Page 92 of Fall Over You

“Tyler.”

I startle awake to a frantic knock in the middle of the night. I sit up in bed and rub my eyes, trying to figure out where I am. Since I’m in a bed and not on a couch, it’s obviously not my apartment. Becca’s house. My new home.

“Tyler,” Becca hisses through the door.

“Yeah?”

The door cracks open, revealing a sliver of Becca. “There’s raccoons in my room,” she rushes out.

“What?”

“There are raccoons in my room,” she says more slowly, but her voice trembles. “I know I’m a big girl and I can handle it myself, but they’re fucking raccoons and they’re where I sleep and you’re a boy and I just—” She cuts herself off with hysterical almost-crying and waving her hands. “Please help. It touched my face, Tyler. My face! With its little hand paw thing!”

My feet are already on the floor, my head in my hands as I try to figure out how to help. “Did you close them in there?”

“Yes! But they can outsmart a door handle, so it’s just a matter of time.”

“How many, do you think?”

“Somewhere between a hundred and a thousand, Tyler. I don’t know, one is too many!”

I put my hands out trying to calm her down. “I know. I know. Okay. I’ll . . . go look.”

“Be careful, they’re crazy!”

I grab a sweatshirt from my duffel bag, as I still haven’t fully moved in here. I pull the hood up and Becca asks, “What’s that for?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, so they don’t touch me or something? You said a hundred.”

Becca pins herself to the wall across the hall from her room, putting her hands up to shield herself in case one runs out. “Don’t let ‘em loose.”

“I won’t, I just need to assess.”

I slip into her room and close the door. No fewer than seven pairs of eyes look back at me. A few of them gather around a pack of cigarettes, where one has already been extracted and is being chewed upon. Their beady little eyes peer at me in a way that makes me unsure whether they think I have more food or if I’m next.

I don’t need to see anymore. She’s right to be upset. This is a horror show. I rush back into the hall and slam her door behind me.

“You’re right. It’s like a hundred.”

“Ew,” she cries, flapping her hands again. “I hate this.”

“I know. Just,” I huff a breath, trying to clear my head, “come get in bed with me.”

“They could get out!” she squeals.

I sigh but she’s not wrong. I go get the single chair from my room and wedge it under the door handle. “There. Now they can’t get out. We’ll call somebody with traps in the morning.”

“I have my biggest festival yet tomorrow! I can’t be having a pest control truck here!” She’s breathing like she’ll hyperventilate. “I need to wash my face. I can’t believe that little shit touched me.”

“Okay, but then come to my room.”

“What if they start crawling through the vents?” she whisper-shrieks, both of us still committed to not waking Ellie.

This has not yet occurred to me, and they are pretty damn smart. “We’ll . . . Take it as it comes. Go wash your face and let’s try to sleep.”

Her lower lip trembles. “Will you come with me? What if they’re in the bathroom?”

I sigh. “There’s no hole in the ceiling in there.”