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black sheep
GEMMA WEIR
one
Alabama
The sound of a fist banging on my bedroom door at eight a.m. in the fucking morning, is the absolute last thing I want to hear. I only came to bed three hours ago and my eyelids feel like they’re wrapped in sandpaper. Forcing myself, I blink my eyes open, groaning as I throw off the covers and stomp across the room.
“Hey,” my roommate Monica says when I throw open the door and glare at her. She looks nervous, her arms folded across her chest, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip.
“What?” I snap angrily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I wait to hear what emergency could warrant her banging on my door and waking me up.
“I… Errerr… I… I, err…. I need to talk to you,” she mumbles anxiously, her skittish behavior odd when she’s normally such a type A personality.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in class this morning?” I grumble, stepping past her and stumbling toward the kitchen.
“I actually. Err…” Following me into the kitchen, she moves to my side, leaning against the counter and fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt. “I got accepted as a transfer to Brown.”
Monica and I have been living together for a while now, but I wouldn’t exactly call us friends. Honestly, when I first moved in and found out we would basically run on opposite schedules I was kind of excited. I could have the place to myself while she was at school in the daytime and she could have it to herself while I was at work all night.
I don’t think us rarely seeing each other has ever been an issue for either of us. We’re not the type of roommates who spend hours baring our souls or talking about our lives beyond polite conversation. But I do have a vague recollection of her telling me she’d hoped to go to an ivy league, but hadn’t gotten in.
“Wow. Congratulations,” I say, trying to sound like I care.
“Yeah, thanks. But, err, obviously, err, that means I’ll be leaving.”
Ahh. So that’s why she sounds nervous. She’s expecting me to be mad that she’s ditching out on the lease. “Right.” I nod. “Okay. Well that sucks, but I can find another roommate.” I shrug, tipping coffee grinds into the machine and turning it on.
“Yeah, about that…” She pauses, her brows furrowing, her entire body squirming. “I saw Jerry last night and before I had a chance to tell him I was leaving. He, well, apparently, he’s sold the apartment.”
“Can he do that? What does that mean for me?”
“It means…” She fidgets, her hands plucking at her shirt. “It means, we have to get out of the apartment,” she finally blurts.
“What?” I yell. “He can’t just force us out. Can he?”
“I’m sorry, Ali,” she says, tears filling her eyes. “Obviously I’m leaving anyway, but he said that you have to be out by the end of the week.”
“The end of the week?” I shriek. “That’s in two days. What about the lease? He can’t just kick us out.”
“I’m really, really sorry,” she says, crying loudly. “The lease is just in my name and well… I’m not going to be here.”
“But I pay rent,” I gasp. “You made me sign a lease when I moved in.”
“That was just a subletting agreement for your room. The lease in only in my name.” The moment she finishes speaking a fresh round of tears spills from her eyes.
Tipping my head back I groan. “How am I supposed to find a new apartment in two days?”
“Oh god, Ali, I’m so, so sorry.”
More tears follow her apology and I swallow down the urge to tell her that saying sorry doesn’t actually make this any better. Instead, I roll my eyes and try not to sound like too much of a bitch. “I guess it’s not your fault that Jerry is an asshole.” I sigh. “He must have known about this for weeks and just didn’t bother telling us.”
Bobbing her head, she tries to nod, but she’s crying so hard, her whole upper half is shaking with the intensity of her tears. Jesus, she didn’t cry this much when her grandma passed away earlier in the year.
“Seriously, it’ll be fine,” I tell her, not really believing it, but needing to say something to calm her down.
“I’m so sorry,” she shrieks, throwing herself at me and gripping me in a slightly desperate; very wet and snotty hug.
