun­tiyas nods. Aku gives a thumbs-up.

We leave. After I shut the door I hear Hal­parun­tiyas yell, “Don’t for­get to use pro­tec­tion!”

I wince.

“What­ever,” Kiddu says. “Let them think that. Makes us less sus­pi­cious.”

 

We tip­toe down the stairs to the sec­ond floor. It’s not uncom­mon for kids to sneak around, or out, at night. But you have to be care­ful about it. Priest­ess Matreya’s bed­room is on the first floor, and her hear­ing makes up for her cataracts.

At the end of the sec­ond floor hall­way, past the class­rooms, is a win­dow open to the night. Kiddu puts her legs over the sill and climbs down the rough brick wall.

I look over the edge. It’s only one story down. The win­dow is right over a closed wooded dump­ster, upon which Kiddu has landed.

I stand there, frozen.

Kiddu waves at me, half-shouting, half-whispering.

“I know you’re afraid of heights, but come on!”

That’s the under­state­ment of the week.

I care­fully put one leg over the win­dowsill. Awk­ward to do in my long robe.

I get both legs over and grip the edge of the sill with both my arms like my life depends on it. My san­dals slide use­lessly against the bricks. I should have taken them off.

I look below me. Kiddu is hold­ing out her arms, as if she’s ready to catch me when I fall.

I man­age to climb about a cubit down before I slip and fall scream­ing.

Con­tinue