Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Evicted you!” I thought Kaylee’s voice was high-pitched earlier when we were arguing on the sidewalk on campus, but it’s nothing compared to my mother’s. “John!” She shouts for my dad. “John, get in here.”
“It’s fine, Mom.”
“No it is not fine. Who the hell does that kid think she is?” My mother begins a dialogue on her own. “John!” she yells again, impatient. “Someone’s head is going to roll. You have a lease. That little…that girl cannot kick you out.”
“Mom, would you listen to what I’m saying? I’m not done with the story.”
The line changes, a more hollow tone, and I know she’s got me on speaker so my father can hear.
“Anyway, the point of this call is to let you know I found a new place to live. I had to move all my things out, and I’m living with a friend.”
In the background I can hear Mom repeating the few details I’ve told her about my argument with Kaylee, which isn’t a lot, the pair of them now bickering back and forth as if I weren’t on the line listening.
“What friend?”
“His name is Jack.”
“His name is… That sounds like a man’s name.”
“That’s because it is a man’s name. I mean, technically he’s like, twenty-one, so I don’t know if that makes him a man? But yeah—he’s a boy.” I pause. “I didn’t really have a choice, you guys. It’s the middle of the semester and everyone has their living arrangements set. It would have been impossible to find a house, and apartments are ridiculously expensive.”
Mom and Dad are quiet.
Then, “Where are you living?”
“It’s a house, and it’s actually really pretty. Not a dump, you know? His brother lived here last year and I have my own bedroom, obviously, with its own bathroom and a desk and stuff. There’s even a gym set up in the garage.”
“Sounds like the Playboy mansion if you ask me,” Dad grumbles. “What is this boy like?”
“He’s British. Um, he likes movies and comics just like I do, so we have that in common.”
“I don’t want you to have anything in common with him, and I don’t want you getting chummy,” Dad deadpans.
“John, relax, she’s not marrying the guy. It’s temporary, right, sweetheart? This is just temporary until you can find something else?”
Why on earth would I do that? I’m living in the lap of luxury. “I guess I could keep looking. But wouldn’t you rather I focus on studying instead?”
“No. I’d rather your roommate didn’t have a penis.”
“John!” Mom chastises, and I smile despite myself, blushing at the word penis. “Honey, as long as you don’t feel forced to be there, and as long as you keep checking in with us.”
“We’re coming to check this kid out,” Dad announces. “How much is he charging you for rent?”
Jack’s letting me live here rent-free, but my parents would really flip out if they knew that, so I fib and say, “It’s the same, Dad. And I don’t have to pay utilities—his parents pay for those.”
My father grunts.
“You don’t have to come check him out, he’s perfectly normal.”
“Normal, ha. Ted Bundy looked normal, and he was a murderer.”
Jesus.
This has escalated quickly.
“Jack didn’t offer to let me live with him so he could murder me, Dad. He has a spare room and he was bored.”
“A spare room? What kind of asshole has that kind of space when they’re twenty-one? That’s not normal.”
Okay, now my dad is being unreasonable. “Dad, it’s been fine. Tonight we watched a movie, and afterward, he went to his room and I came into mine, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“There’s a storm coming,” Mom says, changing the subject. “Does he know you’re terrified of storms?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should tell him so you’re not up by yourself tonight. They predicted sixty-mile-an-hour winds.”
It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. I’ll survive one night hiding under my blankets.
Why on earth would I tell my roommate I’m afraid of storms? That’s not something you put on a rental application, and it’s not anything you tell anyone—way too specific. Granted, it’s my only real personality quirk; I’ve been terrified of lightning and thunder since I was little, and I’ve never gotten over the fear.
Debilitating.
“Don’t do anything foolish, like run into his room tonight. And start locking your door when you go to bed.”
That makes me roll my eyes. My dad is so over the top. “I’m not going to run into his room tonight. I’ve only been in it once when he was sick.”
“Why was he sick?”
“He plays rugby and got injured.”
“Oh give me a break.” Dad snorts. “Pulled a muscle? I played football and I never had an injury.”
“You played football in high school.” Mom laughs. “Stop badgering the kid, John. We don’t know him. For all we know he’s a nice boy.”
They’re having a conversation without me again.