Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel Read Free

into her carryall with more force than necessary and straightened. She glared at the two, who had nothing more pressing than Lit 101 spread out before them, and stood. A smile curved her lips when the wooden chair screeched as she shoved it with her sandal, making room for her escape. Their hands went up again.
    “Christ, just because you put your hands in front of your face doesn’t make you any quieter than me.”
    Before she got thrown out on her bum, Mags turned and headed for the door. Exhaustion and anger took turns rolling through her on the six-block walk back to her apartment. When she grabbed the information she needed at the flat she could change from her white shorts and blue tank, so, when she went back to the sodded house for dusty old books and co-ed bitches, no one would recognize her.
    The cool glass of The Corrier’s front door soothed the heat from her arm as she sagged against it while digging for her pass card and keys. Home. Jet lag, which had worked on her all day, receded to the background for a moment. Joy burst like tiny fireworks through her chest as she breathed deep the scent of exhaust, humid fog, and sausage from the restaurant around the corner. All she fancied was to curl on the sofa, catch up with Willow, watch a movie, drink some wine, sleep. Any order would do.
    Her brow knit as she fished the magnetic card out and swiped it across the reader. Unease dampened her excitement of being home, much as it had when she’d rushed through her door this morning. She’d expected wide arms and girly squeals of delight from her longtime friend. What she’d gotten was a meek smile from a Willow look-alike, mild interest, and a request for Mags to vacate the flat for the evening. Her first evening back.
    Magdalena wasn’t conceited by any stretch, but had it been so wrong of her to expect a warm welcome from the roommate she’d had since freshman year? Shit, it’s not like I’m a sophomore. She snorted. They didn’t have a neat term for what she was. Lifer, maybe? No, that’s a prison term. Seventh-year senior, maybe. Who the hell cared? This damn dissertation was the final hurdle to get her life rolling. After so much time wondering what she was going to do with herself, Mags knew. She finally knew.
    She breathed a sigh of relief at the accomplishment then groaned when she rounded the last banister and came face to face with her front door.The thing may as well have an unwelcome sign tacked to it for all the warmth its current tenant gave. Willow’scold reception hadn’t been the only thing off with her flatmate. Gaunt features hollowed the beauty’s usual voluptuous curves. Something the two had in common from the start. In the land of stick figure models they were the buxom babes, sticking out in a crowd, well, like their asses did.
    Sure, nothing was wrong with Willow shedding a pound or two. Lord knows Africa had melted a few off Magdalena. But the deep, dark circles under Will’s eyes looked like bad horror film make-up. More than anything though, Mags didn’t like the way her friend had hugged herself so tightly around the middle, like she’d shatter if she didn’t hold the running crack together.
    With deliberate care not to disturb the artists’ guild meeting, for fear of further alienating Willow, Mags turned the key in the lock and eased the door open without a sound. She slipped inside and closed the door behind her with the same consciousness. Expecting heated debates of Pissarro over Gauguin, when silence greeted her Mags pursed her lips, irritated at having to be so quiet as to not draw attention. She pressed to the side of the corridor, slipped off her sandals then tiptoed toward her bedroom.
    She tried not to look into the living room, but it was an exercise in futility for a nosey gal like herself. Surprise double-arched her forehead. Not a single person crowded the small living space. The teal sofa sat vacant. No tushes warmed the rug, a grey vomit of geometric