Thump. Crash. “Shit!”
Haven’s eyes shot open at once at the noise. Disoriented, she stared at the low ceiling above her bed, surveying the textured white paint as if it could somehow tell her what happened. Sunlight streamed in the small window across the room, sweeping across the faded wooden floor. It was warm, almost peaceful, and all was silent for a long moment.
Had she imagined it?
She started to close her eyes again when another bang rang out. Following it was the clicking sound of high heels against wood, accompanying a woman’s frustrated growl. Confused, Haven’s stomach twisted as she threw the covers off and climbed out of bed. She walked through the apartment at the same time the high heels started along the floor above her, following her direction as they made their way to the staircase.
Quietly, Haven unlocked her front door and peeked out as the woman started down the stairs. She was tall and curvy, her long hair an unnatural burgundy shade. She lugged two empty cardboard boxes with her and dropped them in the small foyer right outside of Haven’s door.
Haven didn’t want to be caught spying, but the woman saw her before she could slip back away.
“Hey there!” she said enthusiastically. “I’m Kelsey.”
“Hav—uh, den.” She cleared her throat. “Hayden.”
“Do you live here, Hayden?” Kelsey asked, pausing to take a breath but not long enough for Haven to actually answer. “Thank God you’re a she and not a he. I was totally convinced I was going to be living above some creepy bald dude with a potbelly who smelled like beef jerky and cheap beer. Yuck. Could you imagine? Ugh, I bet you were worried about the same thing, some pervert tromping through here all day and night. Am I right?”
Haven smiled timidly. She hadn’t even considered it. The thought of someone moving into the vacant second floor never crossed her mind. She had assumed Corrado rented the entire building.
“So what do you do?” Kelsey asked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Are you a student or something?”
“Uh, yes,” she replied. “I go to the School of Visual Arts.”
Kelsey’s eyes widened. “No shit? Me too!”
Haven was taken aback. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Kelsey said. “I’m majoring in graphic design. You?”
“Painting.”
“Fine arts? Ugh, I could never do that.” Kelsey waved her off dismissively. “So have you gone to orientation yet?”
“No.” Haven frowned. She had been putting it off, her nerves getting the best of her. “I should probably do that, though.”
“Totally,” Kelsey said. “I was about to head over there myself. We can go together! Everyone needs a walking buddy, right?”
“Right.” Haven glanced down at herself, still wearing her plaid oversize pajamas. She hadn’t even brushed her hair yet. “I need to change first.”
“Me, too,” Kelsey said, scrunching her nose in disgust. “I can’t go out looking like this. I broke a sweat and didn’t even enjoy myself doing it.”
Kelsey immediately turned, leaving the empty boxes where she had discarded them as she bolted back up the narrow stairs.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Haven sat on the bottom step in the foyer, freshly showered and dressed in a pair of jeans and a red tank top. She tinkered with her keys as she waited, listening to the noise from above as Kelsey stomped around her apartment. Her loud footsteps echoed through the old building, the flimsy floorboards creaking and groaning. The building, although freshly remodeled, showed signs of its age.
Haven waited, and waited, and waited some more. Another twenty minutes passed, and she was about to give up, when the sound of Kelsey’s high heels started clicking her way. Haven stood and glanced up the stairs, studying the girl as she approached. Her clothes were pristine, vibrant and crisp as if they had never been worn before. Her lips shone brightly from gloss, her eyes masked with dark makeup. She was a pretty girl, but Haven thought she looked much better without all of that covering her face.
“Ready?” Kelsey asked.
Haven nodded. She had been ready.
Although she wore six-inch high heels, Kelsey walked confidently, her steps effortless, her stride long. Haven strolled along beside her, listening as the girl prattled on and on about everything. By the time they reached the school a few blocks away, Haven knew all she needed to know about Kelsey—an only child, the daughter of a congressman, she had failed out of NYU and decided to give art school a chance after her parents forced her to move out to teach her responsibility.
“So, yeah . . . my dad says I only get three strikes before he cuts me off, and failing out of NYU was number two.”
“What was the first strike?”