Page 8 of Lucky 22

I’m semi-blasting my favorite song, “TheMiddle” by Jimmy Eat World, and dancing my way around the apartment.I’m in a great mood, and there’s nothing like a little dance party to keep methere.

The living room doubles as everything—office, dining nook,movie theater, and dance space. A cozy, blue couch faces our small,wall-mounted TV with a thrifted coffee table barely wide enough for a laptopand two mugs. The floor is faux hardwood, clean but creaky, and a woven rugadds a splash of personality.

Plus, it acts as a decent buffer for our downstairsneighbors, since we’re not exactly quiet sometimes.

“What about red? You would look sexy in the reddress,” my roommate and BFF, Jen, asks as she pops her head out of her room.Right now, she’s trying to help me figure out what to wear to the moviepremiere. She’s a hair and makeup artist, and I absolutely adore her style. Butso far, nothing is really grabbing me.

“I don’t know if I’m going for sexy,” I explain as I twirl abit. “After all, it’s a premiere. And potentially a blind date. I don’t thinkthat’s the vibe I want to be giving off.”

The song ends, and another comes on, but I lower the volumeand follow Jen into her room, hopping onto her bed.

We’ve been roommates for almost two years, and I am sograteful we met. When I first moved to LA, I rented a teeny-tiny studioapartment that wasn’t ideal. Plus, I was lonely. It was my first time reallyliving on my own, and it was hard going home to that little place by myselfevery night to stare at the four walls. I mentioned to some people that Iwanted to find something a little bigger and have a roommate, and Jen’s namecame up. We agreed to move in together without even meeting first, so it’s awesomethat it not only worked out, but we also ended up becoming such great friends.

Our current apartment is on the second floor of a modeststucco building tucked between palm trees and buzzing power lines. Inside, thespace is compact but bright, thanks to the big sliding glass door that opens toa narrow balcony just wide enough for two chairs and a cactus.

I don’t have a green thumb, and neither does Jen. A cactusis the only thing we can keep alive.

I wasn’t picky about what I wanted in an apartment, as longas it was in a safe part of town, and we could each have our own bedroom.Luckily, it worked out. It’s small, but it works.

Jen’s bedroom has a full bed pushed into one corner, withjust enough room for a nightstand and a small desk that doubles as a vanity.She calls it “Glam Central.”

“Fair enough,” she says while rummaging through her closet.It’s shallow but crammed with LA-style essentials: colored jackets, vintagetees, and sneakers. We always start with her stuff because she has a much moreimpressive wardrobe than I do. I prefer to dress for comfort, while Jen makes astatement almost everywhere she goes.

She pulls out a blue dress because that’s my favorite color,and then a yellow one, even though it may clash with my blond hair. Then, shepulls out a long, black number that looks a little too goth for me. I’m aboutto say as much when she beats me to it.

“Um, no, right?” she says with a laugh. “You’re all cute andsunshiny. This is way too…I don’t know…Wednesday Addams.”

We both start laughing because I cannot even imagine myselfin something like that. Or Jen.

“Why do you even have that dress?” I ask. “It’s totally notyour style either.”

Tilting her head, she studies it for a moment. “I want tosay it was for Halloween one year, and then I wore it to a New Year’s Eve partybecause I literally couldn’t find anything else that I wanted to wear. It was abig hit.”

“Oh, well…that’s awesome. Good for you!”

She puts the dress back and starts flipping through all herclothes again. “How do we feel about green? It matches your eyes.”

“Depends on the style.”

“I could braid your hair and style it in a fun updo, and Ican do your eye makeup to be a little sparkly and…” Before she can finish thethought, she shakes her head and puts the dress back. “Nope. It’s not the one.I know you, Ella, and none of these dresses is speaking your name.”

“That’s a new one,” I say, thoroughly amused. “I didn’tthink dresses could talk.”

She grins at me over her shoulder. “You know what I mean.Whatever dress we choose has to be perfect. It’s a big night on multiplelevels. It’s a lot of pressure for a dress. Of course, everything looks good onyou, so you wouldn’t think this would be so difficult. But I know we haven’tfound the one yet.” She closes the closet door with adramatic sigh. “Come on. Time to check your closet. And if that doesn’t work,we’ll hit the thrift store. You know we’ll find something there.”

I hop off her bed. “I know, but I’d love it if I didn’t haveto buy anything right now. Between the two of us, there has to be somethingthat will work.”

My bedroom is slightly smaller than Jen’s, but I’ve got thesame amount of furniture tucked inside. My bed hugs the wall beneath a windowthat faces the building next door, and some old plastic crates act as makeshiftshelving.

It isn’t fancy, but it’s home: sunlit, a little cramped, andalive with the hum of traffic, neighbors’ music, and the drone of theoccasional helicopter overhead.

“Yeah, but if we go to the thrift shop, we both get to playdress-up. And how fun is that?”

“I do enjoy it when we get to try stuff on…” I sit on my bedand watch as she starts going through my closet.

Honestly, it’s a bit funny to me that I’m enjoying this.

I was a tomboy when I was younger.