#1 - Pilot

Non-judgy female roommate wanted for two roommates in 3br 1ba 2lvl w/basement. $275/mo, walking distance from NU. Please tell us about yourself and we will get back to you.
Krysta reclined in the small coffee shop booth and sipped her mint tea, searching her palette for traces of the various flavors described on the menu. She generally tried not to be a tea snob, but it took her away from the task at hand: sorting through dozens of Craigslist replies to her ad for a second roommate. Across the table, her current roommate Alicia was neck deep in them, working down the list and reading each reply aloud.

"I'm Chloe. I'll sleep anywhere, I do my own thing, and I'd love to live with two ladies." Alicia took a gulp of her double nonfat iced vanilla latte. "She seems fun."

"Sounds like a slob, or a guy pretending to be a girl. Either way, no."

Alicia continued scrolling through the list. Krysta already regretted their decision to go with such an open-ended application process for the low rent they offered, though she herself had initially come up with the idea of adding a roommate to split the rent further. This was largely due to Alicia's repeated failures to budget properly and, in turn, pay rent on time. As far as Alicia was concerned, if all this meant she'd pay less per month and still monopolize the basement for her mini-gym and cosplay, this was a win-win. Krysta, meanwhile, wanted someone else to move in so she could focus more on upkeep and replace more than a few dated appliances remaining from when she initially purchased her budget home.

The only challenge would be finding someone who wouldn't be weird about her and Alicia's "unconventional" lifestyles.

The two worked from Local Latte, which was close enough to their place it was significantly faster to walk over and buy coffee than make it. Alicia had finished her afternoon jog and wore her pink running shorts with a light blue hoodie. The shorts hugged her brawny thighs, and she'd cut the sleeves off the sweatshirt to accommodate her sizable biceps and shoulders. Alicia's muscle size and definition outclassed most female and many male professional athletes, and finding cute clothes to fit her frame without significant alteration was difficult, to say the least. In spite of her physique, she was determined to look cute or die trying. She continued down the list.

"A guy wants to move in, says he's cool with girls."

Krysta rolled her eyes. "I bet he is. Next."

"This girl is moving into town from California. College grad. Sorority sist—"


"This girl's from Florida."

"No way."

"You know, for two people who asked for 'non-judgy' we're awfully—"

"Just keep reading."

Krysta looked up at a young man passing by who had literally stopped in his tracks to take a long gaze down her blouse. It took him several seconds to take in the celebration of cleavage rising out of Krysta's v-neck tee. She slurped her drink loudly, which snapped out of his trance. Finally making eye contact, she saw a familiar flash of surprise indicating he didn't expect her to be Asian. He offered an eager smile, as if she was supposed to be entertained and/or flattered by his inspection. She replied with a stern, yet civil "no thank you" glare which had taken her years of practice to perfect.

"Come on. Keep reading."

Alicia gave an exasperated sigh. "Krysta, we've been here since two and it's almost five. This is taking for-ev-er. Why do we have to be so freaking picky?"

"Why? Remember Claire?"

"That was, like, two years ag—"

"...and Rashida."

"She should have known what she was—"

"...and Thalia."

"I didn't pick her."

"...and Trevor."

"Hey, the restraining order worked."

"Exactly. We cannot afford not to be picky. I mean, it would be nice if we did not have to be. It's the twenty-first century, you would think people would be more progressive. ARGH!" In her frustration, the protuberance Krysta's breasts nudged her mug and she barely managed to snag it before it spilled. She half-expected Alicia to freak out and lift her laptop out of the way, but instead, Alicia remained engrossed in the screen in front of her.

Alicia set her drink down. "Interesting."

"What is interesting?"

"This one just says 'My name is Whitley Valentine’."

"Good for her. My name is Krysta Dinh."

Alicia tapped her finger against her lips. "I swear I know that name—from college maybe?"

"Google her."

Alicia did so, which returned a number of volleyball articles and images. Krysta leaned over and peeked at the screen. Whitley's official volleyball headshot depicted an attractive young woman with tan skin, curly black hair, and bright hazel eyes.

"Huh, she is pretty. What is she, an athlete and a model?"

"Wait a sec." Alicia clicked rapidly through the search results before her eyes visibly widened. "No way. Ohmygod omygod! No freakin' WAY!"

"What is it?"

Alicia opened one of several articles about Whitley and turned her laptop towards Krysta, who scanned the screen and smiled broadly.

"Alicia I think that is our girl."

"That's totally our girl."

* * * * * * *

"Their girl" was currently across town, stoned, and loving the shit out of Taco Tuesday at SeƱor Tacos. While far from authentic Mexican food she'd grown used to growing up in Southern California, they were seventy-five cents per, and she had serious munchies. She'd added some pounds since her college athlete years, but being an inch over seven feet tall gave her plenty of leeway with her caloric intake.

Whitley Valentine had worked through six of eight tacos and had one in each hand when her phone went off. Opting not to interrupt her feast, she chomped on each of them, all the while beaming with satisfaction. Two college-aged girls in a booth nearby gawked at the exceptionally tall woman passionately devouring two pounds of cheap Mexican food. Whitley smiled at them with her cheeks full, causing one girl to grimace and turn away, while the other continued gaping. Whitley held up one of her tacos.

"Luv dish plashe," she managed to say with a full mouth, before packing the remainder of the taco in her mouth, making a show of appearing as delighted as possible. She swallowed, dumped the final taco in her mouth, and raised her hands victoriously. Gulping her mouth's contents, she made a clumsy bow towards her onlooker. "This will conclude the evening's performance. Tips are appreciated, particularly in the form of Mexi-tots." The girl blinked a few times before her friend nudged her and she finally tore her eyes away. 

Whitley's phone beeped again, and she saw she'd received an email. She read the message while taking a long swig of her soda.
Are you still looking for somewhere to live? If so, we would love to meet you. Go ahead and text us at the number below.
"Sweet," she said aloud, brushing taco shrapnel off of her shirt. She stood to her feet, immediately drawing all eyes in the dining area to her lengthy form, clad in only an undersized t-shirt and jeans-turned-capris stopping barely under her knees. She'd learned to ignore the stares. At her height, if she hadn't learned to take it in stride by now, she never would. As she headed out the door, she fired off a text from her phone, which was the size of a small tablet, but a perfect fit for her lengthy hands.
Hey, it's Whitley. How soon can I drop by?
She'd walked across the parking lot and had started climbing into her SUV when her phone beeped again.
This is Krysta. You may drop by this evening if you would like. I will send you the address.
Whitley looked up the address and was glad to see it was only a few minutes away. She liked the idea of being able to hit her new favorite Mexican place when she was feeling munchy. More importantly, she liked the idea of having somewhere to live she could afford on her tight budget. Her dad had offered to pay for a hotel for a week while she found a place to live. At this rate, she might only need one night.
Sounds like a plan. See you around seven.
Now all she needed was for her new roommates to not freak out when they met her.

I hope they Googled me.