I’M down on my knees for the fifth time this week.
No matter how hard I scrub, the nail polish won’t come off the carpet in my spare room. I’ve tried every little home remedy, from hair spray to vinegar to good old-fashioned acetone, and nothing seems to work.
My brother, Mica, should be doing this work for me. He’s the one who wanted me to find a roommate in the first place. According to his twisted big-brother logic, it’s not “safe or practical” for a twenty-one-year-old woman to live alone in the city.
Under normal circumstances, I’d tell Mica it’s not safe or practical for him to tell me what to do. But considering he’s paid for my housing for the last three years, I guess I have to suck it up and listen to reason.
“Ace,” I chirp his nickname into the phone. “I can’t get this fucking stain out. No one’s gonna want to live in this room.”
“Then I’ll get the carpets redone, Lili.” He gives me an exasperated sigh. “It’s not a big deal.”
My brother has always called me Lili, and I’ve returned the favor by calling him Ace. We traded these nicknames as kids, creating an unspoken bond, a secret language meant just for us.
We’re the Jennings siblings—Jade Lilianna and Mica Aciano—our names inspired by gems and plants. Growing up, we were quite the formidable duo, far closer than most siblings of the opposite sex. And our parents always insisted that we were their perfect, little angel children.
While some might see me as mildly angelic, my brother’s quite the opposite. It’s a whole different story with him . . . and that’s putting it mildly.
Mica has always been a wild child. He’s a rule breaker, while I’m more straight-laced. He’s a cocky player, while I’m the girl who usually plays it safe. He’s a cornerback in the NFL, while I’m a . . . college journalist.
We’re opposites, but we fit together like no one else.
“I probably won’t find someone in the middle of the term, anyway.” I shrug, pinning my cell phone against one shoulder. “You can have the carpets replaced during the break.”
“Lili,” he warns. “I want someone in there by spring term . . . at the latest.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I’m serious, Lil. I don’t like you living alone, especially near all those drunk losers at your school.”
“You think living with another girl is going to protect me?”
“I think there’s safety in numbers, no matter what. Your roommate would be around if you don’t come home.”
“Can’t you just come stay with me after the season ends?” I ask the question even though I know the answer. It just doesn’t make sense for Mica to live with me near Dayton. For many reasons, one being that his football team, the Bobcats, is constantly on the road traveling.
“You know how busy my schedule is, even in the off-season,” he says, “I’d barely have time to be there.”
“You’ll still visit, though, right?”
I swear, every year, I spend less and less time with my brother. If he’s not busy playing the game, he’s training. If he’s not training, he’s in the gym. All other gaps and crevices are filled by his avid social calendar or, should I say, his endless string of one-night stands.
Yes. It’s gross to think of my brother in that way, but it’s just the honest truth. I doubt he’ll ever settle down with one woman. He’s not exactly a sleazeball, but he’s no patron saint when it comes to his football groupies.
Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him seriously date anyone since high school . . . and that was nearly ten years ago.
“You know I will, as much as I can,” he promises. “Okay.”
“Just at least start the roommate search, okay? That’s all I ask.” “Fine.”
“Fine?” He lets out a hearty laugh. “You know, you’re stubborn as hell.” “You’re the stubborn one.”
Because if it were up to me, I wouldn’t even bother with all this roommate bullshit. I’m fine on my own. In fact, I prefer it. I’d never have to worry about leaving a dish in the sink, or bringing a date home, or cleaning nail polish off this damn carpet.
It’s simple, uncomplicated, and quiet—just how I happen to like things. “I swear it will be good for you. Trust me,” he adds. “But hey, Lili, I
really gotta get going. Practice starts in ten.”
“Okay.” I blow out a sigh. “Bye, Ace. Love you.” “Love you,” he murmurs back.
I end the call, quickly scrolling over to my Instagram feed. I may have agreed to officially start the roommate search, but that doesn’t mean I have to put in any actual effort. Swiping open a new story, I type out a quick message: looking for female roommate to share two-bedroom apartment— preferably Dayton U student
I’m certain Mica will catch sight of my post, and I can only hope he’s appeased by my half-hearted effort. With that little task checked off my list, I turn my attention to my reflection in the mirror, fluffing my wayward curls. I make a mental note to give myself a break once in a while, take a deep breath, and recite my daily affirmations. Then I sweep my laptop into my bag and take one last look around my apartment before I make my way to campus.
As I push through the hive of students, the crisp morning air brings a welcome flush to my cheeks. The Hayworth Building, my daily destination and the home of the university newsroom, stands tall, grand yet familiar, amidst the flurry of activity.
Stepping inside, the hum of a newsroom in full swing greets me—a symphony of keyboards clacking, people chatting, and the subtle rustle of newsprint. It’s a chaotic melody, but one I’ve come to find comfort in.
With a nod to some of the other reporters, I maneuver through the disorganization toward my small haven in the corner. It’s cluttered, personalized with scribbled notes and discarded coffee cups. It’s a far cry from glamorous, but it’s my chaos, my home within these four dingy walls.
It’s not long before my editor, Garrett, ambles over to my desk. His disheveled hair, five-o’clock shadow, and the hint of an almost smile give him a boy-next-door charm, a stark contrast to the authority he attempts to carry in our newsroom.
“Jade,” he says, punctuated by a casual salute. “I have a fresh piece for you. Student Union, meeting tonight, budget cuts. I want you there.”
While the topic isn’t exactly the Super Bowl of news, I accept it, knowing every story, no matter how small, has its own merit. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself for the past three years. It’s the only way I’ve been able to survive Garrett’s misogynistic attitude.
For some reason, the man doesn’t think I have enough experience to be a sports reporter. Yet, Jeremy, Liam, and Dante were apparently born with the right credentials . . . as if their ability to write a quality article is quantified by the tiny male appendages between their legs.
I don’t even need to be in charge of the sports section or to be taken off student life altogether. That’s not what I’m asking for. All I want is a chance to cover a few Dayton U football games. Honestly, I have the experience because I practically grew up on the sport myself.
Not to mention my brother’s a goddamn NFL player . . . not that I’ll ever use that truth to my advantage. I shouldn’t have to stoop to that level, especially not for the chauvinistic Garrett Warners of the world.
“Got it,” I hiss between gritted teeth. “I’ll get the scoop on the student body’s reaction.”
As he walks away, I nestle into my chair with a sigh, preparing for the mission ahead. This isn’t the adrenaline rush of a sports story, but it’s my assignment, my responsibility. And I’m going to give it my all, despite my distinct lack of interest in the subject matter.
Hours later, during a quick break from drafting potential interview questions, my phone buzzes with an unexpected message. Shannon—a lifeguard from Sunshine Ranch, the camp I counseled at over the summer— has just sent me a text.
SHANNON
hey girl! I saw your IG story. I’m looking to move out of my place at the end of next month. would that be do-able? I think we’d have fun living together!
This girl, with her fiery red hair and infectious optimism, had become a summer friend, bonded over shared experience and empathy. Her little brother was recently diagnosed with muscular dystrophy, while my dad has battled with multiple sclerosis ever since I can remember.
We’ve seen the same kind of pain in the ones we love, and it brought us closer, creating an unexpected friendship.
JADE
that works! I’ll send over some details, but the room is all yours if you want it
Her response pops up before I can even manage to lock my phone.
SHANNON
yay! I’m so in!
So, I suppose that’s all settled, then. Shannon O’Connor is going to be my new roommate for spring term. While I’m relieved that the situation has worked itself out, I can’t help but feel a pang of unease in the pit of my stomach.
Shannon will undoubtedly bring her spark into my quiet world, shaking up my routine in ways I can’t even begin to imagine. It’s not the calm and collected life I envisioned, but maybe, with a bit of self-convincing, I could see this as the plot twist my story needs.
