Maybe Someday(2)

on Diaz nose.

I sigh. And I laugh. Of course, I left my purse.

My first day of being homeless would have been

way too easy if I’d had a purse with me.

“I’m sorry,” I say to the cab driver, who is now

loading my second piece of luggage. “I changed

my mind. I don’t need a cab right now.”

I know there’s a hotel about a half-mile from

here. If I can just work up the courage to go back

inside and get my purse, I’ll walk there and get a

room until I figure out what to do. It’s not as if I

can get any wetter.

The driver takes the suitcases back out of the

cab, sets them on the curb in front of me, and

walks back to the driver’s side without ever mak-

ing eye contact. He just gets into his car and

drives away, as if my canceling is a relief.

Do I look that pathetic?

I take my suitcases and walk back to where I

was seated before I realized I was purseless. I

glance up to my apartment and wonder what

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would happen if I went back there to get my wal-

let. I sort of left things in a mess when I walked

out the door. I guess I’d rather be homeless in the

rain than go back up there.

I take a seat on my luggage again and contem-

plate my situation. I could pay someone to go up-

stairs for me. But who? No one’s outside, and

who’s to say Hunter or Tori would even give the

person my purse?

This really sucks. I know I’m going to have to

end up calling one of my friends, but right now,

I’m too embarrassed to tell anyone how clueless

I’ve been for the last two years. I’ve been com-

pletely blindsided.

I already hate being twenty-two, and I still

have 364 more days to go.

It sucks so bad that I’m . . . crying?

Great. I’m crying now. I’m a purseless, crying,

violent, homeless girl. And as much as I don’t

want to admit it, I think I might also be

heartbroken.

19/692

Yep. Sobbing now. Pretty sure this must be

what it feels like to have your heart broken.

“It’s raining. Hurry up.”

I glance up to see a girl hovering over me.

She’s holding an umbrella over her head and

looking down at me with agitation while she hops

from one foot to the other, waiting for me to do

something. “I’m getting soaked. Hurry. ”

Her voice is a little demanding, as if she’s do-

ing me some sort of favor and I’m being ungrate-

ful. I arch an eyebrow as I look up at her, shield-

ing the rain from my eyes with my hand. I don’t

know why she’s complaining about getting wet,

when there isn’t much clothing to get wet. She’s wearing next to nothing. I glance at her shirt,

which is missing its entire bottom half, and real-

ize she’s in a Hooters outfit.

Could this day get any weirder? I’m sitting on

almost everything I own in a torrential downpour,

being bossed around by a bitchy Hooters

waitress.

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I’m still staring at her shirt when she grabs my

hand and pulls me up in a huff. “Ridge said you

would do this. I’ve got to get to work. Follow

me, and I’ll show you where the apartment is.”

She grabs one of my suitcases, pops the handle

out, and shoves it at me. She takes the other and

walks swiftly out of the courtyard. I follow her,

for no other reason than the fact that she’s taken

one of my suitcases with her and I want it back.

She yells over her shoulder as she begins to as-

cend the stairwell. “I don’t know how long you

plan on staying, but I’ve only got one rule. Stay

the hell out of my room.”

She reaches an apartment and opens the door,

never even looking back to see if I’m following

her. Once I reach the top of the stairs, I pause

outside the apartment and look down at the fern

sitting unaffected by the heat in a planter outside

the door. Its leaves are lush and green as if

they’re giving summer the middle finger with

their refusal to succumb to the heat. I smile at the

plant, somewhat proud of it. Then I frown with

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the realization that I’m envious of the resilience

of a plant.

I shake my head, look away, then take a hesit-

ant step inside the unfamiliar apartment. The lay-

out is similar to my own apartment, only this one

is a double split bedroom with four total bed-

rooms. My and Tori’s apartment only had two

bedrooms, but the living rooms are the same size.

The only other noticeable difference is that I

don’t see any lying, backstabbing, bloody-nosed

whores standing in this one. Nor do I see any of

Tori’s dirty dishes or laundry lying around.

The girl sets my suitcase down beside the