Page 35 of Tapped By My Roommate
Carla called us to her office shortly after. It was more of a supply closet than an office, but they’d squeezed in a desk and laptop with a couple of spare chairs in the center of the room. On all sides, we were surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelving holding everything from cleaning supplies to dietary supplements to shredded newspaper we used for bedding to toys and exercise implements for the animals.
Violet and I took a seat across from Carla and waited while she tapped away on her keyboard, probably finishing an email. She turned toward us with a smile. “Sorry about that. Office work.” She rolled her eyes. Like many of the people involved in animal rescue, Carla’s passion was for the animals, not the paperwork.
“I wanted to talk to both of you because we’re headed into our fundraising season. Grants only get us so far. As you know, adoption fees for the animals we manage to rehome don’t come close to covering the expense of caring and feeding for a lot of our rescues—even with the help of fosters—much less the more intensive rehab and recovery they might need.”
I nodded. The rescue business was not for anyone looking to make money. It was passion work, often underfunded—if funded at all—and relying heavily on volunteers and donations. Oasis was not a “shelter” in the way that the Humane Society was. We were focused on rescuing wildlife, rather than stray pets. That meant treating wild animals that were injured or sick with the hope of releasing them back into the wild, as well as caring for some displaced pets whose needs couldn’t be met by typical shelters: such as turtles, lizards, snakes, and birds.
Our capacity for housing animals was extremely limited. In the best-case scenarios, we released our animals back into the wild once they were healthy; others had to be fostered with volunteers until a suitable placement could be found. A few special animals got a permanent home with the animal rescue and were used in some of the educational programs that also brought in some revenue.
“This year, we’d like to do something fun with photos and social media,” Carla said. “And with the college so nearby, we’d really like to work in some fun events that might draw in the younger generation. We’ve got some established fundraising practices in place to approach businesses. But we’d like to expand and raise more awareness.”
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
“You tell me.” When I blinked, she laughed. “That’s the plan. I’d like you two to put your heads together, do a little brainstorming, and see what you can come up with. If you can think of something that would tie in to a social media campaign, even better. We could use a little of that viral magic.”
I exchanged an uncertain glance with Violet.
“This isn’t really my area of expertise,” I said. “I’m a wildlife biology major.”
“And if you ever work in an animal rescue like this one, you’ll be tasked with more fundraising in your future,” Carla said. “You’re both young and smart. I’m not asking you to be fundraising experts. None of us are. But I’d love some fresh ideas. So don’t be afraid to get creative, okay?” She checked her desk calendar. “Let’s say you give me at least two proposals in two weeks. How does that sound?”
It sounded like Carla wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“We’ll try our best,” Violet said, always willing to make an effort.
“Yeah,” I agreed, though I already felt anxiety rising. “We’ll get started as soon as we can.”
I might be “young,” but I was hardly tapped in to what most students on the Hayworth campus wanted. If Carla thought I was going to give her some insight to younger generations, she would probably be disappointed. But I knew fundraising was an important aspect of the wildlife rescue operation. Carla wasn’t wrong; if I did end up working for a rescue or sanctuary after I earned my degree, funding would be a challenge I couldn’t ignore.
Carla beamed a smile at us both, disturbingly confident that we wouldn’t let her down.
I hoped she was right. I turned to Violet as we left the office. “Do you have any ideas of what we might suggest?”
“Not a one,” Violet said cheerfully. “You?”
“Not really. I guess I could do some research, though, to see what other organizations have tried. I’m good at that.”
“That sounds like a start.”
“But I’m just warning you now, you’ll have to be the creative one.”
She laughed. “Don’t short-change yourself. I bet you’re more creative than you realize.”
That was Violet. Always the optimist. I forced a smile because there was no point stressing us both out. At least Carla’s new assignment had gotten my mind off Rhett for a few minutes.
My phone vibrated. Rhett’s name flashed on the screen. Speak of the devil.
Tomorrow afternoon, dinner and a movie at our place?
I stared at the text for an exceedingly long time, trying to determine whether he really wanted just dinner and a movie, or if this was a hookup invitation. For a brief second, I was annoyed he wasn’t clear—until I remembered that I was the one who’d set the rule that we shouldn’t talk about hooking up outside of when it happened.
Before I could answer, a second text came in.
We can finally hang out. Alone. ;)
My heart leapt. Okay, then. That had to mean a hookup, right? Yeah. The winky face. The emphasis on us being alone. Rhett wouldn’t have ever done that before. I wondered what he might have in mind. So far, we’d done little more than kiss, and I already felt as if the Earth had tilted on its axis.
Would my reality look the same at all once we did more?
