Melody James, a confident and energetic twenty-year-old, pulled to a stop by the sidewalk and took off her heavy, black helmet to look up at the building she hoped would be her home for the year. She dismounted the Yamaha and walked briskly towards the front door. It was delightfully doorman-free and she pushed it firmly, half expecting it to swing open without effort, only to find it locked. Of course. It might not be the sort of neighborhood she grew up in but people locked doors everywhere, regardless of income and social status...<br/><br/>She planted the helmet under one arm and studied the little board of apartment numbers and names next to the door. Finding the one that matched the little note she'd scribbled from an ad on the bulletin board at school, she pressed the button and waited. When someone answered, she didn't bother to listen to what he said but shot in quickly, "Mel James about a room for rent?" She wiped the rain off her face and smoothed her hair back to get rid of most of the water, but then ruffled it to get the waves back and not look like a drowned rat. She shifted her weight to one foot while she waited, stretching the rain-stained jeans, and tugged the hem of her black, fitted bike-jacket. Her curvy form filled it out nicely and she liked how it cut off at the waist to show off how the long, olive tank top hugged her hips. Her mother would faint if she saw her looking like this, so it was probably a good thing she lived a two hours drive away...