UNDER HIS ROOF

I didn’t even have time to take off my shoes before I saw my life packed into three oversized cardboard boxes sitting in the middle of the hallway.

"What is this?" I asked, dropping my key ring onto the kitchen counter.

Violet didn't look up from her phone. She was lounging on the couch, feet propped up on my decorative pillows, twirling a strand of her bleached hair.

"Oh. Good, you're back," she said, her voice dripping with that manufactured sweetness I’d grown to despise over the last six months. "Look, Tay, we need to talk about the apartment situation."

"The apartment situation?" I echoed, stepping around a box that clearly contained my winter coats. "Violet, my rent for this month went through two days ago. Why are my clothes in boxes?"

"Well, Chad and I talked," she said, finally glancing up with a shrug. "And we just feel like he should move in. He’s sleeping over five nights a week anyway, and honestly? Having a third person here is just... crowded."

I stared at her, genuinely waiting for the punchline. "Chad? The guy who drinks your green juice out of the carton and doesn't own a belt? You're kicking me out for Chad?"

"He's paying my half of the rent, Taylor!" Violet snapped, dropping the sweet act. "It’s my name on the primary lease, remember? Aunt Clara set it up that way. You have until tonight. Chad’s bringing his gaming rig over at eight."

A hot spark of anger flared right behind my ribs. "Tonight? Are you out of your mind? I have midterms next week!"

"Figure it out," she said coldly, turning back to her phone screen. "You're smart. You always figure it out."

Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the driver’s seat of my Honda Civic, surrounded by three cardboard boxes, two crammed suitcases, and a burning desire to pop Violet's tires. But revenge wasn't going to put a roof over my head tonight.

My thumbs flew across my phone, pulling up every off-campus housing app, sub-lease forum, and local message board I knew.

Occupied. Occupied. $2,400 a month (yeah, right). Occupied.

My heart was doing a frantic beat against my ribs when a fresh notification popped up on the campus portal. Posted three minutes ago.

Off-Campus House – Room Available NOW

Private bedroom, shared bath. $600/month. Need someone who pays on time and isn't annoying.

Direct message to secure with deposit.

Contact: Max.

Six hundred dollars. That was insanely cheap for a house five minutes from campus.

I hit the message icon before my brain could talk me out of it.

Taylor: Is the room still available? I can send the deposit right now and move in tonight.

The reply came back almost instantly.

Max: You got cash? No drama?

Taylor: Cash ready. Zero drama. I just need a place to sleep.

Max: Deal. Send the $300 hold deposit to the link below. Address is 414 Elm Street. Don't be late, man, I'm heading out at nine.

Man.

I paused, looking at the word. He thought "Taylor" was a guy.

I looked back at my crammed backseat, then at the clock on my dashboard reading 7:45 PM. I didn't have time to correct his assumptions, and I certainly didn't have time to keep searching. A signed digital receipt and a paid deposit meant a legally binding agreement.

I hit Confirm Transfer, pulled out of the apartment complex, and punched 414 Elm Street into my GPS.

Max was about to get a very loud surprise.