6. Paula

Paula

I was the tiniest bit surprised by Deena's invitation given her generally unfriendly manner. When I glanced over at her, her face was as impassive as usual, but she was twisting her fingers like maybe she was nervous I would say no. That little tell was somehow endearing.

"Sure," I responded. "Let me just wash up first if you don't mind. I feel gross."

Our flight to Paris had been delayed for over ten hours due to some kind of tech glitch and I'd been wearing these same clothes for over twenty-four hours now.

"I wouldn't mind a quick shower, but I can wait until after dinner if you're in a hurry to get food," Deena responded.

"A shower sounds heavenly. I know the Europeans aren't big on hot water but it's been hot here so I imagine it will be warm either way."

We both dug through our bags until we found what we needed, then walked down the hall together to the shared bathrooms. The set-up was kind of like my dorm was in college, with one long row of toilet stalls back to back with a row of shower stalls. Each one had a tiny space for clothing separated from the main shower space by a flimsy shower curtain.

I ripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, sighing happily when I realized that the water was hot and the pressure was good. As I shampooed my hair I couldn't help but think about the fact that Deena was showering on the other side of the wall. For some reason, thinking about her naked made me the tiniest bit excited.

Empirically she was attractive. She was about two inches shorter than me, and like all professional runners, Deena was all lean muscle. Her breasts were a little larger than mine, forcing her to use an extra supportive sports bra when she ran. She also had the cutest little outie belly button that peeked out over the waistband of her racing shorts.

Her hair was somewhere between blonde and light brown, totally straight, and cut in a bob that skimmed the top of her shoulders. Long thick eyelashes framed her brown eyes, and she had full, sensuous lips.

If I saw her at a bar or something, I would totally hit on her. At least until she opened her mouth. Or didn't open her mouth, instead just doing that weird staring thing she did sometimes.

She'd done it the first time I met her at our team orientation. There had been an empty chair next to her, so I'd sat down and introduced myself to her and tried to strike up a conversation. The entire time we talked she just looked at me with that cold expressionless look on her face, answering my questions reluctantly with as few words as possible. At the time I couldn't decide if she was rude or just didn't like me for some reason, but as time went on, I realized that's how she reacted with everyone.

Rude. Definitely rude.

Although it was nice of her to invite me to join her for dinner, I admitted grudgingly. Maybe it wasn't going to be too terrible rooming with her. At least I knew she wouldn't be talking me to death all night.

We both stepped out of the shower stalls at the same time, dressed but with wet hair. If I didn't flat iron my hair dry it was going to be a frizzy mess, but I didn't have the energy for that. Instead, when we got back to our room I twisted it into two long braids and called it good.

I was starving and needed to eat. Now.

"Shall we head out?" I asked.

"Yes."

The cafeteria area was enormous, with rows of tables and a long line of food options. I guessed it had to be big to accommodate the dietary tastes of so many different countries. After a little consideration, I selected a salad, grilled chicken, some kind of a mixed potato and vegetable dish, and a mini baguette with butter. Deena opted for fish in some kind of creamy dill sauce, along with the same mixed vegetables dish and a plate that included sliced bread and assorted cheese.

As we searched for a table we passed the women's gymnastics team. I recognized them right away thanks to their tiny statures, their world famous team member, and the fact that they were all wearing medals around their necks.

They were gathered around a large table with an older woman who I presumed was their coach, talking and laughing happily. They should be happy, they'd won the gold medal in the team competition today, edging out the Russians. It was the first thing we'd heard when we arrived at the airport earlier.

"I'm surprised they aren't out celebrating somewhere nice," I said to Deena.

"Maybe they're planning their celebration for after the individual contests are over," she responded. "They can't get comfortable too soon."

"Congratulations," I called to them as we walked by. "Go USA!"

The gymnasts all cheered and raised their hands in triumph, making me smile.

Deena and I slid into seats across from each other at one end of a large table away from other people. I would have joined another table of athletes, but apparently she didn't like crowds very much.

"God I'm so hungry I could chew off my own arm," I said dramatically.

Deena just nodded, not even cracking a smile.

The silence stretched as we tucked into our food. I usually hated silence but for some reason I didn't mind it right now. After a few minutes Deena set her fork down, pulled her phone out of her pocket, and after looking at it for a few seconds, put it down on the table.

"Tell me where you're from," she said without any inflection.

It was the first time in the two plus years since we met that Deena showed any interest in getting to know me.

"I'm an army brat," I told her. "I grew up moving around every six to twelve months when my dad got transferred. In fact, this stint in California is the longest I've ever lived anywhere in my life."

My dining companion nodded again, then after just a beat too long said, "That sounds like a hard way to grow up."

I shrugged. "It was okay. I mean, it sucked changing schools all the time, but it also taught me how to make friends easily, how to absorb new cultures, and how to be resilient. How about you?"

"How about me?" she repeated.

The tiniest line appeared between her brows, the only indication that she was confused by my question. Instead of answering, she picked up her phone again, and when she set it down she asked me another question.

"Do you have siblings? And if so, how many?"