Page 19 of Yolo

That’d been what he was doing when he walked through my apartment.

But, holding out hope, I called my mom.

Maybe she’d be able to spot it.

She didn’t answer, though, and I hung up.

It was really late.

I didn’t blame her for not answering.

She charged her phone in the kitchen because she liked to say that the radio waves might fry her brain if she lay next to it all night.

And, since I loved the hell out of my mother, I didn’t bother to fight her on her choice.

It was her own prerogative if she didn’t want to sleep next to it.

Who was I to try to convince her otherwise?

The only problem was that I seriously needed to find my bear, or I wouldn’t be able to sleep.

I’d slept with the damn thing since I was born.

But, after the burglary, I was even less inclined to sleep without it. When I was alone, I panicked and was barely able to function at times. The bear seemed to be the only thing that calmed me down.

It’d driven Joseph bonkers because he said the bear was disgusting.

It was ratty, sure, but it was clean.

There was nothing disgusting about it.

I opened the balcony door for some fresh air, then pulled my phone out and hit the Siri button. Once I had her attention, I said, “Pull up the My Eyes app.”

There was a long thinking pause, and then Siri said, “App not found.”

I groaned.

What the hell was it called again?

After multiple more attempts of trying to find the stupid app, and not finding it, my frustration got the better of me, and I said, “Call Joseph.”

He answered on the first ring. “I was expecting this call.”

“Where is it?” I snapped.

“Where is what?” he asked innocently.

“My stuffed animal, you complete douchebag,” I snarled.

He laughed. “I threw it out. You’re welcome.”

“Where?” I snapped again.

He chuckled. “In the dumpster outside. Maybe ask that asshole neighbor of yours to help you.”

What asshole neighbor?

“I fucking hate you so much,” I hissed, then hung up.

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