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. It served as a mental break from her current objective: sorting through dozens of Craigslist 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 brawny thighs, and she cut the sleeves off her powder blue hoodie to accommodate her 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 per month and still monopolize the basement for her mini-gym and cosplay, this was a win-win. The only challenge would be finding someone who wouldn't be weird about her and Krysta's lifestyles.

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 and it's almost five. This is taking for-ev-er. Why do we have to be so freaking picky?"

"Well, for starters, these." Krysta pressed her chest forward, snagging her mug before her breast knocked it over. She'd expected Alicia to freak out and lift her laptop out of the way. Instead, she 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 several volleyball articles and images. Krysta leaned over and peeked at the screen. Whitley's official volleyball headshot depicted an attractive 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 rapidly through the search results before her eyes visibly widened. "No way. Ohmygod omygod! No freakin' WAY!"

"What is it?"

Alicia opened the first 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 Señor 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 severe 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 each of them. Two women in a booth nearby gawked at the exceptionally tall woman passionately devouring two pounds of cheap Mexican food. One woman grimaced and turned away, but the other continued gaping. 

"Luv dish plashe," Whitley managed to say before packing the remainder of the taco in her mouth, making a show of appearing as delighted as possible. She dumped the last taco in her mouth and raised her hands victoriously. Her feast complete, Whitley turned to her onlookers. "This concludes the evening's performance. Tips are appreciated, particularly in the form of Mexi-tots." The staring woman 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. You can text us at the number below.

"Sweet," she said aloud, brushing taco shrapnel off 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?

Her phone beeped again as she climbed into her SUV.

Drop by this evening if you would like. I will send you the address.

Whitley looked up the address. 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 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.