The next day, I woke up to the soft hum of the heater and the faint smell of peach soda in the room.
For a moment, my brain did that automatic morning checklist—it was Sunday and so I didn’t have class today. Also, my coffee was probably still in the fridge from yesterday—
Shit!
And then I rolled over as I groaned out loud.
And I almost screamed at what I saw.
June was lying on the bed across from mine, hair sticking up like she’d fought a small electrical storm, boots still on from last night, one arm draped dramatically over her forehead. She looked like the cover photo for a chaotic band album, except the band had been forcibly disbanded at 3 a.m.
As I continued to stare at her with wide eyes and opened mouth while wondering what the hell someone like that was doing here, it al
