“It would just be for a couple of months,” Anne added. “Until I find something more permanent. Once the show ramps back up—”
“We’ll be roomies!” Cricket clapped in celebration.
“Wait. That’s a really good idea,” Ellis replied, eyes wide. “Then you’ll still be here to oversee the plumbing work next month. And follow up with the elevator guy about that permit issue.”
“It’s perfect!” James squealed.
It should have been good news. A light at the end of a very longtunnel. And maybe it was, Anne reminded herself. Yes, Cricket was a few years younger than her, but they were friendly. There was no doubt the rent would be cheap, too. She could stay in the building and focus on finding a job. Then she could begin to look for something else, an apartment of her own… the plan started to come together in Anne’s mind, calming her anxiety enough to smile.
“Yeah,” she said. “Perfect.”
CHAPTER 4
Apartment 4B was not perfect.
In fact, as Anne stood in the middle of Cricket’s living room, covered in sweat and dust after spending the day packing up her now-empty bedroom upstairs and clinging to a cardboard box filled with her most prized possessions, she couldn’t think of any possible way this scenario could be worse.
“Welcome home!” Cricket exclaimed. “Don’t worry about the smell. It’s patchouli, I promise!”
I stand corrected, Anne thought.
Cricket had spent the past week extolling the virtues of her apartment, and Anne had patiently listened, keeping her questions about Cricket’s collection of K-pop memorabilia to herself. And even though Anne had been too busy to stop by and see it until the very last minute, i.e., the morning she needed to be out of her old apartment to make way for the new tenant’s painters, she knew the layout thanks to the units above and below it. The front door opened to the living room—flanked here by two beanbags and a litany of tapestries that Anne was fairly sure were against fire code—and a small kitchen to the left. A stick of incense burned onthe countertop, framed by a few burn marks on the Formica from where the ash had fallen during previous uses. It sat dangerously close to a pile of posters for Cricket’s play, each one featuring a half-naked woman covered in silver body paint and perched precariously close to a man’s crotch.
To be fair, Cricket hadn’t lied. The apartment was lovely and bright despite the BTS posters and foam furniture throughout. She just hadn’t mentioned how much stuff she had, and how haphazardly it was strewn across every available surface. Anne was already mentally cataloging how to organize it, a game plan to tackle at least the living room. A beautiful vision of plastic bins and labels danced in her head, and for a minute, she almost felt better.
“Help yourself to whatever you see in the fridge,” Cricket said as they passed the kitchen. “And don’t worry about glasses, I usually just use the Solo cups above the fridge. I hate doing dishes, you know?”
Oh God.
They continued forward, down the short hallway and past the bathroom to an open doorway.
“Ta-da!” Cricket said, waving jazz hands toward the waiting room. “What do you think?”
Anne tried not to cringe as she surveyed the fairy lights that hung from the ceiling, the remnants of stickers along the walls. But at least there was a bed! And a dresser! That was a plus, right? Of course, the dresser was missing its bottom drawer. And the room appeared to be missing a window, too.
“It’s great,” Anne said.
Okay, maybe not great, but it could work. It had to. She couldn’t start looking for an apartment until she had a job, even though shetechnicallyhada job—it was just on hiatus at the moment. But once the show came back, she would still be stuck looking for a new place to live with a minuscule salary, and—
Nope, no spiraling today. She had somewhere to live; that’s all that mattered right now. The first item on her plan could be ticked off. Tomorrow she would unpack her things and organize, then she could focus on finding a job—something to tide her over until the show came back, anyway. It was all under control.
“I’m just across the hall if you need anything, so…” Cricket turned and caught Anne’s expression. “Something wrong?”
Just my hopes. My dreams. My life.
Anne pushed the thought away and forced a smile. “Just thinking about all the unpacking I have to do.”
Cricket’s expression lit up again. “So exciting! I would love to help, but I have to get ready for rehearsal. Then I need to go and hang up those posters around the neighborhood. Oh, you’re coming to the play, right? We’re opening in a few weeks, and I really need the energy of the crowd behind me, you know? So I can really feel my character.”
“I thought you were an understudy?” Anne asked.
“I am, but you never know when you’ll be called upon. That’s theater. Speaking of which, do you have any body glitter? All the understudies have to bring their own.”
Anne narrowed her eyes at her, trying to judge if she was serious. “I’m all out.”
Cricket sighed as she turned toward her room. “That’s okay. I’ll pick some up when I head out.”
Anne waited until she heard Cricket’s door shut, then she fell back onto the mattress. The springs let out a low, anguished wheeze just as the first chords of Taylor Swift’s “Anti-Hero” blared outfrom behind Cricket’s bedroom door. It was so loud Anne almost missed the sharp knock at the front door, followed by Bev’s voice bellowing, “TURN IT DOWN.”
