Breakaway

Ryan I never expected to find myself homeless at twenty-one. But thanks to a sketchy landlord and a flaky best friend, that's exactly what was happening. "What do you mean, there's a problem with our lease, Iz?" I asked, frantically duct-taping one of the last moving boxes shut. "What happened?" After landing a summer internship in our college town, Isabelle had been tasked with finding us a place to rent for junior year. According to her, this was it: a cute, cozy 2-bedroom apartment in the college district at an affordable price. We were going to meet the landlord, sign the lease and get the keys when I arrived tomorrow. "I don't know!" she cried. "I think the landlord found other tenants willing to pay more. Since we haven't physically signed the lease yet, he threw us under the bus." The elaborate daydreams I had cultivated over the summer about this upcoming year evaporated. No, no, no. We had everything planned out; from how we were going to decorate (shabby chic) to rules governing hypothetical boyfriend visitation (2 overnights per week, maximum). I was so close to sweet, sweet off-campus freedom for the first time. I groaned. "School starts in less than a week. We really should have signed a lease before this." "He said that we couldn't do it until you were back," Isabelle said. "Something about a paper trail if we did it electronically." She'd neglected to mention that reasoning in our previous conversations. Bless her heart, I loved Isabelle but sometimes she was a little sheltered in the ways of the world. "That, uh, sounds a little sketchy, Iz." "I guess, hey? And honestly, the landlord seemed like he might have been a creeper. He kept staring at my boobs when he gave me the tour. There are probably cameras hidden all over that apartment anyway," she mused, rapidly brewing up another of her crazy conspiracy theories. I stood up, setting the tape down. There was no point in rushing to finish packing now that I had no place to unpack. "You may be right, but now I have nowhere to move into tomorrow. What am I going to do? What are you going to do?" "Well..." she said with hesitation. "My aunt and uncle said that I can just stay here for now. This pool house of theirs is sweet." Great. She had a Plan B, but I did not. As if she heard my thoughts, she added, "It's just an open studio. There isn't enough room for two people to live here long term, but you can crash on the couch for the time being. It'll be fun. Like dorm days all over again." Yeah, tons of fun. No privacy, no personal space, and no bedroom to call my own. That would be like dorm days, all right. An aura danced into my line of sight, a migraine lurking in the shadows. I needed to find my prescription before it hit full force. "Thanks, Iz. That'll help for now." I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Surveying the empty bedroom, I racked my brain and tried to remember where I had packed my meds. Maybe they were still in my purse... wherever that was. Sunlight filtered in through the window onto my twin-sized childhood bed and oak dresser, the scene the same as it had been for as long as I could remember. A pang of nostalgia ran through me. This was, most likely, the last summer I'd spend at home. Unfortunately, now I was all packed up with no place to go. "We can start looking for a new place ASAP, I promise. Who knows, maybe we'll find an even better place. It'll all work out," she said. I could tell from the weight of her tone that she was already beating herself up over what had happened; she was the kind of person who would lose sleep for days over something like this. And I wasn't angry with her, just disappointed that our unicorn apartment had been snatched out from underneath us. Poof. "Right. I'm sure it will," I agreed, feigning cheer. Really, I wasn't sure—at all. And I had five days to find somewhere to live before classes started. After chasing the migraine pills with some extra-strong tea, I did a sweep of the room for any items that I might have missed. All that remained were a few lonely hangers in the empty closet and the handful of moving crates in front of me. I couldn't decide whether it was sad or freeing to know that all of my possessions fit into so few boxes. Or maybe just plain convenient, now that I would be living in my car. * My head swam for the rest of the afternoon as I scrambled to think of a solution. I told myself that things would work out. They had to. But I hadn't yet managed to convince myself of that fact when I sat down at the table for dinner, and it showed. Aromas of melted cheese, tomato and basil wafted my way as I slid into my chair across the table from her. "Ryan, honey, what's wrong?" My mom studied my face as she passed me a tray of her famous lasagna. I helped myself to two pieces, plus a gargantuan slice of garlic bread. One day, I vowed to cook as well as she did. Cooking at all would probably be a good first step. "Is your headache still bothering you?" I took a bite of garlic bread, chewing slowly to buy myself time. I didn't want to lie to her, but honesty didn't seem like a great option either. She watched me as I debated whether to tell her the whole truth and cause her to worry over my current homeless status, or to tell a half-truth. Carefully, I answered, "Just sorting out some last-minute living arrangement details with Isabelle. Moving is stressful, that's all." Okay, so I was lying by omission, but I chose to ignore that detail. A line appeared between her brows, reminding me how much she had aged since I left for college. She was still beautiful, but I wondered if living alone had been harder on her than she let on. Although she insisted she was happy on her own, sometimes I wished she had someone around to keep her company. She frowned and the worry lines deepened. "You know, I worry about you living in an apartment all by yourself. The dorms would be a much safer environment for you." My mother raised me on her own; I'd never met my father. For as long as I could remember, it had always been just the two of us. We were extremely close, which for the most part, was a good thing. But it also meant that she tended to be overprotective of me, and I was itching for the additional autonomy that the dorms wouldn't provide. Things like no curfew and no restrictive rules about who could spend the night. I didn't actually want to be irresponsible, I just wanted it to be an option. "I won't be alone, Mom, I'll be with Iz." My mother loved Isabelle; most people did. "I know, but you two are so young to be on your own like that," she fussed, spearing a piece of Caesar salad with her fork. "You weren't much older when you had me." I pointed out. "I don't even have a baby to worry about. I'll be fine." At least, I would be once I sorted out where to live. * I set out the following morning after several tear-filled hugs and promises to call when I arrived. Unfortunately, the drive back to school was long, boring, and filled with endless corn fields. I listened to podcasts, audiobooks, the radio and my own playlists, but the time still crawled by. After six long hours, I pulled up to Isabelle's aunt and uncle's Tudor-style mansion and parked over to the side. Popping the trunk, I sprang out of the car, eager to be free from my metal cage. "Ryan!" Isabelle squealed. Her honey blonde hair flew everywhere as she ran over to envelop me in a warm, flower-scented hug. "I missed you so much!" I returned the hug, the comfort of a good friend washing over me. "I missed you too, Iz." We broke apart and I nodded to the car. "Can you help me with these boxes? I want to see these fancy digs." "I can help you," she said. "But then I have to run over to the radio station for a couple of hours." "Oh, I thought you said yesterday was the last day of your internship." "So did I." She made a face. "Then Mandy got a stomach bug and now they're short production assistants. I need a good reference from them so I couldn't leave them hanging. I should be done around midnight. We can catch up later if you're still awake." While college students verged on nocturnal, I was an early riser to the core. Even when I stayed up late, I found myself rising with the sun, no matter how hard I tried to go back to sleep. It worked out well on weekdays; less so on weekends. "Well, let's see how I make out with finding a place," I said. "I might be up all night searching." Iz waved me off. "Oh, don't sweat it. You can stay here as long as you need." Nice of her to say, but less likely to hold true after a few weeks of sharing one bathroom. We quickly carried in the boxes, stacking most of them off to the side near the entryway closet. Isabelle was right: the pool house was amazing. Situated in the property's lush green backyard, it was totally decked out in luxurious finishes. Marble tile, grey quartz counters, distressed white oak flooring. It looked like something out of a home decor magazine. The ideal bachelorette pad—for one. An open studio, the bedroom and living area were one and the same. It made for cramped quarters and I suspected we would be stepping over each other constantly. Luckily, neither of us snored. Actually, sometimes Isabelle did. I never had the heart to tell her that because she would be mortified, but at least it wasn't loud. Booting up Isabelle's gold MacBook, I began to scour the internet for available rental accommodations. It was late August, and pickings were going to be slim since most people had already nailed down their living arrangements by now. Until recently, I thought I was one of them. Rentals for the two of us were a non-starter. Nearly everything was taken, and whatever was available was double what we could afford. Iz had done some research as well, but so far we hadn't had any luck finding a place to share or a place of my own. My other close friends were dead ends, too. Hannah just moved in with her boyfriend, Sam, and Ava was sharing an already-cramped 3-bedroom house with 3 other girls, which was hardly any better than my situation with Isabelle. I could contact a few other girls from my nursing cohort, but without any real leads, I'd be grasping at straws. Not having a place to call my own was unsettling; I was anxious to move in and unpack. For now, I'd only need the bare essentials in my suitcase. I could throw myself to the mercy of campus housing, but I wasn't sure whether I could tolerate another year of dorm food or dorm rules. Or another assigned roommate. It was an absolute last resort scenario. Sprawled on my makeshift couch-bed, I scanned the campus classifieds, circling 'roommate wanted' ads with my sparkly purple gel pen. Since the school verified the listings to ensure that only registered students could place ads, this seemed like the safest way to go. But as I had expected, I wasn't having much luck. When I contacted the few that looked passable, they had since been filled. At this rate, I was sure I'd be squatting in the pool house forever. I was about to abandon the MacBook in favor of some escapist reality TV when I noticed across a newer ad at the bottom of the page. Room for rent in 2BR loft-style condo. Private bathroom. Spacious, quiet, and clean. Located in a great area within walking distance to Bruder College. Non-smoking, mature college student desired. It sounded perfect, so it was probably filled already like the others. Still worth a try. I texted the number listed in the ad. "Hey, is the room for rent still available? If so, I'd like to come check it out. Let me know what time works for you. - Ryan." I held my breath, waiting impatiently for a reply. This was my last chance. It was this or the dorms. Staring at my phone didn't prove to be helping, so I decided to make a cup of tea for distraction. As I was filling up the teakettle in Isabelle's kitchen, my phone chimed. I dashed back into the living room, bracing myself for certain disappointment. "Still available. Rent is $500/month. 2550 Auburn Lane, unit 605. 7 PM tonight?" Score. $500 a month for my own space and my own bathroom would be a bargain. There had to be some kind of catch; another case of too good to be true, likely. The place was probably infested with ants or something. But at this point, it was worth a shot. What did I have to lose?