“What is this?” she snaps. Crap. I rush over toward the coffee pot and grab my sugar container.

“Sorry.” She only glares at me. I had no idea how hard living with models was going to be. They get pissed if I leave any sweets or unhealthy things in the fridge. “If you cut the sweets—” Her pretty blue eyes flick over me, finishing her sentence for her.

I really wish my roommates were as pretty on the inside as they are on the outside. I often think sometimes they are only mean to me because they must always be hangry. Now that is something I can relate to.

“Morning.” I give her a soft smile that does nothing. My mom is going to have to explain this whole kill people with kindness thing because all these girls are still alive and kicking.

“Aren't you supposed to be gone already?”

I ignore her, going back to my bedroom and putting the sugar on top of the mini fridge I have in there. It’s where I keep most of my food.

The only things in the kitchen refrigerator are bottles of water, a box of baking soda, and yogurt. The freezer isn't much better, with only grapes in it. I feel insulted whenever they call those frozen grapes dessert.

That was another thing I was looking forward to. All the home cooking my mom and I planned to do over the next three weeks. I know it’s going to be amazing. My throat grows tight thinking about not making it home. I missed Thanksgiving at home this year. I didn’t have enough time to take off for both, so I saved up all my time so I could stay for one long trip.

Of course when Mom heard what I was planning, she, Dad, and my brother showed up here for a surprise visit. They rented an Airbnb for the long weekend. It was wonderful, but there is nothing like being home for the holidays.

My phone dings, letting me know the driver is here. I roll out my two giant suitcases from my bedroom toward the front door.

“Bye,” I say to Barbie, who rolls her eyes at me.

“Let me get those,” the driver says, taking the bags from me.

“Thanks.” I look up at the snow, which seems to be falling harder than it was ten minutes ago before I get into the car.

“They’ve already cancelled some flights,” the driver informs me. I quickly check my phone but see that mine is still on schedule.

“I’m good.” He gives a nod and pulls out, heading toward the airport. My phone dings with a text from my brother telling me to text him with my flight information before takeoff. The drive to the airport is slow due to the worsening weather.

When I make it in and past security without my flight being cancelled, I let out a giant sigh of relief. I’m going to make it home. No sooner than I have the thought my phone dings with an alert.