Chapter 11
Dear Loser,
Why didn’t you go to the damn concert? You’re in college. Partying with friends is literally what this hellhole is for.
Stay weird
That’s…not as aggressive or rude as I would have expected. No invitation to off myself. In fact, unless I’m mistaken, he’s telling me to go out more. Which in other circumstances, might not have been the worst of advice, really.
He completely failed to answer this week’s question, about making friends, but I’ll take it. Besides, he’s not the one new in town. He probably has plenty of friends already.
Or not. He’s a bit of a dick, so maybe he’s an unpopular, brooding loner.
Unlike last week, I’m not immediately inspired to volley back a rude answer. I get back to my room and get some work started, before getting the correspondence paper I bought for the pen pal thing and writing a reply. It’s more amused than angry, this time.
Dear Psychopath,
You know that’s not how it works right? You owe me an answer: did you make friends this week?
As for this week’s answer, because I can actually follow simple assignments: the classes are challenging, and fast-paced, sure, but I love some of them. I was bored to tears during my pre-law undergrad.
Stay Positive
PS: I didn’t go to the concert because I don’t have appropriate clothes.
I post it the next morning before swimming, mildly satisfied about the fact that this week wasn’t totally awful.
I’m drinking my first coffee of the day, checking my class schedule, still not quite familiar with it, when I’m surprised to see a message pop up from the student portal.
I open it and frown.
Dear Nerd,
…go buy some?
Stay Alone
There’s no mistaking who the message is from, given the format we’ve adopted from the start. I check the sender—all I see is our correspondence number, 1789.
He switched to electronic message, like Timothy and Ari? I’m honestly stumped. That’s what people do when they want to speak to each other faster. I honestly thought he’d want nothing to do with me outside of the mandated one letter a week.
He must be seriously curious about my clothing—or lack thereof. Maybe he’s a fashion student?
Dear Obvious,
Are you ever going to answer any of the questions?
And I can’t go buy clothes.
Stay Cool
I don’t want to get into it, so I leave it at that. He must be pretty damn curious, because I have an answer after Constitutional Law.
Dear Cinderella,
Must be hard to be poor.
Stay on Your Knees (mopping while singing to mice, I assume)
I flush, before reading the parentheses. Right, that’s a Cinderella thing, not a sexual thing. I don’t know why my mind flew to other things women do on their knees. But now I’m more than certain my Dear Stranger is a dude.
Dear Moneybags,
I’m not poor. My mother just looks at my spendings very closely, and she wants me to dress a certain way. I’d feel awkward as hell at a concert with most of the clothes I own.
Stay Judgmental
I don’t know why I’m telling him that; maybe because I’ve done my best to avoid speaking about Mother and her influence over the last couple of weeks, and I need someone to listen and commiserate with me? Plus we might have started on the wrong foot, but he seems genuinely interested. And he’s easy to talk to.
“You’re spending a lot of time checking your phone.”
“Hm?” I flush, putting the device down. “Oh, yeah, I guess.”
Ari’s having guests again—her two brothers. We’re splitting a pizza and watching a movie on her large iMac screen.
“You almost never look at your phone,” my roommate says. “So, it’s pretty easy to notice when you do.”
I suppose I have checked my phone a lot more than usual. “I’ve started chatting with my pen pal,” I admit, not sure why I’m reluctant.
“Yeah? They’re no longer a dick, then?”
I snort. “Oh, he’s still a dick, mostly. He’s stopped being super rude, though. And I guess, it’s easy to speak to a stranger about some stuff. Which is probably why the faculty set up the program in the first place.”
Lawrence nods. “Yeah, the guy I’m paired with has been pretty useful. He invited me to check out the Web this weekend. I think I’ll rush for it at the end of the year, although I have to have crazy grades to make it.”
“The Web?” As usual, I’m the only one who doesn’t seem to get it.
“One of the houses,” Ari explains with a vague wave towards the window, where we can spot the row of large, luxurious houses through their rows of large trees. “They’re the tech geeks. I think you’d fit right in, Lawr.”
“And how’s Timothy?” I ask Ari.
She grins. “The cutest. He’s in performing arts—wants to be an actor. I wonder if I could put him in touch with your friend Tanya? You know, for advice about breaking into that type of career.”
“Sure. I’ll send you her number.”
I’m checking my phone again when the door opens. I know it’s him before I lift my head to look, some sixth sense making me tense, and my heart skip a beat.
Fuck, I have to do something about this crush. Maybe I should date someone.
Yeah, right. And if Mother hears about it, what then?
I might have an understanding of sorts with Robert, but that doesn’t mean that Senator Cole would be okay with it if she knew.
Robert and I agreed we can have our own lives while I’m here, but openly dating is a risk I can’t afford. Even if it saves me from this unbearable fascination with someone else’s guy.
Ever the attentive boyfriend, Sebastian pops by every day. At least Ari and he aren’t into public display of affection, so I don’t die of jealousy, but they’re so cute, smiling at each other, winking, and such. I know they’re also compatible that way. Really, they’re perfect. He’s so tall, and she tucks right into his side. Barf. Most days, I’m surprised I haven’t turned green, Wicked style.
“I heard there was pizza,” Sebastian says.
I do my best to keep my attention on my phone, away from him.
“You heard nothing of the sort, sir,” Ben protests, snatching the last box and cradling it protectively.
Sebastian lifts a six-pack. “I have beer.”
Ari’s brother hums. “Maybe we can make a deal.”
Smiling, I give Ari Tanya’s number, and do my best to ignore the looming presence approaching us.
I’m deliberately not looking up, so I’m surprised when a bottle approaches my face.
It’s a half bottle of wine—rosé, by the looks of it. I lift my head questioningly toward Sebastian.
He just shrugs. “I figured you weren’t a lager kinda gal.”
He’s right, but I don’t know how he could have guessed. I didn’t say anything last time, swallowing down the awful drink without protest.
He must have paid attention to me. Which is…a dangerous thought. Maye he’s just a naturally attentive person, noticing people. That’s it. It has nothing to do with me at all.
“Thank you. That was thoughtful. I love rosé.”
“A little bird told me.” He grins.
Oh. He asked Tanya. I shouldn’t be surprised; he does own the theater. He might have seen my best friend a few times. But why would he enquire about my drink preferences?
It must have come up in the conversation, I guess. I’ll have to check with her.
“What do you like to drink?” I find myself asking.
It’s the second time he’s offered me drinks in my own room; maybe I should make sure to stock up his poison of choice as a thank you.
“In a college dorm? Cheap beer.”
“What he means to say is, he only drinks hundred-dollar-a-glass kinda scotch when given the opportunity, but he will swallow down whatever piss the rest of us are sharing to pretend to be human,” Ari translates, smiling up at him fondly.
I can’t bear the intimate looks they share; they make me feel so damn awful for lusting for him. They’ve clearly been together for ages. I wouldn’t be surprised if they announced their engagement soon, given how close they are. And here I am, with butterflies and unsteady heart rates. I disgust myself.
I force myself to pay attention to the stupid movie, even when Sebastian flops down next to me.
On my bed.
Why is he on my bed? There’s plenty of room elsewhere. Anywhere else. Ari’s screen’s on the opposite wall, so we’re all huddled together on my side of the room, but the others have opted for sitting on the rug.
But instead of sitting close to his girlfriend, Sebastian is right next to me. And no one seems to mind.
“How’s the wine?”
Frankly, I forgot it was in my hand. I take a sip and close my eyes.
Delicious. Of course, it’s fucking delicious.
“Good,” I croak. “Great, in fact. You’ll have to tell me where you got it.”
“My father’s vineyard.”
I can’t help it. I snort. “I should have expected that. Do you also have horses and a boat?”
“I object! A boat?” he chuckles. “It’s a yacht, darling. And let’s not pretend you weren’t also raised with a silver spoon.”
He’s not wrong there, although I’ve never flaunted my wealth the way he does. I can’t. I can barely touch any of it.
I check my phone again, just to have something to do, and I’m glad to see I missed a message.
Dear Little Miss On The Prairie,
Aren’t you an adult? Fuck your mother.
Stay Innocent
“And who makes you smile like that, huh, pervert?” Sebastian asks. “You have a boyfriend we don’t know about?”
I roll my eyes. “Hardly. It’s just my not-so-awful pen pal. He wrote‘Fuck your mother,’ and let’s just say, those words will never fail to make me smile.”
Sebastian laughs. “Ah yes! The mummy issues we never talked about. Tell me?”
I stare at my feet, awkwardly.
Ari and her brothers seem focused on the movie, so I can’t use the social setting as an excuse.
“You can tell me to butt out if you don’t want to talk about it. But you can if you feel like it.”
I’m surprised at his understanding. “I appreciate that. How about you? Any mummy issues? Daddy issues?”
“Oh no, my family life is ridiculously awesome. My parents are disgustingly in love, and they spoiled my brother and me. I have cousins—half of them are psychos, but we’re all protective of one another. We’re about the same age, and all at Rothford right now, anywhere from sophomore year to graduates like me. So I am loved and adored and cared for from all sides.”
“No drama?” I poke, finding the notion incredibly preposterous. “No skeletons in the closet at all?”
“None whatsoever.” He hesitates. “Except maybe actual skeletons in my cousins’ closets. As I said, they’re psychos. But nice to me, so that doesn’t count. There’s a pool party at the Shark House tomorrow, actually. You should come. Most of them will be there; it’ll be entertaining, if nothing else. We all tend to posture and measure dick sizes.”
I shake my head, snickering. “As much as I’d hate to miss that, I’ll have to pass.”
“Why?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I have a lot to do.”
“We’re three weeks into the semester and you’re about a month ahead on all assignments, according to Ari.” He bumps my foot with his leather loafer. “Come on. Live a little.”
“Sebastian?” I say, noticing the shoe for the first time. “Get your damn shoes off my duvet.”
“You want me to undress, huh? I called it. Pervert,” he mouths.
But he bends to comply, chucking the expensive, likely custom-made pieces on the floor.
“Done. Will you come tomorrow?”
“No,” I repeat.
“Why?”
“Why do you care so much?”
“Maybe I wanna see you in a bikini,” he teases. “I mean, it’s hard to see with the button-down and cardigan, but you seem to be hiding a hell of a rack down there.”
I gasp, glancing towards Ari, who’s oblivious, stuffing her head with popcorn. “You can’t flirt with me!”
“Can’t I?” the asshole asks, his smirk showing that he knows full well what he’s doing to my mind right now.
He’s Ari’s boyfriend. He’s Ari’s boyfriend. And sure, he doesn’t mind sharing her, but that doesn’t mean I’m the kind of person who can be the third party in a trio. It’s not my speed. I don’t do sharing.
“What would Ari think?” I hiss. “She’s my roommate.”
Sebastian tilts his head, and then he smirks.
“You should ask her what she thinks, one day.” Then he smiles, getting to his feet. “I gotta go. Try to come tomorrow, yeah? It’ll be fun. And I promise to keep the…flirting to a minimum, if it bothers you.”
It doesn’t bother me at all. That’s the problem.