Page 89 of The Roommate Lie

Jason:Sorry about everything earlier on the tram.

An apology? I almost exhale with relief—but then I keep reading.

Jason:It’s been a rough few days, that’s all. I miss you—but I know we made the right decision.

We didn’t make a decision; he dumped me. Though it’s that last part that really gets me.I know we made the rightdecision.

How?

Our breakup was hard, but I don’t miss Jason the way I should—that’s how I know we shouldn’t be together. But what about him? If Jason misses me, how does he still know he made the right choice?

My medical what-ifs creep back in, and I’d do just about anything to make them go away. Another growl echoes in the dark, and I choose that path instead.I choose raccoon.

Sneaking toward that sound, I ignore Jason’s messages as I close in on our homemade animal trap. Once I reach the trash can, I brace for the worst.Please don’t let there be an animal inside. Please let it only be water.

Leaning forward, I aim my phone light into the murky depths below, trying to see what’s inside that trash can. What wilderness horrors await me.

Nothing.

No horrors at all.

The water in the trash can is inky black in the dark, an endless void, but that’s all there is. Then I glance up and find the real horror waiting for me. That trash can isn’t the only thing that’s empty.

The kibble bowl sits perched at the end of the plank, right where it should be. Except there’s nothing inside. There isn’t even a stray crumb left. No raccoon bait whatsoever.

Something was here.

Another growl pierces the night. Lower this time. Closer.

Behind me, the wind whispers my name over and over.Alice. Allliiiiccceee.Before I can turn around, a breeze rustles the trees, and two terrifying things happen at once.

My phone buzzes in my hand again, making me jump.

And a large dark shadow creeps out of the bushes across the yard.

“Alice?”

I shriek like a frightened raccoon, and everything else happens in slow motion. My phone shoots out of my hand, tumbling down, down, down, as I fumble to catch it in the dark—and fail. It hits the water below with a splash. Drowning in our homemade raccoon trap.

I shriek again, and the dark shadow sprints toward me, my heart nearly exploding until I realize it’s Charlie. He’s got a skateboard under his arm and his phone in his hand. Tossing them both on the ground, he hurries to rescue my phone from its watery grave.

When he fishes it out and gives it back, I shut my phone off as fast as I can, before it short-circuits in my hands. But it’s probably too late. It’s beyond soaked, and I stare down at my phone, not sure what else to do.

I’m almost a thousand miles away from home. My life is on my phone, my easy connection to family and friends. What am I going to do now?

“Rice,” Charlie says. “We have some inside. Tyler’s dropped his phone in water twice since he moved in.”

We run into his house, and he grabs a Ziplock bag from the pantry. The words “phone hotel” are written on the outside in Sharpie. As if that bag of rice is a fun place for a phone to wind up instead of a punishment.

“I’m not sure if rice actually helps,” Charlie admits as he buries my phone in the bag. “But we haven’t lost one yet, so it couldn’t hurt. In seventy-two hours, you should be all set.”

Seventy-two hours?

Without my phone?

I try not to panic as I smile and thank him, suddenly bashful as I remember that kiss we shared earlier today. My body relives it in vivid detail, and the heat of that memory makes me blush.

“What were you doing out so late?” I ask when I remember how to talk. “Why were you hiding in the yard?”

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