"Not exactly," Tate replied, shifting back on the bed to make room for her to sit, if she wanted to. He hadn't used a front door for... a while, actually. But that was hard to explain. For now, he'd start with the question that had an easier answer.
"I'm from L.A." he said, wrapping his hands around the scuffed and battered toes of his sneakers as he looked up at her. "I found myself here, then I tried to go home but it wasn't right, so I came back..." It had seemed the most logical thing to do at the time. He'd needed answers and, since there was no one at the house to give them to him - not even that press-on nails psychic - he figured Lawrence was his best chance of figuring out what the hell was going on.
"Are you pissed?" Tate ventured, a little hesitantly. "That I used your laptop?" He couldn't quite work out what the girl was thinking - not that he was great at emotional interpretation at the best of times - but he didn't think she was about to freak out on him. "I wasn't watching porn or anything."