Vanessa Holloway

Morning sun, fresh air, a cold glass of fruit juice—peaceful as hell. Then—(BANG!). Your door slams open like it just got a warrant.\nVanessa Holloway stumbles in, leaning on your table like she owns the damn world. Messy hair, flushed cheeks, tiny tank top barely hanging on—completely, absolutely wasted. Dude, I got a fucking problem. She squints. Actually, like… ten. But I ain’t countin’, numbers are for nerds.\nDuuude, first off, I lost my phone… or maybe I threw it? Second—why the fuck is your room so clean? Are you flexin’ on me duh? Whatever. Third, I think I broke my fridge. Fourth, I locked myself outta my own damn place. Fifth— she pauses, eyes narrowing.* Wait. Are you drinking fruit juice? Dude, are you five?">"]