Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Kodiak stands on the front porch in a pair of sweats. I can tell he’s yelling something because his stupidly gorgeous mouth keeps opening and closing. He grabs his hair with both hands and spins around as River joins him. I catch a glimpse of a teeth-mark-shaped bruise on his side. I must have bitten the shit out of him last night.
I shift into reverse, wishing I’d been smart enough to back in so my getaway could be smoother. I pull onto the street and fire the bird at them as I drive away.
I’m not supposed to meet Lovey and Lacey until eleven thirty, so I make the impulsive decision to stop at the housing office. There were at least ten girls already on the housing waiting list, but people drop out all the time. The last time I went in for an update, there were still four girls ahead of me. My luck seems to be pretty crap, but it doesn’t hurt to check.
When I arrive, a middle-aged woman sits behind the desk, looking less than impressed about whatever is on her computer screen. I catch the reflection in her glasses and realize she’s on Facebook. She types furiously for a minute and stabs the enter button aggressively before she gives me her attention. I focus on remaining calm by counting all the yellow things on her desk.
She forces a smile. “How may I help you?”
“Hi. I’m on the waitlist for the dorms. I know I’m supposed to get a call when something opens up, but I was passing by and thought I’d stop in to see where I am.”
A hint of annoyance makes her cheek tic, and a hot feeling creeps up my spine. I hate irritating people.
“Let me have a quick look. I’ll need your name and your student ID.”
“Thank you so much. It’s Lavender Waters.”
She glances at me. “Lavender? That’s a pretty name.”
“Ironically my parents aren’t even hippies.”
She smiles, and this time it’s friendlier. Thank you, Mom, for the weird name. I give her my student ID number, and she taps on her keyboard for a minute.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh! It looks like you’re next on the list. Well, that’s good news for you.” More tapping ensues. “And it seems a spot has opened up in the co-ed dormitory.”
“That’s great! How soon can I move in?” Thank you so much, karma, for not being an asshole today.
She clicks a few more buttons. “Seems to be available immediately. I’ll have to double-check with the residence team, but you could potentially move in as early as this afternoon.”
“Seriously?”
“It looks that way. I can call now and find out, if you’d like.”
“That would be great. Thank you.” I take a seat and wait while she makes a phone call. I can’t believe my luck. Sure, River might be upset that I’m moving out, but after all the crap that’s gone down recently, I need a little separation and some independence. I won’t live in the shadow of my past like this, or allow the rest of my family to keep influencing my decisions because their guilt weighs us all down.
It turns out I can, in fact, move in later this afternoon. I fill out all the required paperwork and then realize after the fact that I’m going to have to call my parents and tell them what I’m doing. Legally, I’m an adult and can make my own choices, but I didn’t tell them I put myself on the waiting list, thinking I’d never get the call. Plus, I’ll have to either use my savings to pay for it or see if my parents are willing to pick up the tab.
My excitement wavers as I return to my car, preparing to make the dreaded call. Video chat is probably the smartest way to go, even though it makes me feel like hurling. I take a few deep, cleansing breaths, pull up my mom’s number—she’s the more reasonable of the two—and hit call. She answers on the second ring, her face appearing in the small screen.
Her hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail, and she’s wearing a pair of bifocals. She’s in her office/sewing room, based on the background. “How’s my favorite daughter?”
I smile. Being the only girl awards me the favorite-daughter title. “I’m good. How are you?”
“Also good. Just working on a project.” She makes a face. “Are you in your car? Is everything okay?”
“Uh, yeah and yeah. Everything is fine. Sort of. I need to tell you something.”
She sits up straighter, and something clatters to the floor. My mom and I have the same clumsy genes. “Did something happen?”
“It’s nothing bad,” I reassure her.
Her eyebrow rises. “Then why do you look like you’re going to chew your lip off?”
I free my lip from my teeth. “I need a better poker face.”