Chapter 5: The Mulberry Catastrophe

He kept glancing at me as he spoke into his phone: "I’m here, where’s the person?"

My phone buzzed: the seller messaged that the mulberry tree had arrived. I replied: "I’m already downstairs, what color are your clothes?"

Chill ran down my spine. Was the seller the guy who’d just flattened my breakfast?

"All black. Are you the one in bunny pajamas?"

"Yes."

We locked eyes. He glanced at his phone, then at me. He walked over.

Great. Not only was he hot, he was about to witness my total meltdown.

I looked him up and down. No mulberry tree. Where was he hiding it?

He reached me first. I tried to look tough, rolling up my pajama sleeves, but he was a head taller and all muscle. "Hey, where’s my mulberry tree?"

He looked confused, then pointed at himself. "What mulberry tree? My name is Mulberry."

Was this some kind of Craigslist horror story? Or was I about to get Catfished on campus?

Then my phone buzzed: [Crap on my head and still gotta stir it] messaged, "So? Satisfied with Mulberry? First time I’ve seen someone want to buy him. Sis helped you fulfill your dream—eight hundred eighty is a bargain, right? Now he’s yours, forever and ever. He’s got over twenty years of slave experience, guaranteed useful."

I’d heard of sibling pranks, but this was next-level.

I explained, mortified, "I wasn’t trying to buy you, I just wanted a mulberry tree. A plant."

He sighed, called his sister, put her on speaker. She sounded half-asleep: "She wanted to buy a mulberry tree? Aren’t you Mulberry? So I sold you to her, what’s the problem?"

"She wanted you as a boyfriend, I’m setting you up. You should be grateful."

"Sage, that’s not an excuse to scam a girl’s money. Before I get back, give her the money back immediately."

"No money, just needed that eight eighty for my game, spent it as soon as I got it. Even if you kill me, I don’t have it."

He hung up, exasperated. "I’m not for sale…"

But before he could finish, I bit my lip, willing myself not to lose it in front of Mr. Muscles, but the tears came anyway—big, ugly, snotty ones.

He panicked, hovered a hand to wipe my tears, then chickened out and ruffled his own hair. Awkwardly, he crouched down, patting my shoulder.

I squatted, muttering, "How can people be like this? Why trick me? This mulberry tree was really important to me. I really needed it."

He sighed, fished a crumpled napkin from his pocket and handed it over, mumbling, "Here. Don’t get snot on your pajamas."

"It’s just eight eighty, I’ll pay you back. Anyway, there’s no way I’m getting together with you."

His voice was rough, but not unkind. I glared at him, still sniffling. "Why would I want you? I want a tree!"

He ran a hand through his hair, braced his hands on his knees, bent down, and started, "I also don’t..."

But before he could finish, my phone buzzed with a new message—my advisor was already on campus. Game over.