She grunted and raised a brow at me as if to say, What’s your point?
“I’m only asking because you’ve already washed them five times this month.” I had been chosen as the worker bee who hung the clean curtains back up because she just couldn’t manage to do it herself. It was fine, because she really couldn’t, and it only took me ten minutes to hang them all back up anyway, but I always wondered who else she cornered to take them down every other day.
“I like a clean house, Miss Clarke.”
Of course she liked a clean house. She roped me into vacuuming her apartment almost weekly, not to mention her never-ending list of other small tasks. If you weren’t quiet enough and that door of hers opened, she had chores she wanted you to handle. If she had been one of those sweet old grandmas who gave you warm chocolate chip cookies for helping her, or maybe sometimes offered you a home-cooked meal because you were a student who missed having home-cooked meals, she would be so lovable. But, no. She was…I had no idea how to be polite about my choice of word, but she was basically a witch. As I said, if she caught you, she always roped you into helping her out with something, and on top of that she basically sucked all the energy right out of you while she was at it. That was why I always tiptoed when I reached our floor.
“I’m really tired and I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning. I’ll come after—”
“You young people… You should never leave today’s work for tomorrow.” The door opened all the way and she stood back. I would’ve agreed with her if it had been my own work I had to handle without leaving it for tomorrow. I hadn’t even said I’d do it the next day. All I wanted to do was sit my ass down and eat something before I had to tackle her. Holding back a frustrated scream and gritting my teeth, I gave her a toothless smile and walked in.
Before I was even four steps into her apartment, she closed her door and started in on me. “Was that a young man I saw leaving the apartment this morning, Miss Clarke? Back in my time, we wouldn’t get near boys. These things were frowned upon, but I guess times have changed. At least this one is closer to your age. Did you know the girl in 5B cheated on her boyfriend? I heard them arguing just this afternoon—”
I wasn’t even sure who lived in 5B. Tuning her completely out, I did what she’d asked me to do and as soon as it was done, I almost ran back out before she could ask me to take Billy out for a walk. Billy was the cat from hell who hid every time someone other than Ms. Hilda was in the house, and when he was thrust into someone’s hands (i.e., mine), his go-to course of action was to scratch the hell out of your arms for even daring to touch him.
As I practically jogged toward the door that would take me to safety, I could hear Ms. Hilda’s quick footsteps following me. For an eighty-five-year-old woman, she moved surprisingly fast when she wanted to and caught up to me just as I opened her door.
“You have a nice evening now, Miss Clarke, and I’ll let you know if I learn more about the girl in 5B. I bet we’ll see her new boo—”
I took a step out and collided with the hard body of a wide receiver in my haste to escape. Dylan had apparently just walked up the last step of the stairs, and he grunted in surprise. I gasped and he went back down a step. Grabbing me right above the elbow, he steadied us both before I could fall on him and quite possibly break his neck on the way down the stairs.
“Zoe?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I apologized quickly as he let go of my arm.
This guy would forever remember me as ‘the klutz I had to live with that one year and had seen around campus twice before that’.
Before I could explain anything to Dylan or warn him telepathically, Ms. Hilda cleared her throat behind me and I barely held back a groan. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. If I didn’t wrap this up quickly, she would hold us hostage for who knew how long.
Here we go.
“Ah, Dylan, here you are,” I exclaimed a little louder than necessary so Ms. Hilda would have no trouble hearing—though when it came to the old woman’s hearing, it was always a crapshoot. I plastered the biggest smile on my face and tried to come up with something in the two seconds it took me to right myself and face my nosy neighbor. “We were just talking about you, weren’t we Ms. Hilda?” Before the poor guy could understand what was happening, I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up to stand next to me—or more accurately, I urged him to stand next to me, because with the way those muscles felt under my hand, I couldn’t imagine anything my size could move him even an inch if he didn’t want to be moved.