When I was twenty-two, I lived in a duplex with two other girls. After having been kicked out of my mom's house (story to follow later) and let back in, I decided that it was time for me to jump out of the nest and explore the world on my own. Without curfew. Also, without a car.

So like any clueless, new-to-America, twenty-one-year-old, I hit up Craigslist in search of lodgings. I already had enough money saved up from temping at the polling center that my mom managed, and I also had a bit coming in from unemployment. I could afford at least $300 a month for rent.

At the time, my needs were simple. A private bedroom, access to WiFi, washer and dryer, no curfew, visitors allowed, and along bus routes.

After exchanging e-mails with a few sketchy characters, obvious sexual predators, strict homeowners, and college students, I narrowed it down to one person. I was in the middle of Art History class when I got the email from Gloria on my iPod. I had a basic phone then, so I relied heavily on my iPod and the free WiFi within American River College. Gloria had agreed to give me a tour of the three-bedroom duplex the next day around five-thirty. I hurriedly sent her a casual thank you before running to the bus stop before I missed my ride. I didn't want to sound too eager; it puts off the ladies.

The next day, I promptly boarded the wrong bus to the duplex in Rancho Cordova. Technically, it was the correct bus. Number 21. But it was on its alternate route, and that meant I had to wait a full half hour before it circled back and went the way I needed it to go. Thankfully, Gloria was understanding when I sent her a text to apologize for my impending delay.

This duplex was on the corner of Bridlewood and Zinfandel, right across a sketchy apartment complex and WE Mitchell Middle School. Because I boarded the 21 bus, I had to walk two miles from the bus stop on to the right street. It was already getting dark.

I knocked on the door and I was greeted by two pretty brunettes who were all smiles. They were Melissa and Gloria, two twenty-year-olds.

"Don't worry about the clutter in the living room. Those are my stuff. I'm moving back in with my parents tomorrow so my fiancé and I can save up for our wedding," Melissa explained as we stumbled past the boxes and chairs.

Gloria led me to the bedroom that I would be renting (fingers crossed!). It was the smallest and cheapest in the house. I would definitely need a twin bed and nothing bigger if I still wanted to fit a small dresser in there. The walls were painted a dull off-white. There was a small closet in one corner and a window across the door. To me, it was perfect.

Across my room was the bathroom that I would have to share with whomever would be occupying the mid-sized room next to mine. Gloria, who was in the master bedroom, had her own bathroom.

The allure of freedom was intoxicating to me. Also, it was almost Halloween, and I wanted to be "free" by then. As roomy as my fuck buddy's Lexus was, car sex was starting to give me a bad back. I sure wasn't going to be doing it while dressed as slave Leia either. My slutty self was thinking and planning forward.

I left the duplex with high expectations and unwavering hope. Gloria said she would e-mail me after she interviewed all prospects.

Days later, I got that room. I immediately rented a U-Haul truck to transport what little I had hoarded in the two years at my mom's to the little bedroom in a duplex. I broke a full-length mirror on the way there, but I didn't sweat it because I had two of them.

Since then, car sex and adult sleepovers were no longer issues. Although he lived ten minutes away on Gold River, Nick, my boy toy at the time, would still come over and sleep in until he had to leave for work at Big Lots.

The same day I moved in was also the same day nineteen-year-old Rihanna and her furry cat Reka moved into the mid-sized room. Like me, Rihanna didn't have a car. But unlike me, Rihanna already knew Gloria and Melissa, since she was dating Melissa's cousin at the time. She and Gloria got along great and would chit-chat about where the other got her nails done. I was usually in my room stealing the neighbor's WiFi.

That was one thing Gloria failed to mention and I failed to ask. The duplex did not have its own Internet connection. But our next door neighbor, not our duplex neighbor, had an unsecured connection. We leeched off of that. (Coincidentally, a day before I moved out of that duplex, the neighbor put a password on their shit. Talk about close calls.)

Gloria and I bonded through our shared dislike for our duplex neighbor, Glynnis. Glynnis was a hermit-like elderly woman who drove an old-school red sedan with a black top. She did not like it when we had visitors over, and she did not like it when we played the radio in the garage, which was adjacent to her living room.

One day, after a shopping trip from the Korean Plaza Market, Gloria and I found Glynnis pulling up in front of her house. Gloria and I began unloading the groceries.

"Hey, Sam, is she still sitting in her car?" Gloria whispered as she struggled with her keychain in search for the key to the door.

I flipped my hair back to disguise checking Glynnis out behind me. Yep, the old hag was still in her car, both hands on her steering wheel but with the engine cut off.

"She is. What's her problem?" I asked.

"She does that all the time," Gloria said. "I think she's scared we'll say hi. Or, like, jump her when she's getting into her house."

Gloria and I decided to check that theory. As soon as we finished unloading the groceries, locked the car, and closed our front door, we crouched down by the window and peeped through the curtains. Glynnis slowly climbed out of her sedan.

As soon as she was halfway up the driveway, Gloria and I ran outside. I had the mailbox key in my hand, just in case. Glynnis jumped back like a sneezing baby panda, but not cute.

"Hi, Glynnis!" Gloria greeted with matching wave.

Glynnis, in her old age, sprinted to her front door without even greeting us back. I had to run to the mailbox to hide my obvious laughter. She slammed her front door and I swear we could hear the locks and deadbolt click into place.

Glynnis has called the cops on us for noise complaints, but nothing has really come out of it. We had been told that she had made quite a reputation for herself as The Bitch Who Cried 911. The cops around town no longer took her seriously after all the complaints she had lodged against everyone on the block.

Rihanna and I never really got a chance to bond, mainly because her cat Reka got on my nerves. You see, Rihanna and I shared a bathroom closet. She had the top shelf and I had the bottom. I stored my cosmetics, toiletries, and spare bags neatly, but now and then, I am greeted by the sight of her furry friend nestled among my purses.

Reka would not go away. I had tried cooing to it softly and gently pulling its leg to get it to stop nuzzling against my purses and decorating them with cat hair. But all I got was an indignant hiss.

However, I knew this wasn't an issue worth fighting about, so I didn't bring it up to her. But one fateful day--February 13, 2011--Rihanna and I were about to face a moment worth bonding over.

Gloria, Rihanna, and I were all at home, being it was a Sunday. I was in my bedroom, looking at DVDs of movies that I would want to waste my time watching. Rihanna was in her room studying. And Gloria had just knocked our door, letting us know that she was leaving to go dogsit for a friend a few blocks away.

This was in the middle of a so-far-uneventful day. Gloria had just left and I was ten-minutes deep into Grandma's Boy. I heard a knock on the front door, but because it was Sunday, I was extra lazy and did not want to put pants on. I slowly turned up the volume of my movie and pretended that I didn't hear it. I guess Rihanna was doing the same, too, because I didn't hear her get up to open the door. If anything, it was probably just Gloria coming back to pick up something she left. I sure wasn't expecting visitors.

A few more seconds of knocking, and then it stopped. Only to be followed by a loud boom and a resounding crash of metal and wood. That sound was not normal.

I sat frozen, unsure of what I had just heard. Then Rihanna's door opened, and I could hear her tiptoe to the living room slowly. I also heard her gasp.

I quickly jumped into action, grabbing the one thing that stood out in the rubble around my bedroom floor. I wrenched my door open and bounded into the living room. Rihanna was standing by the door, barefoot and peeping outside.

She turned back to me and said, "Someone just tried to break in."

My insides turned cold. I looked down at my hand and saw that I had grabbed a plastic lightsaber. Not even the metal one that Nick and I had assembled together from parts that we got from Lowe's. At least the metal lightsaber had a chance of delivering tetanus onto our assailant.

Rihanna grabbed her phone and called Gloria first. I ran out into the street, but I saw nothing moving. Whomever it was had gotten away quick. Rihanna didn't even get a chance to see anyone because the guy ran away as soon as he heard her door open. Those knocks had been to check if anyone was home. They probably hadn't taken into account the two car-less tenants left behind.

As I walked back into the house, I saw the damage. The door had been kicked in so forcefully that it wrenched the lock from the frame, and then slammed against the wall where the door knob cracked it.

Rihanna and I huddled together until backup came. (That was the extent of our bonding.) Gloria got home as fast as she could, Melissa in tow. They called the cops, and then they called Gloria's brother. In less than half an hour, Gloria's brother was in our duplex, surveying the damage. Three hours later, Rancho Cordova's finest rolled around. They took our statements and asked Glynnis if the camera on her porch caught anything. The old hag told him that it was just for show. That was either true (and sad) or a lie (which makes her a bitter unhelpful bitch). Gloria's brother fixed up our door and added a more secure deadbolt for extra protection.

I took that moment as an opportunity to text Nick, asking him to come over after work because I was scared and didn't want to be alone in case the burglar came back. I rewarded him with shots of flavored vodka and a good time later that night. It was just coincidence that Valentine's Day came the next morning.