Page 6 of You'll Love it Here

At best I’ll be evicted for this. With no steady job standing to secure a new place in this market, it’ll be rough. But at worst... What if I get charged with a crime? I swore I’d never make my mom go through that again—picking someone up from jail.

The fireman continues, “We’ll be following up with your landlord about a wiring inspection when she’s up for it.” His cheek curls up. “It’s actually good this issue was caught this way rather than something worse.” He looks up the length of the building. “These old buildings, they’re—”

“Are you going to investigate who started the fire? What about the footage from the lobby camera?” Weird Girl Beside Me asks, arms crossed.

Here’s where my life as I know it ends. It feels like I’m watching it all in slow motion.

Mather’s eyes draw to her. “My colleague did check. Looks like the hard drives were too full to record new footage, so the camera hasn’t been functional for some time. That would be another thing that needs updating.”

It takes a moment for the good news to reach the right part of my brain.

Holy shit.

I’m somehow... saved? It’s like a hurricane warning has switched to a low wind. I wipe my forehead with the sleeve of my shitty bathrobe. I didn’t realize how much I’d been sweating.

My life isn’t completely fucked. If can get away with this mess, I can redeem it all. My career, my pride, everything—I still have a fighting chance. From now on, I’ll beverynice to Irene. I’ll send her flowers and be a model tenant. I’ll—

A tap on my arm, light but firm.

I turn and Diner Loudmouth’s dark eyes burn into me, his jaw set. He has this way of focusing on everyone he talks to like they’re the most interesting thing in the world. “You like it just black, right?” He’s holding the tray of coffee out for me. And suddenly, a flash of fuzzy memory returns to my hungover stupid head.

“Thanks.” I take a coffee and will myself to smile. His forearm tattoo confirms it: a realistic black and shaded wishbone—I recognize it from when he helped me stand up last night.

“Sure,” he mutters, seeming to suppress whatever expression his face truly desires. “Feel better.” And then he turns to greet Uniform Family.

And that’s when the memories take full shape.

I should’ve just gone home after my Uber dropped me off, but my head was only thinking about cheese fries, so instead of disappearing from society for the night like a dignified person, I went to the fucking diner and said words to this man. Words I no longer remember, but I went on for a while. I think. I know I stumbled at some point, and he held me up and I... don’t know what else.

People start filing back into the building.

Diner Loudmouth has finished giving coffees to Uniform Family. As he tucks the now empty tray under his arm, his eyes make their way to me again, as if sensing me watching. I quickly look away, but not before clocking the curious look on his face.

He knows it was me. Hehasto.

He walks up to Old White Perve. “Hey, Carmen, someone really trashed the lobby?”

Old White Perve/Carmen replies, “Yes, it’s real bullshitty too, Sami. Come have a look-see.”

The Whiteboard Less Bored

I should be grateful I’m not being carted away in handcuffs right now. But all I can think is: This can’t be happening. One day of terrible actions can’t be ruining my life this deeply, this thoroughly. If I had just stayed home yesterday, I’d still be working today, still have a solid housing plan, and not be at risk of having a record.

Diner Loudmouth/Sami follows the crowd toward the building ahead of me, but as we reach the landing he turns around to give me one of those “after you” gestures.

He definitely fucking knows something.

I try not to let the flush of heat get to me as I nod and walk ahead of him. I follow in behind 1A Incel, who walks with his arms pressed firmly at his sides, not moving, which seems like a red flag. He doesn’t hold the door for me.

But Sami is quick to reach around and grab it before it slams shut. The motion brings his bicep right in front of my face, and the scent of coffee and something citrusy encircles me. “Thanks,” I mutter, head stuck forward.

He’s much taller than me, and as I pass under his arm through the door, I remember a snippet of dialogue from last night. I’d asked him if he had multiple copies of the same diner hat, which is probably offensive. Still, it proves very little about my character.

And what we’re dealing with here is his word against mine. Actually, it’s less than his word because he wasn’t with me in thelobby. He may think he knows I was the vandal, but what evidence does this Sami actually have? That I was at the diner and drunk beforesomeonedestroyed the lobby?

Circumstantial.

Once inside, the familiar old wood smell of the building greets my nostrils as my eyes adjust to the sunless lighting of the lobby and the disaster I made of it.