The Beautiful Truth

// 102

"So...rather than stick around and talk things out with your best friend...you booked a flight back to California and now you're working at Spin Magazine for the summer...covering country music shows? Sawyer, you need therapy, not me," Micki said on the other end of my phone as I sat at Jamba Juice a few days later.

I was slouched in my chair outside on the sidewalk, enjoying the mild, breezy weather that had me wearing a longsleeve shirt and jeans. That was about the only thing keeping me happy at the moment. Now that Micki had broken my life's recent events down like that, it was hard to disagree with her.

I'd told her everything...all the way back to Talyn's official visit in the spring—the parts she'd missed. She knew how I felt now...exactly how I felt. I loved Talyn, but I wasn't over Barton. It was that simple, and that complicated.

In any case, Dr. Bovich, thinking he was doing me a favor by getting me an internship with a music magazine, put me in touch with his brother...who happened to be on the editorial staff at Spin. As I was currently 'off music,' I'd asked for an assignment with the most mundane genre they covered. Country.

I sighed. "It's possible. In any case, I start Monday. So I guess I have until then to find someplace to live. Any ideas?"

Micki laughed...at me. "You've got a lot more to figure out than that, babe."

"Well right, I probably need a car, too."

"Oh jeez. Sawyer, are you OK?"

"Micki, I'm fine," I sighed for the hundredth time.

"OK...well, I gotta go to class, but I'm calling you back later, OK?" Micki sounded worried, and completely unconvinced.

"OK, I'll be here," I sighed again. "Bye."

"Hang in there, Eeyore, I'll talk to you soon."

I ended our call, and took another sip from my smoothie. My laptop was open in front of me as I'd been scanning Craigslist for subletting rooms in Berkeley. The hotel I was staying in was going to get old. And expensive.

"Sawyer Fitzgerald."

I looked up from my computer. Who did I know that was still in town?

Chase Fallen was towering over me, his curly blond hair fro-ed up with sweat and held back with a bandanna. He'd been out running.

"What's up, Chase?" I asked—I couldn't tell how it sounded when it came out of my mouth, but I was surprised.

Apparently, so was Chase. "Wow, I can't believe you know who I am."

I wrinkled my nose at him. "Doesn't everybody at Cal know you?"

Chase shrugged at my obvious attempt at playing dumb. "You know what I mean."

"Why wouldn't I know you?"

"It's just that you were so...out of it...like...detached somehow, last semester," he offered, leaning over on the chair across from me. "What are you doing back in California? I thought you were going home to...Okla—"

"Change of plans," I cut him off. 'Oklahoma' felt like a dirty word these days.

"Ah, well, welcome back to the best coast. I saw you sitting here and thought I'd say hello. Carry on."

I stared at him blankly. Eh, what the hell. "Hey, you know, like, everybody here, right? Do any of those people need a roommate?"

"What did you, move back to Berkeley with nowhere to live?" he shifted his weight and cocked his head.

"Long story."

Chase smirked and stood up straight again. "H—" He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped himself. "Nah."

"What?" I asked, blatantly intrigued.

He gave me a long look. "How bad do you need a place to live?"

"Uh oh."

He smiled. "My buddy and I could use another roommate. We'd even give you the master, so you could have your own bathroom."

I grimaced. "I don't know..."

"We're clean, I swear, come on."

How was this happening? He'd gone from reluctant, to hesitant, to hopeful, to earnest in the span of seconds. "How much?"

"Eleven a month."

I sighed. Fuckin' California. But I could do that, with the remnants of my tutoring stipend and the money my dad had given me for the summer... "When can I move in?"

Chase grinned, almost laughed. "You don't want to see the place first?"

"It can't be but so bad if you live there."

Chase rolled his eyes. "Give me and Travis the rest of the day to clean it up for you, but you can move in tomorrow if you want."

"Is there furniture?"

"Yeah, the other guy's just gone for the summer. You can have his bed and whatever," Chase offered.

"Perfect."

"So you're in?"

I shrugged. "It beats spending the day on Craigslist."

"Absolutely. Just give me a call tomorrow; we'll help you move."

I scoffed. "When did you get so nice?"

Chase seemed to be having some kind of internal war with himself. I wondered, not for the first time since I'd made his re-acquaintance, if he remembered calling me a bitch while hitting on my roommate. Probably not.

"Since I stopped drinking," he finally said. "Which was right after your best friend came up here to try and take my spot, so..."

"Well, now that that's out there," I remarked sarcastically.

Chase laughed. "No harm done, Fitzgerald; I'm still around. Give me a call in the morning, 'kay?"

We exchanged numbers, and that was that. I had a place to live. With the Cal QB. I guess it was as good a rebellion as any.