the three last-minute Neanderthals. Neanderthals who were eating three of the best burritos I ever made.
My own recipe that Marcy approved, as long as I made some for her to sample—my Thanksgiving Garbage Burritos. Chopped cranberries, apples, garlic, onion, some honey, and lime make up a thick, chunky spread. Then I added pinto beans, turkey, corn, salsa, stuffing, cheese, and a bit of sour cream, all wrapped up in one of the homemade wraps. It sounds a little gross, but I sampled the goods, and it tasted like Thanksgiving to me.
I may choose to fast on Thanksgiving, and I may choose to stop giving the finger to holidays by celebrating the total opposite way as intended someday. But my world is upside down and twisted. Chloe’s isn’t. She should have something to remind her of home and the holiday. Truth be told, I have tried not to be bitter. Case in point: the creation of the Thanksgiving Garbage Burrito. But, if I had my way, I’d drive three days for two minutes with either Mom or Liberty. For now, however, I live the path put upon me, not the other way around. Well, at least this time of year.
Those fuckers may have three of those burritos, but at least Chloe will have one, and the others I threw together to compensate. I’ll just make more in the morning if she happens to like them.
I lock the door behind me, set the alarm, and hurry to the safety of the VW.
Once I start it up, I look at the clock and groan, seeing it’s half an hour later than I expected to be heading back, which means less time to binge-eat, binge-read, and sleep before opening up at six.
Standing in my empty room, wondering where Chloe is, but not really, since it isn’t unusual for her to sneak across the quad to McKinley Hall to “Netflix and chill” with one of the guys, or hang out in one of her friends’ rooms. Hell, maybe I will get some alone time in.
I toss my clothes off and am about ready to hit the shower when I hear the door open and hear that voice say, “Just need to grab my phone.”
Not just a voice, that voice, I think as I drop down and scurry under my bed, thinking, Un-fucking-believable.
“Oh, well, I have no idea where it is, but you need to hurry; my roommate will be back and our RA, Heather, will be doing rounds and—”
“Yeah, of course,” he says.
“Where do you think—”
“Honestly, no clue,” he says.
“Maybe it’s tangled up in the sheets,” she whispers as her bedding starts hitting the floor.
I puke a little in my mouth as I think about the overheard conversation through my headphones.
His “date” was Chloe. If I wasn’t in just my undies, I’d crawl out from under here and tell her how fucked up he and his friends are. Chauvinistic assholes. I’d tell her how stupid she’d be if she dated him.
“I can’t believe, with all your followers, I haven’t heard notifications pinging every five seconds.”
“I have them all shut off. Too distracting.”
Oh my God, he’s one of them!
“Maybe you could call it?” he asks, squatting down and feeling under her bed.
“Then you’d have my number.”
He chuckles. “I’d have my phone and be out of here before your roommate gets back.”
“I don’t think that would be good.”
“Why’s that?” he asks as he reaches farther under her bed and attempts to feel around.
Good luck, buddy. She’s a slob, I think.
“It was a one and done. An amazing one and …” She stops when there’s a knock on the door.
“Room check!” It’s Heather, the resident bitch.
“Oh my God, hide under my bed.”
“There’s no damn room,” he whispers in amusement.
“Then get under Savvy’s,” she replies with urgency.
Oh. My. God.
I shove myself in a corner, covering myself as best I can while he slides under my bed
When his eyes meet mine, I freeze.
He looks completely shocked, as he should, but still … What the fuck?
“Sorry, babe,” he whispers.
I glare at him. Pretty sure I’m showing teeth, too.
He narrows his eyes in confusion until he seemingly understands the error of his ways and says softly, “I mean, sorry, Savannah.”
I roll my eyes and whisper-hiss, “Not my name.”
His eyes begin to move down, and I grab his chin. “Don’t you dare.”
“Just looking for a name tag.” He smirks, looking into my eyes.
“I told you I don’t know where she is,” Chloe says, picking up her bedding from the floor.