“What!” Robbi shouts right in my ear. “Patsy, why couldn’t he have done that downstairs or even upstairs? There’s a toilet up there.”
She shrugs. “He’ll just be a minute.”
“It’ll be a while,” says a man’s voice from behind the door. “My tummy is upset.”
“Tummy?” I say almost to myself.
“Yo, Jeff!” yells Robbi. She doesn’t wait for him to acknowledge her. “Next time, go home to shit, shower, and shave, yeah? Now none of us will be able to get ready in time.”
“Whatever,” he mumbles, then moans from inside the bathroom.
“I’ll just put my hair up and go like this,” I say. “I’m going to be late.”
Loud enough for Patsy and Jeff to hear, Robbi replies, “Me too. I guess I can’t use my own goddamn bathroom to get ready for class.” Then she mumbles, “Inconsiderate fuckers.”
This entire thing this morning gives me pause. Robbi mentioned that we’re overcrowded, especially now that the basement isn’t an option thanks to the arachnid from my nightmares down there. Heck, even if the landlorddidfinish the basement, that giant fucker could be living in a crevice somewhere. With its million spider babies. They could regain control of my bedroom in a matter of hours. God, I hate spiders.
No, I need to take all of this as a sign. I need to find a new place to live. And since Tayler is going to be homeless in a few weeks, maybe I could bunk with her. The money from Mr. Becker could help me with that.
I race back upstairs and pick up my phone to check the time, but I forgot I turned it off. Quickly restarting it, I brush my hair and put it up in a messy bun. I throw on an oversized ISU sweatshirt and slip on some fake Vans. I wish I had more time to get ready. I feel gross. At least I brushed my teeth before the walk. Oh, and I’m starving, but there’s no time for breakfast. I finally have some food too. Food that isn’t considered a carbohydrate. I used a tiny bit of the five thousand from Mr. Becker to buy myself some healthier groceries.
When my phone comes to life, I quickly check the time. “Shit.” I’m late. Not only that, I see several messages. Cooke’s name is among them. No doubt he feels badly about earlier. I don’t have time to read them, so I grab my bag and am out the door to my pretty blue Vespa. The pretty blue Vespa that Cooke bought for me. I used the gift certificate to buy a new helmet. It’s the same style as before, but this one is baby blue, just like the scooter. The new trunk also matches the scooter. I paid a little extra to have the guys at the shop install it.
Slipping on the helmet, I straddle the bike. I’ve got the keys in my hand, but before I start it up, I grab my phone and quickly type.
Me: I forgive you. I’m late for class, so I’ll write more later. Long story, but I’m probably going to have to move soon. I’ll let you know where and when.
I race to campus. When I get to the Design Center parking lot, there isn’t a spot in sight. “Of course there isn’t.”
I drive around frantically for ten more minutes. When I don’t find a thing, I park illegally behind a short brick wall that separates the sidewalk from a grassy area behind the building. I’ve seen other scooters there from time to time, so I cross my fingers that I don’t get ticketed, or worse, towed. By the time I race into ceramics, I’m sweating, panting, and my hair looks like I’ve been in a wind tunnel. In a word, I look hellish. Not only that, there’s only one wheel left, and it’s that fucking kick-wheel.
Shoulders slumped, I lumber to the back, mumbling, “I should have never gotten out of bed today.”
I wouldn’t find out until later, but I was more right about that than I could have imagined.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Cooke:You hung up on me again?
Cooke:Childish. That’s what that was. Bloody childish.
Cooke:Now your bloody phone is off, isn’t it? Well, you can just sod off, Quinn.
See? I should have stayed in bed. God, I’m the world’s biggest idiot.
I reread his texts to be doubly sure. Yep. I can say, without any hesitation, that Cooke was not asking for forgiveness in his messages. Nope. And if “sod off” means what I think it does, I’m pretty sure he broke up with me.
In a text.
What a cliché.
I turn off my phone again because I can’t take one more text. From anyone.
IknewI shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The world’s second crappiest day has turned into the world’s second crappiest night at work too. Luke’s in a terrible mood, so nothing I do was right. And I mean nothing. I’m not sure what crawled up his lovely, firm ass, but whatever it was, it isn’t sitting well.
