“Hey, Prin, is it?” Holt says, speaking into my flip phone with it turned up inside his hand like it’s a piece of ancient technology he’s never encountered before. Maybe he hasn’t.
“What are you doing?” I try to snatch the phone back from him, but Holt blocks my attempt with an upturned elbow as my Jersey friend answers, loud enough for me to hear, “Yeah, this is Prin. Who the hell is this?!”
“No, wait, don’t…” I say.
But it’s too late, he’s already answering, “This is Holt Calson. Sorry Sylvie called this early in the morning, but no worries about hosting her. I’ve got her.”
“What? Holt, no…” I say again, but this time for a much different reason.
“Wait, are you trying to tell me she’ll be staying at your place? With, like, you?” I can hear the alarm in Prin’s muffled voice.
“Yeah,
