Page 6 of Overachiever
He shakes his head. “Bird pooped on you.”
His words don’t register the first time since it wasn’t what I expected as an answer. “What?”
His small finger extends to point at my shoulder. “Bird pooped on you.”
As my vision adjusts to the brightness, it’s clear he’s right. A large, nasty white splatter, dotted with purple, covers my shoulder and runs down the front of my shirt.
Perfect.
Amazing end to a stellar night.
“You should sleep inside in a bed like me,” the kid says as I get to my feet.
“Good idea, buddy.” His head bobs up when a woman calls for him from a nearby doorway, and he ambles off.
Weston is visible through the window of the tiny dining room when I pass the front of the building. At least I’ll have the room to myself to clean up and get ready.
On top of being the world’s loudest sleeper, Weston is a slob. The bathroom is damp with a soaked towel lying on the floor and another wadded up in the corner. I’m lucky he’s saved me a towel, I guess, and there’s no shortage of hot water to wash off the bird shit.
I hate birds. Squawky, flappy little bastards.
I’m not the type to dwell on a little bad luck, though, and the water washes away most of my disgruntled mood. There’s still a problem to solve. It’s doubtful that the company is going to spring for another room just because I don’t like my roommate, and I can’t afford one on my own. No person in their right mind would switch with me.
That leaves one possibility. Rooming with Remee, if I can talk her into it. It’s not that I think she’d be uncomfortable with me, but if I had a room to myself, I sure wouldn’t want to give it up.
After my shower, I text her to see if she’s had breakfast yet, and her reply is instant.
Remee: No, do you want to go to the restaurant across the street for pancakes?
Me: Hell yes. Meet you at my truck.
If pancakes can’t make a day better then I don’t know what can.
Chapter Three
Remee
Owen looks wrung out when he emerges from his room to meet me. Maybe it’s hard for him to sleep in a new place too. “Hey, you look tired. Didn’t you get any sleep?”
“Don’t even get me started,” he warns, as we walk toward the road. “I need some coffee and sugary breakfast food to get past it and describe the trauma I’ve suffered.”
“Uh-huh, and would this be the same level of trauma you claimed when Graham stole your last pizza roll?”
“Way worse. Seriously, you’re going to feel so bad about making fun of me when I tell you about my night. Fortunately, I’m a nice guy and I’ll forgive you.”
My anxiety over the day to come fades a little. Owen may get on my nerves sometimes with his endless mouth, but it’s hard not to be happy around him. He’s such a positive person. He never seems stressed out or worried, and I envy his ability to just roll with things.
The restaurant right across from our motel advertises breakfast as their specialty, and from the amazing smell that wafts over us at the entrance, I don’t doubt the claim. A hostess seats us in a booth by a window and the waitress is right behind her to take our order. The place is far from empty, but not too busy.
After we order, Owen leans toward me on his elbows. “Remee, you know you’re my favorite, right?”
“I know you’re full of it.” My smile can’t be helped. “You want something.”
“No! Okay, yes, but it’s a tiny thing, really. Infinitesimal.”
He stops to thank the waitress who delivers our food. After she leaves, I munch on a strip of bacon. “What is it?”
“So, I was thinking, this summer would be much more fun for you if you had a roommate. It must be horribly boring staying in that room all alone, but don’t worry. I’m willing to move in today to help.”
