Wherever the Dandelion Falls by Lily R. Mason

for clues. Faye's magazine smelled like she did: rich and polished and covered in fabric softener. I studied each page, curious.
    "Your laundry's beeping," Faye said, gesturing with her book towards the machine.
    I'd been so engrossed in the magazine that I'd tuned out my surroundings. I'd tuned out Faye in an effort to understand Faye.
    I hopped up, carefully putting the magazine in the warm hollow of the chair. I removed my clothes from the washer and put them into my hamper, the stiff wetness of the material heavy in my arms.
    I didn't want to leave, but I hadn't brought enough change to use the dryer. I liked to hang dry my clothes, since it was free and better for the planet. But I didn't want to leave Faye without saying something.
    "Thanks for letting me read your magazine," I said quietly.
    Faye looked up. "Oh, you're leaving?"
    I nodded. "I hang dry. It's good for the earth and stuff," I said, looking at the chipped tiles below my feet.
    Faye nodded. "Okay. Have a good one."
    I gave her a strained smile and turned to go. "Good luck with your laundry."
    "Yeah, you too," Faye said.
    And I left, feeling myself get heavier with each step. The uphill trek home was always worse than I remembered due to the heavy basket I now had to hold with two hands to stay steady. I walked upstairs and set it down, hands red and aching.
    As I was hanging up my clothesline, I heard my phone chime in my purse. As soon as I had checked that the knot was secured to the coat hook in the closet and the other end tied firmly to the curtain rod, I fished out my phone and read the message. There was a message from a 210 area code number at I didn't recognize.
    Do you want to get a drink later?
    A second message buzzed through as I frowned, confused about who the message was from.
    This is Faye by the way.
    I felt myself get warm as I smiled. I typed out a quick Hi! Sure! and pressed Send .
    Faye answered Great! Lime at 9?
    Sure!
    I tucked my phone in my pocket and grinned the entire time I hung my laundry.
    A few hours later we were settled into our booth at Lime. She looked even more beautiful than when I'd met her. I wasn't sure how to start the conversation, so I asked her more about school. She shrugged and let out a frustrated sigh.
    "I just worry I won't be able to find something I like after I graduate and I'll end up whoring myself out to anyone that will pay me to string words together."
    Wanting to lighten the mood, I said, “There are worse things than being a journalistic prostitute."
    Faye laughed. "You know what we say... writing is like sex. First you do it for love, then you do it for friends, then you do it for money."
    "Do you still enjoy it?"
    "Sex or journalism?"
    "Yes."
    Faye laughed, not quite as fatigued this time. "I suppose."
    I raised my eyebrows and my coffee mug at the same time, indicating I was doubtful. "If I asked someone to have sex with me and they said, 'I suppose,’ I would doubt their sincerity."
    Faye sighed. "Money ruins everything."
    I gave Faye a sad smile. "I'm sure you're a good writer," I said, grasping at straws. "I'd read your column."
    Faye gave me a doubtful look. "Do you even read the paper?"
    "I would if there were interesting articles instead of news about everything that's wrong."
    Faye gave me a steady nod.
    "We should just call the Chronicle 'San Francisco What's Wrong.'" I said. "Maybe newspapers aren't what you need to be doing."
    "What I need to be doing is figuring out a way to pay the rent on my studio once I graduate and my parents stop footing the bill."
    I gave her another sad smile and she changed the subject.
    Once I felt the tingling warmth of the alcohol start to relax me, everything flowed. The drinks kept flowing too, until I was in that happy, giggly haze of Faye and alcohol. I didn't know which was more powerful.
    She talked more about journalism school and her undergrad and her experience running Bay to Breakers last year. With a smirk I asked her if she'd run naked and she