Free Hot Mess by Julie Kraut

something. Internships you’d actually want are all about connections and timing. Unless your dad is Carson Daly or something, you’re so not getting anything at MTV. But who even cares what your job is? I mean, hello! I’m about to rock into Lesbo.org. Anything is a step up from lifeguarding. I mean, you can’t put ‘Got tan, ate tacos’ on your college apps.”
    God, my old summer plans sounded so lame now. Rachel was right. This office thing would be much better than station-wagoning around Bridgefield.
    I was about to take another peak in the fridge to see if there was anything else of Jayla’s I could snag for breakfast when I heard the front door open.
    “Jayla!” Rachel chirped as our new roommate stumbled through the door.
    “Where were you guys last night? I thought you wanted to come out,” she said as she threw her clutch on the couch.
    Rachel and I exchanged a quick glance, neither one of us wanting to fess up to what uncool freaks we were. It was true that we’d texted Jayla last night to see where she was, but totally not because we wanted to meet up. Rachel had burst into my room at two a.m. in a complete panic.
    “Jayla isn’t home and it’s, like, really late,” she whispered frantically as she shook me awake. “On
Law & Order,
it’s always the roommate who reports her friend missing. Should we call the cops now? Do you think that she’s dead or being tortured or something?”
    Even though I was barely conscious, Rachel was lathering me into a worried frenzy. I mean, we didn’t even know Jayla, but two a.m., come on, who stays out that late on a weeknight? As I slowly woke up, I was seriously thinking of dialing 911 but then realized we might try texting Jayla first, just to see if she would respond. I thought of her, lying in a car trunk or abandoned warehouse with her mouth taped as I punched into my cell,
Where R U? R U OK?
    “I’m going to call 911.” Rachel was in extreme
SVU
mode. “Every second we wait is another second she suffers.”
    But, just as Rachel dialed 9, my phone buzzed with a text.
@ The Box. Come. Dress sexy!
Our relief quickly melted into feeling totally stupid about our Code Red terror alert, and Rachel shuffled back to her bedroom after promising that we would never admit to Jayla just what dorky suburban girls we were.
    In the morning light, I felt even more idiotic. “Oh yeah. Um, we just decided to stay in last night,” I lied. “You know, unpacking all of our stuff and getting organized.” In reality, we each just had one suitcase that took all of an hour to unload, but Jayla didn’t seem to care. She had gossip to spill.
    She kicked off her heels and got more comfortable on the couch. “So, guess who I made out with last night.”
    “Who?” we gasped in unison.
    She paused for effect before fake whispering, as if she weren’t dying to tell us, “Adrian Grenier.”
    We shrieked in disbelief. Rach knocked over the box of Lucky Charms in a spastic lurch of excitement.
    “Are you
freaking kidding me
? Omigod, Jayla, he’s like
the hottest
thing ever. I have no idea what’s going on in
Entourage
—I just watch it for him,” Rachel squealed. “Where did all this happen? You kissed him at that boxing bar?”
    Jayla looked horrified. “Not a bar, honey. A club. Bars are for uglies and fatties. And yeah, it started at the club.” She rattled off more details, everything from denim brands to his drink choices, a memory to rival any
Jeopardy!
champ. I could feel my face turn hot pink when she started to describe his boxer briefs. Rachel almost jumped Jayla when she said that they had exchanged numbers.
    “Wait, so you have his number in your phone right now?” I hadn’t seen Rachel this flabbergasted ever. “Let’s send him a text right now. Ask him if he wants to come over today!” She was squealing louder than an entire stadium of girls at a JT concert.
    “No! I just came from his place. That would be so weird. And I don’t even know if I