January 20
“Can I help you?” I ask, nervously.
“It’s nothing,” the guy says. “Do you have a few moments? Maybe I could buy you another cup.”
“You’re not my type,” I sigh, grabbing the door handle to the ladies’ room. Locked. Damn.
The coat guy laughs a little. “That’s not what I mean. I just want to talk to you about…”
The door opens, the handle jerking out from under my hand. A small girl smiles and skips past me, bounding her way to her mom. “Go find a 900 number,” I say to Coat Jerk, and slam the bathroom door behind me. I make sure to lock it.
What a day. What a freaking day.
I get back to the apartment a little after one; lunch was less than satisfactory, but seeing how as neither Kyle nor I know how to cook all that much, it does what it’s supposed to. Kyle is sitting in her underwear in the living room, sprawled across the couch; her laptop is on the squat coffee table, and she’s idly blowing hair out of her eyes every few seconds. “Hi,” she says.
“I’m going to pretend that you didn’t go to class like that,” I sigh.
“‘Course not,” she says, not looking up from the laptop. “Didn’t go to class.”
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