Page 61 of The Rom-Commers

Was it an earthquake? That was a thing in LA, wasn’t it? But what did you do in an earthquake? Get away from the windows? Hide in a doorway? Run outside—flapping your arms like a flightless bird?

I had no idea.

I pulled on my cotton printed robe over my T-shirt-and-yoga-pants PJs—stopping for some flip-flops in case we had to dash to safety—and stumbled at top speed toward Charlie’s wing of the house to wake him up and ask him.

But halfway there, in the dining room, there was Charlie. Awake.Working, from the looks of it. Not panicked at all—until he saw me, and then he closed his laptop a little too fast.

Okay.Thatgot my attention.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Charlie said.

“Your vibe is suspicious,” I said.

“What areyoudoing?” Charlie asked then, bringing me back to the earthquake.

WhatwasI doing? “I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Are we—having an earthquake?”

“Having an earthquake?” Charlie echoed.

I looked around. “I woke up, and everything was… shaking.”

But Charlie frowned. “No earthquake,” he said.

“No earthquake at all?” Maybe he was just used to them?

Charlie shook his head. “Nope. Nothing.”

How mortifying. “Got it,” I said, pointing at him like I was in on the joke. Though what that joke might be, I had no idea.

At that moment, I caught my reflection in the dark window—totally disheveled, robe askew, hair untied and undulating wild like some kind of angry jellyfish. My flip-flops, I now realized, were on the wrong feet.

“Maybe you dreamed it?” Charlie asked then.

We could go with that. “Sure,” I said. “Maybe.”

But that’s when I heard a little trilling sound and looked down to notice for the first time a barn-shaped plush object sitting on the table next to Charlie’s laptop.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“What’s what?” Charlie asked.

But I was walking closer now, following the trilling sound. And as I made it around to the barn doors, I saw a creature just inside. Looking out at me. A fuzzy little fluffball.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s a guinea pig,” Charlie said, likeOf course.

But I wasn’t sure. “Is it?”

My cousin had a guinea pig when we were growing up. This critter looked… different. And bydifferent, I mean it looked like a dust mop. White and yellow with fur sprouting up and billowing down past its paws. Mostly fur, in fact. With two glossy brown eyes.

I stared at it.

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