Jessica POV :

 

 

 

 

I just punched a girl in the face. Not just any girl. My best friend. My roommate.

 

 

 

 

Well, as of 5 minutes ago, I guess I should call her my ex-roommate.

 

 

 

 

Her nose began bleeding almost immediately, and for a second, I felt bad for hitting her.

 

 

 

 

But then I remembered what a lying, betraying she is, and it made me want to punch her again.

 

 

 

 

I would have if Jun hadn’t prevented it by stepping between us.

 

 

 

 

So instead, I punched him. I didn’t do any damage to him, unfortunately. Not like the damage I’ve done to my hand.

 

 

 

 

Punching someone hurts a lot worse than I imagined it would.

 

 

 

 

Not that I spend an excessive amount of time imagining how it would feel to punch people.

 

 

 

 

 

Although I am having that urge again as I stare down at my phone at the incoming text from Yuri.

 

 

 

 

She’s another one I’d like to get even with. I know she technically has nothing to do with my current predicament, but she could have given me a heads-up a little sooner.

 

 

 

 

Therefore, I’d like to punch her , too.

 

 

 

 

 

Yul: Are you OK? Do u want to come up until the rain stops?

 

 

 

 

Of course, I don’t want to come up.

 

 

 

 

My fist hurts enough as it is, and if I went up to Yuri’s apartment, it would hurt a whole lot worse after I finished with her.

 

 

 

 

 

I turn around and look up at her balcony. She’s leaning against her sliding-glass door; phone in hand, watching me.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s almost dark, but the lights from the courtyard illuminate her face.

 

 

 

 

 

Her dark eyes lock with mine and the way curls up into a soft, regretful smile makes it hard to remember why I’m even upset with her in the first place.

 

 

 

 

 

She runs a free hand through her fringe covering loosely over her forehead, revealing even more of the worry in her expression. Or maybe that’s a look of regret.

 

 

 

 

As it should be.

 

 

 

 

I decide not to reply and lock her off instead.

 

 

 

 

She shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders, as if to say, I tried , and then she goes back inside her apartment and slides her door shut.

 

 

 

 

I put the phone back in my pocket before it gets wet, and I look around at the courtyard of the apartment complex where I’ve lived for a whole months.

 

 

 

 

When we first moved in, the hot Texas summer was swallowing up the last traces of spring, but this courtyard seemed to somehow still cling to life.

 

 

 

 

Vibrant blue and purple hydrangeas lined the walkways leading up to the staircases. The fountain affixed in the center of the courtyard saw a steady stream of youthful visitors.

 

 

 

 

Now that summer has reached its most unattractive peak, the water in the fountain has long since evaporated.

 

 

The hydrangeas are a sad, wilted reminder of the excitement I felt when Dara and I first moved in here.

 

 

 

 

Looking at the courtyard now, defeated by the season, is an eerie parallel to how I feel at the moment.

 

 

 

 

Defeated and sad.

 

 

 

 

I’m sitting on the edge of the now empty cement fountain, my elbows propped up on the two suitcases that contain most of my belongings, waiting for a cab to pick me up.

 

 

 

 

I have no idea where it’s going to take me, but I know I’d rather be anywhere except where I am right now.

 

 

 

 

Which is, well, homeless.

 

 

 

I could call my parents, but that would give them ammunition to start firing all the We told you so’s at me.

 

 

 

 

We told you not to move so far away, Jessica.

 

 

 

 

We told you not to get serious with that guy.

 

 

 

 

 

We told you if you had chosen prelaw over music, we would have paid for it.

 

 

 

 

We told you to punch with your thumb on the outside of your fist.

 

 

 

 

Okay, maybe they never taught me the proper punching techniques, but if they’re so right all the damn time, they should have.

 

 

 

 

I clench my fist, then spread out my fingers, then clench it again.

 

 

 

My hand is surprisingly sore, and I’m pretty sure I should put ice on it.

 

 

 

 

I feel sorry for guys. Punching .

 

 

 

 

Know what else ? Rain. It always finds the most inappropriate time to fall, like right now, while I’m homeless.

 

 

 

 

 

The cab finally pulls up, and I stand and grab my suitcases.

 

 

 

 

I roll them behind me as the cab driver gets out and pops open the trunk.

 

 

 

 

 

Before I even hand him the first suitcase, my heart sinks as I suddenly realize that I don’t even have my purse on me.

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

I look around, back to where I was sitting on the suitcases, then feel around my body as if my purse will magically appear across my shoulder.

 

 

 

 

But I know exactly where my purse is.

 

 

 

 

I pulled it off my shoulder and dropped it to the floor right before I punched Dara in her overpriced, Cameron 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 making 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 would happen if I went back there to get my wallet.

 

 

 

 

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 contemplate my situation.

 

 

 

 

I could pay someone to go upstairs for me.

 

 

 

But who?

 

 

 

 

No one’s outside, and who’s to say Jun or Dara would even give the person my purse?

 

 

 

 

 

This really . 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 2 years.

 

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