Glancing down at my phone, I see I’ve got several text messages. Tapping the icon, I notice they’re all from Cooke.
Cooke:I’m home, love.
Cooke:My sincerest apologies. I know you’re no stalker.
Cooke:My address: 35 Haliburton Road, Twickenham, TW1 1NZ. UK Pop by if you’re in the area. :p
He even added the happy face/tongue out emoji.
Me:Since we’re giving addresses, mine is 205 Beedle Drive, Ames, Iowa 50010, USA. In case you’re in the area. ;p
I’m not sure why, but I get a chill thinking of Cooke Thompson stopping by. Wouldn’t that be something?
* * *
I’m staringdown at an express delivery envelope in my hands. An envelope with a return address of Twickenham, England. It’s handwritten, and I can only assume it’s in Cooke’s hand. It’s a little messy but still readable. I run my fingers along the letters of my name, imagining him taking the time to write this out. Shaking that off, I flip the envelope over and carefully tear it open. Inside is a single sheet of white, lined paper. I open it and see something slide out and fall to my feet. Bending, I pick it up and read the front: Visa Gift Card. I close my eyes and look at it again. “No, Cooke.”
With the letter in my right hand, I read his words.
Quinn,
As you said, uni students always need money, and I have more than I need. Please use it as you wish. Throw a bash for your mates, or buy yourself something you’ve always wanted. Have some fun.
Yours, Cooke
God, I’m not sure where to start with this. I stare at his words, then back at the gift card. Flipping it over, I gasp. “A thousand dollars?” That’s just… ridiculous. I’m instantly angry. Okay, maybe angry isn’t the right word. Flummoxed. That’s a better word. I told him I didn’t need his money, but he sent it anyway. Yeah, flummoxed and frustrated. Oh, and flabbergasted. Now there’s a good word.
Without thinking, I pull the phone out of my pocket and shoot off a text.
Me: Cooke, no. What were you thinking? This is too much. I don’t need this.
I stare at my phone, waiting for a response. When nothing comes immediately, I glance at the clock and do the math. It’s late evening there. He should be up. When there’s still no response, I gather my book bag and letter and make my way downstairs. I’ll study for my next test while I wait for him to reply.
By seven that evening, there was still no word from Cooke, so I decide to seek the advice of my roommates. I’m sure I’ll get a variety of opinions about what to do about this thing, but that’s good. I need to hear all sides.
When I step into the living room, Susanna, Lindsay, and—ugh—Kara are watching something on the television. “Hey.” I look at Susanna. “Are the other girls here?”
“In Patsy’s room,” mumbles Lindsay. “They’re getting ready to go out.”
Since her room is right around the corner from the living room, she must have heard us, because soon the room is filled with the girls. I wish Kara weren’t here. She’s always here, and I don’t understand why.
“What’s up?” asks Robbi. I’ve come to realize she’s the no-nonsense roommate. She doesn’t pull any punches, nor does she put up with much bullshit. I can respect that.
“Well….” I pull out the folded letter from my back pocket. Carefully, I remove the card and unfold the letter. “I got this from Cooke today.” I hand the letter to Robbi, who quickly reads it. Her eyes grow round, but she passes it on to the next person. I watch it move around the room, deciding to wait until everyone has read it before I speak.
When it’s Kara’s turn, she reads it, then snaps, “How much?”
I ignore her for as long as possible, since Patsy and Kat still haven’t read it. When they do, I clear my throat. Holding up the card, I say, “He sent me a thousand dollars.”
“Wow.” Patsy gasps. “That’s a lot of money.”
“It is.”
“What’re you going to buy with it?” asks Kat.
“I don’t think I should keep it.”
“Why the hell not?” Kara snaps. “He sent it to you. He told you to have some fun.”
