BREN
Cross was studying in our bedroom when I decided to join the party downstairs.
The music was blaring, but no one was in the living room. A few girls were at the kitchen table, books spread out, notebooks, computers all over. Plastic cups littered almost every corner, too, along with bags of chips and some cookies one of the girls brought over. They looked up and froze at the sight of me. One nudged the other, saying something under her breath, and the other one brightened up. “Oh! Hi. You’re Jordan’s roommate.”
I’d been here when they came in. There’d been quick introductions, but the food was quickly dispensed, so her saying that was more of a nicety. Everyone went outside to eat since Jordan and Zellman had the grill going. That was four hours ago, and leaning forward, I sniffed
