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Katya kicks at the leg of her chair, fiddles with a fraying hem on her sweater, doodles clumsy eyes and hands and little witches all over the margins of her notes. She’s always been hyperactive, but English has always been her best subject too; there’s nothing you can lose yourself in quite like a well told story. The professor is going over the syllabus for the first day and Katya is in the middle of what’s become a maelstrom of pencil-ballpoint-highlighter scribble intruding into the readings for Week 7.
She feels a tap on her shoulder and jumps a bit in her chair to see a girl she recognizes – Alaska – pulling out the chair behind her and squeezing her a cheeky smile out of the side of her mouth. Alaska always sat at the front of the room all last spring in their big lit theory intro class, miles away from Katya who skulked in five minutes late every week to lounge in the back. She has wide-set dark eyes and long blonde hair and a bit of an untouchable air, and Katya remembers her as whip-smart and kind of scary in her intensity.
She’s one of those girls who’s so pretty she’s probably had one boyfriend or another since high school, and Katya has seen enough of them around, always bringing her coffee and lingering to wait for her after class. Today she’s coming in alone, and about ten minutes late to boot. Katya’s a little surprised and more than anything interested to see her. Something about her is different from before, she looks more tired, or maybe it’s something in the way she carries herself? Or maybe it’s just that she looks different up close, Katya has never been this close to her before.
“Who is she?” whispers Alaska as the professor pauses to shuffle his papers, and it takes Katya a second to realize she’s gazing at what Katya’s been doodling on her syllabus, her dark eyes soft and attentive.
“My interpretation of Stevie Nicks’ interpretation of an old Welsh witch named Rhiannon,” says Katya as if she’s letting her in on some great secret, and Alaska breaks out in a smile that shows all of her white, white teeth. Katya is delighted at the way her eyes crinkle, and wants to make her laugh again.
Her academic coach told her weeks ago to find a study buddy for this class, made her promise that she would do it before the next time they met. Katya spends the twenty minutes after that peeking out of the corner of her eye at Alaska’s neat handwriting, putting the finishing touches on Rhiannon, and working up the courage to ask a near-stranger to put up with her for a whole semester.
“Hey,” Katya says quickly as class ends, needing to get it out fast. “Would you be, like… interested in studying with me sometime for this class?”
Alaska turns to look up at her, dark eyes and an inscrutable expression on her face, and Katya backtracks nervously. “It’s not a date, it’s really not a date,” because she’s well aware of how she comes off, stomping around campus with her messy blonde hair and her shapeless flannel dyke dresses and her red Docs. “It’s just that I learn better when I can bounce ideas off of someone else, and it wouldn’t be all the time, just for big assignments and papers, and I promise I’m actually, like, a good student –”
Alaska’s nodding along with her, her mouth beginning to twitch into a smile, and Katya gets the feeling that she should stop. She’s interrupted by a laugh that bubbles out of Alaska, and a voice that’s deep and entreating at full volume. “Of course, why not,” she says, and for some reason Katya’s laughing too now, her mirth feels infectious. “I just didn’t know you. But now I do. And I like you. My name’s Alaska, what’s yours?”
“Kat – I’m Katya,” she answers, gasping for breath and grinning, picking up Alaska’s offered hand and pulling her up out of her seat like a lady being helped into a carriage. Alaska is taller than her by a good few inches and Katya revels in it, likes feeling small next to other women though she’s only 5’7” to begin with. They beam at each other for a second.
“I honestly am really happy to study together,” says Alaska quietly as Katya hurries to dump her notebooks into her messenger bag. “Everyone knows this one’s a bitch of a requirement class.” Katya nods in relief as Alaska slings her bag over her shoulder and her glorious blonde head and heads for the door. “See you later?”
Alaska isn’t necessarily quiet once you get her started, but when she’s focused on something she can get so silent and scary intense. She’s like that sometimes when they work together in the library, writing furiously for pages in her notebook while Katya tips back in her chair and wracks her mind for any semblance of something to write about. Their first assignment is a short paper and Alaska finishes her draft days before Katya’s even halfway through hers, and they exchange Google docs – Katya sheepishly sharing her working document, rife with self-inserted comments like “add actual analysis” and “gay subtext possibly?” She watches from across the table as Alaska reads through the writing, her arched brows a little bit knit, furtive smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“It’s really good, you know,” says Alaska as she scrolls back up to the top. “You just need to work on the third section a bit more. You’ve got all the pieces.”
“Thank you, Professor Thunderfuck,” says Katya sweetly, not the first time she’s poked fun at Alaska’s last name, and Alaska breaks out into a laugh that’s just a bit too loud for the part of the library they’re sitting in. When Katya goes home that night, the rest of the paper seems to flow out of her like water, the third section practically rewriting itself and the conclusion coming together before her eyes. She thinks of Alaska’s laugh the whole time.
Katya and Alaska sit together every day in class, largely because Katya has the luck of having a perpetually-early study buddy to save a spot for her in the early morning seminar. Katya is always begging sips of coffee off of Alaska, bites of her croissant. Alaska is obliging, even though she clearly thinks it’s funny how Katya nibbles at her breakfast like an inconvenient pigeon. She likes to shuffle her chair closer sometimes and play with Alaska’s long blonde hair; wrapping strands around pencils when it’s loose, folding tiny post-it note origami cranes to nest in her updos. Alaska’s hair is never not perfect, and Alaska is never anything but attentive to the professor, but there’s always a playful glint in her eye as she casts her gaze at Katya and reaches up to feel for what’s on her head.
A few weeks into the semester class falls on Valentine’s Day, and Katya shows up early for once. She’s wrapped up in a big red problem pattern sweater and pink houndstooth trousers with a vintage Don’t Die Wondering button on her chest, and has topped it all off with a clashing shade of red lipstick and her ever-trusty Docs. Her hair is in two messy braids that rest right above her breasts and she sucks on the end of a braid absentmindedly. She got up early to shave and moisturize today; Valentine’s Day has never been a day for Katya to impress anyone but herself.
Alaska comes in a few minutes later looking extra put together, and Katya notices the pretty pink blush she has on and the extra care she’s taken with her eyeshadow. Alaska’s brought her an extra breakfast danish for “good luck, because clearly you need some today,” and Katya cackles at the rotted bitch as she takes it. Alaska seems to be taking notes as attentively as ever, but there’s a faraway look in her eyes and she’s a little more nervous than usual. Katya smiles extra at Alaska through class as a result, gaze lingering fondly on her glossy lips and perfectly painted nails, and hopes that her Valentine’s plans are everything she’s ever dreamed of.
Katya catches her looking at her button at the end of class, and shimmies her chest a little to show it off. “Do you wonder about me?” she asks creakily in her Night of the Living Dead voice, and Alaska looks up at her with a blank, almost shocked look on her face for a second, before breaking into her sweet, full-mouthed smile.
“Do you wish I did?” she parries back, and Katya laughs along with her and realizes, minutes after Alaska is gone, that she does, she really does.
One morning Alaska comes in with an opaque water bottle, and when Katya sips, it’s some kind of absurd green smoothie that tastes more of grass than anything else. Her eyes widen and she looks over, and Alaska is grinning smugly as she flips open her notebook, her lips barely staying closed amidst the mirth.
“Bitch!” says Katya a little too loudly, swallowing hard, and Alaska breaks out into a broad grin that crinkles her eyes, snatching the bottle back out of her hand. “You’re not wrong,” Alaska replies, laughing, “did you like it?”
“I can’t believe you drink this stuff willingly,” says Katya just to give her shit for it, and then calls Alaska a masochist for good measure. Alaska raises an eyebrow at that and takes a swallow from her bottle, never breaking eye contact with Katya all the while, and Katya begins to feel a little warmer than is comfortable. Alaska has a strong profile with high cheekbones and pouty lips and she really is beautiful, on top of being warm and smart and funny. Katya wonders if Alaska has ever honestly thought about liking women. Maybe one day there will be a lucky girl.
Alaska texts her later that day about whether Katya is interested in signing up for a free yoga class at the gym with her, and Katya texts back YEAH u know it immediately, then I knew you were one of those new age hippies from the moment i tasted that smoothie .
Alaska brings a stupid green smoothie to class the next time Katya sees her, and then again two days later. Katya moans and groans about it, but they both know it’s largely for laughs. “This is why no one trusts white people,” she tells Alaska, and Alaska whines back, “It’s springtime, I just want to have my greens!” They go to yoga class together, and though yoga has always helped to clear Katya’s mind and get her excess energy out, she finds her heart still racing even as she eases into Savasana at the end of the session. Alaska is spread out next to her breathing slow and even, her perfect breasts rising and falling and fingertips just barely twitching against Katya’s, and Katya is refusing to believe that she might be having some trouble with her own breathing as a result.
She’s seeing Alaska three times a week for class at this point, plus yoga, plus whatever study sessions they manage to jam in together usually on a weekend, and Katya is starting to feel an absurd sense of attachment to her. Alaska is easy to be friends with, easy to laugh with for hours until they’re shushed by a librarian or a cranky sleepless student. They’re kindred spirits, maybe. Or the same person, and Katya is just the dykey evil twin, and Alaska is the vegetarian angel who will almost definitely go to heaven, or whatever the Buddhist equivalent is.
Alaska sometimes brings Katya an extra coffee to class when she feels like it, just how Katya likes it, with two sugars and no cream. Alaska borrowed an umbrella two months ago when it was raining and has yet to return it. Katya has started to listen to Alaska’s favorite conspiracy theory podcast. When it updates on Thursdays she lies in bed listening to the intro music and imagining Alaska under the covers doing the same, knowing that they’ll inevitably go to class the next morning to debrief it with each other.
“Do you believe in extraterrestrial life?” asks Katya towards the end of the semester as they talk an Asimov short story in class, stretching out the word extra long and slow to make sure she gets all the syllables right. “Of course I do,” Alaska whispers back in a drawl, “I came from somewhere after all and it wasn’t a human womb,” and wiggles her eyebrows a little bit when Katya snorts and earns a glare from the professor. Katya thinks she’s so pretty she might really be from outer space, with her dark round eyes that don’t blink nearly as often as human eyes should, and the way Katya can feel the weight of her stare even when she’s sure Alaska’s not looking.
“You wanna watch my favorite movie this weekend then?” asks Katya, feeling excitement bubble out of her like she’s a puppy, and Alaska must sense it too, because she’s nodding before Katya’s even finished asking. “I promise you’ll love it,” says Katya, grinning. “It’s about people like you and me. Human people and alien people.” Alaska is nodding happily, smiling wide.
So Katya brings Alaska back to her grimy dorm room to watch Contact. Katya’s single is tiny, with grim cinderblock walls that she’s attempted to cover up with all manner of colorful prints. Alaska walks the length of the wall, long nails tracing over each of the images: A dreamy portrait of Stevie Nicks, various Keith Haring pieces, sweet little comics that Sasha’s gifted her over the years.
“Those are from my little sister,” she says when Alaska bends close to read the text. “She’s some kind of art prodigy and goes to comics school in Vermont. The rest I printed in the media center with my friend’s printing credits.”
“I love them,” drawls Alaska, looking at a birthday card Sasha made her for her twenty-first birthday, which features a drawing of Katya as a demented little doll. “I think she really captured your essence in this one.”
Katya cackles and swats her away, and turns around to pull her shirt off so she can put her pajamas on. She turns off all the lights so they can cuddle up together on her plastic dorm mattress with Katya’s laptop balanced precariously across their knees. She fluffs her blanket around both their shoulders, and Alaska clings to Katya’s bicep the whole time as she stares moony-eyed at a young Jodie Foster. Katya doesn’t realize she’s shaking with – nervousness, or excitement? – until Alaska snakes a hand around her back, stroking her lightly. When she looks over, Alaska makes quick eye contact with her but looks right back over to the screen, and Katya lets herself relax slowly into her, lean a little into her side.
Watching a movie with Alaska is a whole experience. She gasps at all the right moments but occasionally bursts into laughter at times that Katya doesn’t understand or question. Katya has seen Contact so many times that she almost pays attention to Alaska exclusively, how she can feel her shaking with laughter or drawing a sharp intake of breath, her ribs right up against Katya’s. By the time the movie circles around to its climax Katya thinks she could lie there forever like this, with a warm and sleepy Alaska pressed up against her body, and Ellie Arroway stepping out onto a dreamlike beach.
“Thank you for showing me,” says Alaska once the credits roll, and she shifts a little on the bed so that she’s lying down next to Katya. “Move over,” she whispers, lit only by the glow of Katya’s open email, and she’s smiling a little bit, almost playfully. Katya can see the the dim light of the screen reflect on her white teeth. It’s late, and she knows Alaska lives off-campus, but they’re both lying there sleepy in Katya’s bed and as she pulls her glasses off and tosses them onto the dresser she decides to throw caution to the wind, to just go with it.
She curls herself over so that she’s barely big-spooning Alaska, wrapping an arm around her skinny frame and breathing in the sweet scent of her thick hair. Katya can feel her slow deep breaths as she falls asleep, and Katya is reminded of how they lie next to each other, hands inches apart, every week on their yoga mats. This is so much more intimate, and Katya’s not sure if she’s supposed to feel the way that she does. Alaska is a warm weight pressed up against her front, and Katya is suddenly acutely aware of her nipples, her dick. She’s trying not to think too hard about it now, when they’re plastered firmly together on a dorm mattress far too narrow for one person, let alone two.
Katya wakes up cold, and rolls over in the daylight streaming through her tiny window to realize that it’s because Alaska is no longer in bed. She’s shuffling around at the foot of Katya’s bed, putting on her denim jacket and pulling her hair through an elastic into a messy bun.
“Thanks for letting me stay,” she whispers, and Katya is still processing everything, sitting up and rubbing sand out of her eyes. She wants to invite Alaska to stay longer, wants to ask her to come back to bed so that they can lie there cuddled up like pigs under a blanket again. She grins a little at the mental image.
It takes her a second to respond. “When can we hang out again?”
Alaska thinks for a second as she slings her tote bag over her shoulder. “I’m free all afternoon,” she says slowly, as if she’s thinking. “Want to come to my place? I’ll cook you lunch and we can hang out after.” Katya nods a sleepy yes, and props herself up on her arms as she watches Alaska gather her things. There’s a certain nervous energy about her. She’s finished tying her shoes and is standing right in front of Katya now, fiddling with the strap of her tote bag, so close that Katya can see the chapping on her lips and little flakes of yesterday’s mascara under her eyes.
“Can I…” starts Alaska, leaning in and putting her bony fingers on Katya’s shoulders. Katya can feel her hands trembling through the thin flannel of her pajamas, and she’s engulfed by a sudden desire to just hold her, wrap her arms around her ribcage and hug her. Katya’s nodding, and leaning in, and then Alaska’s lips brush against hers and stay there, and Katya feels the seconds stretching out in time.
It’s a chaste, closed-mouth kiss, and Katya is the one who pulls back first. She opens her eyes to see Alaska with her eyes still lidded, mouth still a tiny bit pursed. There are spots of red on her cheekbones and her fingers grip Katya’s shoulders. Katya feels the easing of pressure as Alaska removes her hands, looks down at them almost guiltily, doesn’t try to meet Katya’s gaze. There’s a smudge of red on her lips, the imprint of Katya’s. “I’ll see you later,” she says, and Katya nods dumbly as the door closes behind her.
Katya flops back into her bed, but there’s no way she’s falling back asleep. She’s lying on her side in the same position that she was in when she was spooning Alaska the night before, with her butt against the wall and an arm flung out in front of the empty space before her. If she closes her eyes she can remember the precise shape and weight of Alaska’s body, the way her bony shoulder blade poked into her chest when she shifted in her sleep. She wonders what they looked like cuddled together, how Alaska’s long body fit against her own compact frame, their different shades of blonde mixing on the pillow.
She wonders what Alaska wants, if she’s the first girl Alaska has ever kissed, if Alaska will want to kiss her again. Katya reaches up to feel her face, and her cheeks are hot, her heart is still racing. She doesn’t want to think about how she would feel if the answer to that question is no.
But she wants to see Alaska again, so she pulls herself out of bed and drags herself to the shower, shaves and moisturizes her whole body. In her room she stands in front of her full-length mirror in panties and a bralette and surveys herself, combing her damp hair out and braiding it, and going at her eyebrows with a tweezer. Her breath is still coming in little bursts and she does a few sun salutations on the rug in front of her bed to try to regulate it, to little avail. Katya puts on a dress with birds on it, and then a sweater over that and long socks underneath. It’s her comfort sweater – one that has a convenient patch of frayed yarn along the left sleeve that she likes to play with when she gets anxious.
Eventually she heads out in the general direction of where Alaska lives, and she finds herself standing outside the back door to the apartment building, steeling herself. She’s already sweated through the armpits of her dress and is about halfway through her sweater at this point. She shuffles her feet on the doormat for longer than strictly necessary, then takes out her braids and combs out her hair with her fingers.
She’s about to push the door open when it opens from the other side, and Alaska peeks out, fresh-faced and surprised. “I was just wondering when you would come. It’s you!”
“It’s me after all,” says Katya shakily, following her upstairs. Alaska’s place is pocket-sized but cute, with warm red-orange walls decorated with postcards and a big ivy plant overflowing in the corner. Alaska seems to have been in the middle of chopping garlic on a tiny cutting board. She busies herself getting glasses of water for both of them, setting them in front of her sofa, and motions for Katya to sit. Katya’s about to make a vampire joke but decides to hold her tongue for a minute, and they sit there in a companionable but pregnant silence.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” asks Katya finally.
“I guess I should,” says Alaska, so slowly that Katya is hanging on to her every word, but she seems to be less nervous now, seems to be dragging it out intentionally. Her lips curl into a smile. “But I would much rather kiss you again.”
Katya looks over at her and she’s so cute, her dark eyes so earnest and playful, and she scoots herself across the length of the sofa and into Alaska’s arms. When she kisses Alaska this time she can feel her smiling, and it fills her with so much joy she almost laughs in the middle of it. Katya brings her hands to Alaska’s sloping waist after, rests their cheeks together, and Alaska gently nudges her onto her lap so that they’re facing each other, their noses almost touching.
“You can probably guess I’ve never done this before,” says Alaska, and Katya nods. “Boys have always liked me and I never stopped to think that they might not be what I wanted.”
“So what do you want?” Katya can’t help herself.
Alaska rolls her eyes, and still she indulges her, her hands on Katya’s butt pulling her closer. “I’ve wanted you since February, you idiot,” she says, breaking her gaze to look down shyly, and Katya feels heat flush in her stomach.
“You’re kidding.”
“Am not!” she says, beginning to laugh, and Katya puts her hands up to Alaska’s face with wonder, her cheeks are so soft under the pads of her fingers. “I brought you breakfast for Valentine’s Day and you called me a rotted bitch. And that’s when I knew –”
Katya’s cackling, and Alaska is laughing too, the deep belly laugh that has her wheezing and kicking. Katya finds her hands and interlaces their fingers and buries her face in Alaska’s shoulder. “I’m so stupid, Lasky.”
“Yeah, you are,” she says fondly, and she’s pulling Katya’s head up, brushing her hair out of her eyes with her hands, and Katya closes her eyes just to savor the feeling. “Can we be girlfriends?”
Alaska’s bedroom faces east, and Katya opens her eyes to the glory of early morning sunlight. Alaska is cuddled up against her; she’s stolen most of the blankets in the night but Katya is content to let her have them. She’s basically a nudist, Katya remembers her saying, probably sleeps naked even when she’s alone.
She kisses Alaska, strokes the soft skin under her chin and all down her neck and kisses that too. Alaska finally opens her eyes as Katya is licking her ear and immediately bursts into sleepy laughter. “You’re so fucking weird!” she whines, upon seeing Katya’s mischievous grin.
“But you love it,” says Katya, wiggling her eyebrows as she props herself up on one elbow, and Alaska just shakes her head and leans in for a kiss. It’s still early on a Sunday morning; they have the whole day, sweet and empty, before them. Katya ducks under the covers to eat Alaska out slowly, until she’s shaking and grasping at Katya’s hair, and as she comes down Katya notices that her nails are stripped down, clipped short.
She squints a little. It’s so strange to see Alaska without long nails, her fingers weirdly rounded. “Did you do this for me?” she asks, and Alaska blushes, nods a little.
“I didn't expect you to – well,” Katya says, “and I don’t mind getting a little torn up by the likes of you.”
“I just wanted to be gentle with you,” says Alaska shyly, and Katya has to kiss her again, settling her thighs around Alaska’s long legs and making out against the pillows for what feels like hours.
Katya is surprised to see, when Alaska finally drags herself to the bathroom, that there’s a smattering of little colorful things lined up on the bedroom windowsill. They’re paper cranes folded out of post-it notes, stupid doodles and notes that Katya recognizes as her own handwriting, and something warm and glowing blooms in Katya’s stomach. She finds a pastel pink post-it note block on Alaska’s desk, draws a heart squarely in the center, and peels it off to fold into a hasty cootie catcher. She puts on one of Alaska’s many fluffy bathrobes, the hem coming down to her calves, and slips the little paper contraption into the pocket.
They eat pomegranates together for breakfast in the kitchen, cracking the veins of fruit open between their fingers with wonder and feeding each other messily, their faces and fingers sticky with juice. “Do you have plans for the day?” asks Katya, and Alaska reaches across the table, puts her thumb on Katya’s bottom lip, and shakes her head no.
Katya perches her tiny cootie catcher in Alaska’s hair and hopes, knows that she’ll get the joke when she inevitably combs it out. Alaska makes a stupid green smoothie for them both in the blender and Katya downs her glass, and kisses Alaska on her green-stained lips, and spends the whole day happy.