#2: First Impressions

221 Lake St. This is the place.

The white two-level home sat on a corner two blocks off of Empire Street, the main drag from which the ruckus of college bars wafted over nightly. Whitley barely caught the address behind the cover of several low-hanging trees. Her tires screeched as she swerved into the driveway. She expected her prospective roommates to come and investigate the vehicle that had nearly smashed into their porch. Instead, she found herself idling in her car in search of any sign of life behind the dark blinds covering the windows.

Whitley checked her phone. She'd arrived fifteen minutes early. She considered waiting in the car but feared that would come off as sketchy. Whitley opened the door and stepped out, her feet easily reaching the ground from the high driver's seat of her SUV. As she shut the door, a young girl pedaled her training-wheeled bike across the street in Whitley's direction, stopping directly in front of her. Having not been around children recently, Whitley could not  pinpoint the child's age, but figured her to be less than ten and older than six. The girl craned her neck up and studied the figure towering over her.

"You're really, really tall," she said, pointing her finger up at Whitley.

Feeling ogre-ish, Whitley knelt down, though even on her knee she still dwarfed the child substantially. "You sure you're not really, really small?"

The girl appeared to consider the possibility, before a twisting of her expression indicated that the idea was utterly ludicrous. She shook her head vigorously and pointed at Whitley.  "No. You're really, really tall."

"Well, you're right about that, kid. How tall do you think I am?"

"You're bigger than my mom and my dad."

"That's probably true."

"You're a giant."

"No, I'm Whitley, and I'm hopefully going to be moving in right here." Whitley gestured towards the house behind her.

Her face brightened. "Wow, I'm gonna have a giant neighbor!"

"Don’t get carried away, kid. Where are your parents, anyways?"

The girl turned and pointed to the house across the street. "My mom's right there." Whitley looked up only to catch a glimpse of the rustling curtains. 

I seriously wouldn't blame her for staring. "Well, your mom seems delightful. Maybe I'll drop by for dinner sometime, but right now I got roommates to meet. I'll see you again soon, yeah?"

"You bet! Goodbye, Giant Whitley."

Whitley stood up to her full height, casting the girl in her long shadow. "See ya, Tiny." The girl's frown indicated she didn't care for the nickname, but she decided to go with it. She pedaled back across the street, and Whitley again noticed the rustling curtains in the window.

Turning to her soon-to-be home, Whitley resumed the search for signs of occupancy. The blinds did not just cover the back windows, but every window, though there appeared to be lights on upstairs and in the basement. Checking the time, it was still ten minutes to 7:00. She weighed whether or not to grab something from her car, and decided on a backpack, which seemed non-threatening enough. She then re-assessed her ensemble, which consisted of gray jeans that ended at her calves and her orange XXL Durrenburg University sweater. 

Whitley climbed the steps up to meet frustratingly low awning, which required her to crouch slightly. It angled upwards, allowing her some clearance as she moved through. The porch light was out, and there was nothing short of her dropping to her knees that could make her look any less imposing. I'm overthinking this, she thought. Shit, I'm still kinda high. Pulling her thoughts together, she backed up until the crown of her head met the overhang, reached forward to ring the doorbell, and waited.

And waited.

A few minutes passed, then she rang the doorbell again. She thought she heard a door open inside, but only silence followed. Marking the time,Whitley waited a full minute to 6:56, set her finger on the doorbell, pressed it three times in quick succession, and pulled away like she'd touched a scorpion.

Chaos erupted inside, as a series of footsteps thundered from above and below, accompanied by unintelligible shouting. Whitley prepared herself to make the worst possible first impression with a group of girls she assumed to be wearing beauty masks, painting each others' nails, video-chatting with boyfriends, or whatever sorority girls did. She had no idea, in fact, what sorority girls did, and had no reason to think this was a sorority house, but when she imagined people who would hate her, she always thought of sorority girls. A cacophony of footsteps indicated one of them had stumbled down the stairs. As the occupants approached the front door, Whitley began to decipher the shouting:

"Is it seven already!?!?"

"It doesn't matter!"

"But I'm not done with my—"

"Answer the goddamn door!"

"Fine, but you better put something on!"

"I am! Just let me—wait, where’s my robe?"

"Too late, opening!"

"No! Damn it, Alicia! Don—"

The door flew open. Whitley was greeted by two girls, eyes wide  and making a visible effort to look as welcoming as possible, but she was not focused on either of their faces. The blonde wore a dust mask, a striped cat-ear hooded sweater with the sleeve ripped off to display her beefy arms and shoulders. Behind her, a Vietnamese girl in a black pencil skirt with her hair tied up in a power bun struggled to stuff a soccer-ball sized breast into a woefully overmatched black bra. The blonde pushed the screen open and pulled down her mask to reveal a bright, eager smile. 

"Hi, uh…Whitley, isn't it? You got here earlier than we expected. I'm Alicia, and the one with her tit out is Krysta. Can I give you a tour?"