Did it make her feel bigger?

One of the students at the counter steps away and I shrug off my thoughts. It’s all over now. With any luck, I’ll never see Abby Summers again.

The clerk calls me up and I set my bag on the counter, knocking over her pen cup and watching in horror as writing utensils and paper clips spill out and tumble to the floor in a loud, jangling clutter.

My face, already enflamed, heats even further while I bend over to pick up the items, apologizing at least three times before saying in a breathless rush, “I’m so sorry but I need a home. I mean, I have a home but I can’t go back there because I might get shot.”

The clerk stares at me, wide-eyed.

And this is why I don’t talk to folks I don’t know. It’s like my brain jams up and the words get muddled and hazy or pop outta my mouth like Mexican jumping beans.

“I mean . . .” I take a deep breath and focus. “I’m looking for housing. Is there anywhere for rent?”

In my periphery, Fitz steps up to the other clerk. He says something, much more coherently than I managed, I’m sure, but I keep my gaze focused on the brunette in front of me and try not to listen.

Then the two workers speak at once. “Check the bulletin board.”

My ears prick. It’s like surround sound in here.

Fitz’s eyes lock on mine, tangled together for a hot second. Then we’re in motion, speed walking to the board in the corner. It’s mostly empty—save for the Blue Falls Fighting Boars sticker up in one corner and there, in the center, a lone piece of paper.

Although we reach it at the same time, he’s faster and lengthier. His hand snatches the sheet and then he’s walking away without another word, long legs carrying him out the door.

I gape after him.

I can’t believe it. He’s the reason I’m homeless to begin with. If he hadn’t come barging into my room, starting a brawl with his erstwhile girlfriend and her paramour, this wouldn’t have happened.

The past twenty-four hours have been a nightmare of which I had no control and he . . . now he . . .

My heart is racing in my chest, pumping my veins with something I’m not used to. My breathing increases.

I’m angry.

No. I’m so mad I could spit.

This isn’t fair. None of it is my fault. I let it slide when Abby partied in our room at all hours. I didn’t complain when she made snide remarks about my clothes, my books, my everything.

All my life I’ve let other people dictate what I do. I didn’t even really want to go to college. I could have learned just as much on my own. But my parents made me and I acquiesced, because that’s what I do.

Then Scarlett moved out and she’s the one who convinced me to live in the dorms. Told me I needed to learn how to adapt, since high school was such a bust. It would be different, she said. People change as they get older.