“Are you sure you’ll be alright to get home?” Jason asks me with his arm around Mya, which makes her smile up at him approvingly.
“Positive,” I reassure and then pull my friend into a hug.
“Let’s have dinner this week sometime before your job starts,” she insists.
I don’t start for another two weeks, but Mya’s career often has her working late into the night or weekends.
“Definitely,” I reply at the same time a silver sedan pulls up. “That’s my ride.”
“Did you check the license? Make sure he says your name first,” Mya calls out behind me.
“Yes, Mom!” I yell back.
“I got your mom,” she says, making me burst into laughter.
“Ivy Sterling?” the driver of the Uber asks.
“That’s me.” I wave to Mya then give her a thumbs-up.
Seconds later, I’m in the backseat scrolling through my phone. A message in the group chat from Ari has me grinning. Mya sent her a picture of the two of us while at the club.
Ari:
It’s about time you got out! You two look gorgeous btw.
How did I get the two best friends in the world? Compliments come easily from both of them. Part of it is because they both know what I’ve been through the past two years, but they’ve been like this since I met them during my freshman year at university in New York City.
Mya’s the oldest of us, three years ahead of me, and two years ahead of Ari.
I reply with a heart emoji to Ari before turning to look out of the window. Despite the late hour, the streets are filled with people, and the city remains lit up from businesses and streetlights.
While it’s not the same vibe as New York, it’s much different than the suburban life I grew up in and had to move back to after my disastrous graduation.
Though doubts still war in the back of my mind, a small smile begins to tip the corners of my mouth as I gaze out at my new home. I’ve finally got a job in a career field I chose.
Not something my parents insisted I pursue.
My life might just be coming together.
“Oh shit. What’s happening here?” The driver’s words pull me out of my musings.
“What’s …” My question trails off at the sight of the flashing lights from the firetrucks and the police sirens in the distance.
“Which house … Are they in front of?” My mouth isn’t computing what my brain has already comprehended. The main house on the property I’ve lived on for the past two months is up in flames.
Thick plumes of smoke spiral out from the front room window, rising into the night sky.
“Oh my god,” I murmur. “Ms. Baldwin!”
“I got it from here,”I yell at the Uber driver as I stumble out of the car in my heels. I struggle to pull the mini dress down against my thighs as low as it will go before running toward the crowd that’s gathered outside of the one-story home.
“Hey, you can’t pass this line,” one of the police officers holding the crowd back sternly scolds me.
“I live here. W-Was … Is she okay?” Tightness grips a hold of my chest, but I fight to focus. “Ms. Baldwin,” I tell him. “She’s the owner of this house. Is she okay?”
The officer’s eyebrows raise, and something passes through his eyes before he glances over his shoulder. I follow the direction he’s looking back to the house that’s about a hundred meters from us.
Smoke billows out of the front and side windows.
