Nora Stevenson

Chapter Two

"Look, Mister," says Liam. "I am tired and hungry, and I've been walking in the desert for three days now. Give me a room!"

I watch as my friend berates the hotel clerk, rambling on about his fatigue. "Sir," I begin politely with a forced smile, "are you sure that there are absolutely no rooms available? We'll take anything you've got." I blink innocently, hoping the clerk will take pity.

"Well... There is one room," he says reluctantly. "It's in pretty bad shape, though. You'll have to rough it a bit."

"We'll take it!" Liam demands, desperate. He looks so pitiful that I almost laugh at him. Almost. "What's the room number?"

"Room 23, last door on the left," explains the clerk, pointing in the general direction. He hands us a key. "Enjoy your stay," he remarks ominously.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Randoff," I say, quickly stealing a glance at his nametag. Liam grabs his scarily empty backpack and we march wearily toward room 23. We arrive at the door and I take a deep breath. The room can't be that bad, I convince myself.

I open the door with a creak. I was wrong.

The room is horrendous. Tattered, blackened curtains hang in shreds from the windows, and the single bed is missing a leg. The dresser is dusty, and the entire room reeks of burnt carpet, which scarcely covers the floor in raggedy patches of ugly green and orange.

The mustiness infiltrates my lungs. I cough, and a realization strikes me: there is only one bed. Awkwardly, I say, "I'll take the floor."

Liam's eyes widen. "Excuse me? I'll be taking the floor. Duh," he plops his sorry-looking sack onto the floor, and a cloud of dust rises. He's too nice; I offer once again to take the floor.

"Please, Liam. Let me take it. You rescued me and everything," I spit out, but even as I say it, I can see that my argument is hopeless. I've learned something over the years: once Liam Wallace sets his mind to something, he does it, and there's nothing you can do to stop him. "Fine," I grumble, as I guiltily walk to the bed. The sheets are wrinkled, and the pillow looks gross. Maybe I should've pleaded harder for the floor.

Liam is unfazed by the unkempt state of our room. His sparkling brown eyes seem to take everything in with wonder and curiosity. He looks for the best in situations—a skill that I have yet to learn.

Warily, I sit down on the bed. It sags. I stand up and pulls the cover back, exposing the brownish sheets underneath. A spider tiptoes frantically out of the covers and hurries down the bedpost. I grimace.

"Um, Liam," I start, "are you sure you don't want the bed?" My lips turn upwards in a hopeful grin, and he acquiesces.

"Fine, since you want the floor so badly," he jokes.

"Thank you, Liam." I wink. "So. You want food or something? And not that disgusting dried fruit you brought to the desert with you?"

He laughs. "Yeah, sure," he says. "Where do you want to go?"

I consider my options. "I saw a Wendy's down the street..." I say, embarrassed. I've always had a soft spot for their burgers. My dad used to take me there every Sunday after church. No. I stop myself. Don't go there.

Liam alone is privy to my guilty pleasure. He laughs. "Sure," he says. "You want to, um, freshen up a bit?" He raises his eyebrows.

Until now I haven't even considered my appearance. I must look homeless after living in prison for a week and travelling across the arid desert for an additional three days. "Yeah. I should probably do that." I rummage through the bathroom cabinets, searching for any supplies. There is nothing but cobwebs and an old, dusty tissue. Eww. "Well, it looks like we're going to have to pick up some stuff on the way."