She looked vaguely familiar, but I was too unfocused to pin it down. Since arriving back from London, I’d spent the last few days scouring every apartment building, duplex, trailer, and rental within a few miles of Whitman. Everything was rented already or in a shitty neighborhood. If I could get this house, I’d win the freaking lottery. I crossed my fingers, hoping the roommate was just as nice as the house. If this didn’t work out, I’d be forced to live with my mother and drive sixty miles’ round trip each day to class. Not to mention listening to my mom berate me about my weight, what I wore, what time I got up, how late I stayed up, and who I hung out with. Clutching the advertisement from the Whitman website I’d printed off, I let out a breath, feeling the urge to vomit. “Can I help you?” the pretty girl standing at the door asked. “Um, you asked for a roommate and I’m applying. I even have the first month’s rent and a deposit ready today—that is if you haven’t found anyone yet.”
