At the far end of the patio sits a sweet, grandmotherly type with a steaming mug of tea in front of her. She has a neat, pin-straight bob, tortoise-shell glasses perched on her nose, and despite the heat, she’s wrapped in a cream knit cardigan embroidered with tiny apples.
She gestures to the empty chair.
“Been right here the whole time.” Her Boston accent comes through thick. Vowels flattened, r’s almost nonexistent. “Well, would you look at you! What’s your name, kid?”
I sit with a quiet huff. “Alex.”
“Alex, that’s a good name. Strong name.” Sharp brown eyes bore into mine. I stare back, unsure what she’s after.
“This is where you ask me for my name,” she says, tapping the table lightly with one finger. “That’s generally how introductions work. The name’s Diane.”
I raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Nice to meet you, Diane.”
She sits up straighter as her smile widens and her eyes flare. Spitfire. I feel sorry for anyone who underestimates her.
Not a mistake I’m about to make.
Cackling voices and booming laughs erupt from inside the house. Diane’s gaze flicks to the chaos, then back to me. We cringe at the same time.
“Did you meet any of the others yet?” I ask.
She shakes her head once, rising to her feet.
“No.” She smooths her cardigan down and lifts her mug of tea. “We better get to it, though. Before they scream the whole house down.”
She’s right, but I don’t want to. Raucous, chatty types are the worst—too loud, too much, like an ice pick to the skull.
Begrudgingly, I follow Diane inside, cracking my knuckles in rapid succession. She halts for a moment, eyeing me.
“Awful habit, Alex.” She tsks. I smirk at her like I used to when my grandma would chastise me for the same reason.
Two of the most camera-ready people I’ve ever seen descend the stairs from the second floor. The young woman is petite, all energy, and probably not a day older than twenty-one. Her long, wavy, platinum-blond hair sways behind her as she pansher phone around the room, yapping in a high-pitched, energetic voice.
“That’s it for now, lovelies! Lila out!”
The man next to her is tall—at least a couple of inches taller than me—and muscular, with a presence that demands attention. Deep brown skin, cropped hair, and a smile that he probably paid a lot of money for.
“Bro, finally another dude! I was starting to think I might be the only one. Not that I’dreallycomplain, if you know what I mean.” His eyes slide to Lila. “I’m Ace.”
“Alex,” I say, giving his hand a firm squeeze. To my surprise, he yanks me into a hug, patting my back enthusiastically. Awkwardly, I tap his back with one hand a few times before pulling away.
“Did you see how they have the rooms set up?” I ask as the two of them sprawl on opposite couches. “More specifically, are the rooms assigned?”
“Yeah, bro. They have our names on the doors and everything.” Ace stretches an arm across the back of the couch, spreading his long legs out in front of him and nestling into the seat. Lila doesn’t say anything; she just gives me a dead stare that’s in stark contrast to the bubbly persona she used while recording.
I nod once, heading up the stairs.
It doesn’t take long to find the door with my name attached. In crisp gold letters on heavy white cardstock to the left of the door is my name. Right below it,Brandon.
I rap my knuckles on the door, but don’t wait for a response before entering. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he won’t be here yet. I need a minute to collect my thoughts.
But of course, luck isn’t on my side.
Brandon’s pristine chef coat, embroidered with his full name, hangs on a hook by the door. My new roommate is kicked backon one of the beds with his legs crossed at the ankles and arms propped behind his head.
Brandon pops up to stand when he hears me approach. He’s tall, with honey-brown eyes, and sandy-blond hair that’s somehow overly styled yet still messy. Obviously intentional.
When I introduce myself, he shakes my hand for a little too long as a smirk spreads wide across his face.
