Sasha
“The Russian is in the house!” I holler when Kayla throws the door wide for me. Just seeing the short, perky blonde makes me happy.
I prance past her and into the apartment like the queen returning to her castle. It looks very much the same—the bright red sofa and armchairs I bought with my father’s credit cards, the rug under the coffee table. Even the paintings on the walls are the ones I hung.
I didn’t buy my friends—at least I don’t see it that way. They gave me so much—but we did live completely off Igor’s money senior year. My friends enjoyed the free ride and, in exchange, opened their hearts and world to me.
“Don’t prance past me without a hug!” Kayla chides, giving me a girly slap on my butt. I turn, and she throws herself at me, squeezing hard. “I missed you so much.”
