Krysta reclined in the small coffee shop booth and sipped her tea, searching her palette for traces of the flavors listed on the menu. It served as a mental break from her current objective: sorting through a heap of replies to her ad for a second roommate. Across the table, her roommate Alicia worked her way down the list, reading each reply aloud.

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

"Sounds like a slob, or a guy. Either way, no."

Alicia sighed and continued scrolling. Fresh off her afternoon jog, her hot pink running shorts hugged her quads, and she’d cut the sleeves off her powder blue hoodie to accommodate her brawny arms and shoulders. Alteration is a necessity when you're determined to look cute or die trying. As far as she was concerned, if all this meant she'd pay less rent per month and still occupy the basement for her mini-gym and cosplay, this was a win-win. The only challenge was finding someone who wouldn't be weird about her lifestyle, or Krysta's for that matter.

They 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—"

"Nope"

"This girl's from Florida."

"No way."

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

"Just keep reading."

Krysta looked up at a young man passing by who had 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 him out of his daze. Finally making eye contact, a familiar flash of surprise indicated he didn't expect her to be Vietnamese. He smiled eagerly, and Krysta offered a gentle 'no-thank-you' glare.

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

"Well, for starters," Krysta pressed her chest forward, accidentally bumping her mug. She managed to catch it and avoid a spill, but she'd expected Alicia to freak out and lift her laptop out of the way. But Alicia remained engrossed in her screen.

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 pages of volleyball articles and images. Krysta leaned over and peeked at the screen. Whitley's official volleyball headshot depicted a tall young woman with amber 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 and scrolled rapidly through the search results, her eyes getting wider. "No way. Ohmygodomygod!”

“Alicia?”

“No. Freaking. WAY!”

“Alicia! What is it?”

Alicia spun her laptop towards Krysta, who scanned the screen and smiled broadly.

"Alicia, I think that is our girl."

"This is totally our girl."

Their girl was eight blocks away, stoned, and loving the shit out of Taco Tuesday at Señor Tacos. However far from the authentic Mexican cuisine she knew from growing up in Southern California, they were seventy-five cents per, and Whitley had severe munchies. She'd added some pounds since her college athlete years but being an inch over seven feet tall gave her  leeway with her caloric intake.

Whitley had worked through six of eight tacos and had one in each hand when her phone vibrated on the table. She chomped one taco, then the other, finishing half of each with a single bite. A pair of women in a booth nearby gawked at the exceptionally tall lady passionately devouring two pounds of cheap Mexican food. One of them grimaced and turned away, but the other continued to gape. 

"Luv dish plashe," Whitley managed as she packed what remained of the  tacos into her mouth and raised her hands victoriously. Her feast complete, Whitley acknowledged her spectators in the adjacent booth. "This concludes the evening's performance. Tips are appreciated, particularly in the form of Mexi-tots." The staring woman blinked a few times until her friend nudged her, and she finally pulled her eyes away. 

Whitley checked her phone. She'd received a reply to her lodging inquiry. She took a draw of her soda and read the message.

Are you still looking for somewhere to live? If so, we would love to meet you. You can text us at the number below.

"Sweet," she said aloud, brushing taco shrapnel off her shirt, and rose to her feet, immediately drawing all eyes in the dining area. She bussed her tray and dodged a hanging fluorescent lamp while firing off a text from her phone. The phone was the size of a small tablet, but a perfect fit for lengthy hands.

Hey, it's Whitley. How soon can I drop by?

She received a reply as she climbed into her SUV.

This evening if you’re available. I will send you the address.

Whitley looked the place up. It was only a few minutes away, meaning she could hit her new favorite Mexican place when she felt munchy. It was also affordable on a tight budget. Her dad had offered to pay for a hotel for a week while she found a place to live. If her luck held, she might only have to pay for a single night.

Sounds good. 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.