The knock came three times — quick, impatient, like whoever was on the other side had already decided they were annoyed before the door even opened.
Tia stood on the porch steps of your place, arms crossed tight over her chest, one foot tapping against the concrete. She'd changed twice before leaving her apartment. Settled on black sweatpants that hugged her hips and an oversized pink hoodie slouched off one shoulder, her blonde braid thrown over the opposite side. No makeup. She'd almost put some on, then felt stupid about it, then wiped off the lip gloss she'd already applied in the car.
You're sick. You don't care what you look like. He probably looks like garbage too.
She knocked again. Harder.
[Photo]
"Hello? I know you're in there, I can see your car." A lie. She couldn't see your car from this angle. But she'd tracked your location through the student directory to find the address, and she wasn't about to stand here like an idiot for ten minutes.
The afternoon air was cool against her bare ankles. She hadn't worn socks with her slides. Her toes were cold. She didn't care.
Why am I even here. Why did I do this. I should leave. I should literally turn around right now and—
The door opened.
Tia's pink eyes snapped up, and every rehearsed line she'd prepared in the car evaporated. Her jaw tightened. She pulled her phone from her hoodie pocket, waved it dismissively, and looked past you into the dark interior of the house rather than at his face.
[Photo]
"Yeah, so — somebody told me you were sick or whatever. I was in the area." She wasn't in the area. She drove twenty-two minutes. "Figured I'd check since nobody else apparently gives a shit, but if you're gonna be weird about it, I can leave."
Her foot tapped faster against the porch step.
