Rebel Roommate - Jeannine Colette Page 0,1

TV right now. If I want to salute my dad, it’s only because I’m damn crazy proud of him.”

That quirky grin of my dad’s, which has been charming the television screen for three decades, appears. “My daughter’s off to college, and she’s saying she’s proud of me. How did I get so lucky?”

“Is that a confirmation that I’m your favorite child? If so, I’ll be more than happy to relay that information to Chad.”

Dad doesn’t say a word, which I take as an admission.

I mean, I’m not surprised. I am pretty awesome.

He shakes his head. “Keep that ego in check when you’re on the road. Remember the steering sticks, so keep it easy on the turns. And no tailgating.”

Mom throws her arms in the air. “I don’t know why you just don’t take my car. It’s safer.”

“Because I don’t believe in taking a dime from you. Paying for school is enough. Besides, Dad taught me how to handle this beast.” I pat the dash of my truck. “A capable woman is a dangerous woman.”

Dad slides his hands in his pockets and grins proudly. “That’s my girl.”

I start the engine with a literal bang, and when it purrs once it’s warmed up, I place it in gear.

As I drive down the street I’ve lived on my entire life, I look at the rearview and see my parents standing in the road, waving me off. We live in a suburb of Los Angeles, and the six-hour drive to Berkeley is the longest I’ll have driven on my own.

My Spotify playlist keeps me company as I make my way down the 405 freeway. About halfway through, I pop one of Mom’s old Celine Dion CDs in the radio and belt out classic ballads at the top of my lungs. I might or might not get a few curious stares from passersby as I belt out “My Heart Will Go On.”

My beast is doing better than I expected, so when I see signs for the Grapevine on I-5 approaching, I stop to check the oil, put water and gas in the car, and let her cool down a bit before getting back on the road.

As I exit toward Berkeley, a city on the eastern shore of the San Francisco Bay, I get butterflies in my belly. I’m not nervous; I’m excited!

The narrow streets are filled with bars, restaurants, and shops. Young professionals are heading home after a long day at work, and college coeds in Birkenstocks are off to coffee shops, most likely to have intellectual conversations about progressive politics.

Chad’s building is on a main street that’s lined with cars on both sides of the road. Thankfully, he has an arrangement with the lot to an office building next door, and we can park there on nights and weekends when they’re closed. I pull in and turn off the engine, stretching out my arms before opening the door.

“She made it here alive!” Chad yells from the second-story window when he sees me get out of the truck. “I heard that jalopy pull in from all the way up here.” He laughs, and I give him the finger, which makes him laugh harder. “I’ll be right down.”

I walk to the back of the tailgate to start unloading some of my bags.

“Hey, Stacey.” Chad jogs over and envelops me in a hug.

I welcome the comfort my brother provides. He might have been a huge pain in my ass, growing up, but when it comes to him just being a brother, I hit the jackpot with him.

“You cut your hair.” I rub my hand over his crew cut, making him duck away.

“Thought I’d make it shorter than usual before workouts start for the season.”

“Good. Last year, your whole caveman look of not cutting your hair during the baseball season was a little much.”

“You know how the guys are. Superstitious to the core. I’ll forgo a cut and a shave for as long as we have runs on the board.”

With a laugh, I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder and grab two more.

Chad grabs the biggest box in the truck, and we lock up the rest. We carry everything into the building and up the narrow stairs into his place—my new home—and then we step into a small entryway.

The kitchen is to our left and only big enough for two people to stand in. There’s a counter with a cutout window that leads to the living room. A worn-out black leather couch sits up against the wall,