CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
LINA
I have a good feeling that walking into a cafe for lunch with a certain platinum blonde-haired girl is going to get campus talking.
But I’ve never been one to care about the public speculation of a bunch of college kids, especially when it’s to be expected.
I’ve been seen numerous times around campus with the one and only football prodigy—the one I was in articles with involving a fake pregnancy scandal, and then again a few nights ago when people saw us at Sal’s Diner.
Savannah, however, is an even bigger deal than Grant. People love seeing her around. What she’s wearing, what she might be working on next.
She’s a complete wonder to a majority of people on campus. Either that or they paint her as some kind of ice queen, jealous of her for hooking up with Grant.
“Is your hair naturally that color?” I ask as we take a seat near the back of the August & Ivy cafe.
It’s the first thing everyone notices about Savannah and likely the last thing people forget. It’s the kind of white-blonde that looks otherworldly—ethereal, even—but somehow not fake. Not bleached within an inch of its life.
No one would ever think it possible that colored hair could be natural. The only reason I suspect it is because I’ve never once seen her hair with a shadow of an imperfect root.
Then again, that could be a testament to the luxe lifestyle she ascribes to, given the family she comes from.
“Yup,” she answers as she grabs a menu. “I’m pretty sure there’s like a two percent chance of people being born with this hair color.
I just happen to be one of the lucky ones!
” Her voice is filled with fake enthusiasm, and from what she told me in the stadium, I assume she doesn’t prefer her hair this way.
“I think it’s beautiful,” I tell her with the utmost honesty.
She gives me a skeptical look. “The only reason people say that is because they’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“That’s usually what makes things beautiful, don’t you think?”
I think about Eden—how much she loves the uniqueness of her red hair. I thought maybe Savannah would feel the same.
Savannah brushes the topic of conversation over her shoulder. “Not really. Most of the time it just makes for a lot of attention.”
“Savannah, you don’t just turn heads because of your hair.”
Like she said in the stadium, yes, her hair is practically designed to draw attention. But that doesn’t mean it’s the only standout thing about her.
When our coffees are called out, we stand to grab them before retreating back to our table.
“Seriously, I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you. You could have the most boring hair in the world, and it wouldn’t matter because you have the face of a supermodel.”
Genetically, it is true.
Savannah doesn’t seem to take me seriously, but she’s much too nice to argue about it. She decides to change the subject instead, “You’re already friends with one supermodel.”
“You grew up with Kara.” I think for a moment before adding, “Your moms walked in hundreds of runway shows together. You guys are practically supermodel legacies.”
“Well, Kara is a supermodel because we grew up in two very different environments. And I know I’m pretty—I just don’t want it to be capitalized off of.
I hate the idea of being known as 'the model with crazy hair.
' Her disregard of her own beauty makes me think I shouldn’t push the topic any longer.
Taking a sip of my drink, I grimace at the overwhelming taste of coffee.
“Too strong?”
I shake my head. “I just like the taste of creamer more than I do coffee.”
She takes a sip of her coffee, rolling her eyes in jest before turning serious again. “So did you and Grant talk?”
Savannah called Grant last night while I was over. All she did was quickly ask him for my phone number before hanging up and calling me.
I retreated into Grant’s adjoining bathroom, where I stayed on the phone with her for the next fifteen minutes. I told her about how he kissed me in Martha’s Vineyard and our hookup a few nights before. I gossiped about my own drama, and she was perfectly content listening.
That’s when I knew she was serious about us becoming friends.
Setting my cup back down, I say, “Yeah, we did. It definitely wasn’t a conversation I was expecting, but it was good.”
“About his mom?” she asks, but it sounds like she’s already assuming.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make my stomach sink the tiniest bit. Not because of anything Grant told Savannah, but because of the fact that they were only ever hooking up.
I was under the impression that Grant had told me about his mom because it meant something different. But now it makes me wonder whether all Grant sees with me is the same thing he had with Savannah: a hookup.
Savannah must see it in my face because she immediately backtracks. “No, no, he never talked about it with me.”
“Never?”
“Never,” she confirms. “There were a few times when I tried to get him to, but he never did.”
All I can do is take another swig of my coffee, letting the bitterness burn down my throat. Desperate to change the subject, I glance around the cafe, my eyes locking on the pastry cabinet. “Have you ever had any of the pastries here?”
“No, but only because I refuse to eat foods that are described as something fancier than they are.” I think she’s kidding for a moment, but then she continues, “Like seriously, why are they calling it a gooey chocolate-filled delight when it’s literally a chocolate chip cookie?
It’s a form of extreme up-selling, and I refuse to partake in it. ”
“You know, I was going to laugh at you, but I see your point,” I admit. “The overthought marketing is a real turn-off.”
Savannah grins, satisfied with the subtle victory. “Exactly. If you’re going to sell me something, just tell me what it is. Don’t try to trick me into thinking it’s some kind of life-altering experience.”
I nod, a smile tugging at my lips. “Right? Like, freshly baked, hand-crafted, melt-in-your-mouth luxury? Okay, we get it. It’s a cookie.”
“Exactly. And if you need to dress it up that much, maybe it’s not as good as you say it is. It’s like if a man went around calling his penis a magical pleasure wand .”
I can’t hold back my smile at that. “True. From now on, I vow to only buy baked goods that are advertised as-is.” I stick my hand out, and she grabs it, shaking on it like it’s some legally binding agreement.
It only makes me like Savannah more, knowing she’s so willing to commit to a bit in the same way I am.
But I’ve also noticed that it’s impossible for her to let up on the things she really wants to know, which is why I’m not entirely shocked when she leans forward, swirling her straw through the ice in her drink. “So… back to you and Grant.”
“You’re relentless.”
“I’m just curious, and also very good at not letting people run from conversations,” she says, feigning innocence. “Do you have feelings for him?”
I consider lying. I really do. But Savannah’s not the type to be impressed by half-truths or polished answers.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Some days I think I do. Some days I think I’m just caught up in the idea of it.”
She nods, as if that makes perfect sense. “He’s magnetic,” she says, almost wistfully. “I get it.”
My eyes narrow. “Have you ever felt like that about him?”
“No, but I knew what I was getting myself into with Grant. I watched for months as trails of girls filtered in and out of his bedroom. It wasn’t hard for me to decipher what he wanted from me right from the start.”
I swallow. “Right.”
God, is this making me seem like an idiot?
Savannah winces at herself again. “Sorry, I didn’t say that because I was trying to make it seem like you’re naive, or something. I just meant that I had time to build immunity to the way he was before I got involved with him. But you didn’t have to because he never acted like that around you.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “It’s probably what I need to hear, anyway.”
“Lina.” She narrows her eyes at me. “What’s your hang-up about?”
I hesitate, my fingers tightening slightly around my cup. I’m not sure I want to go there. Not in the middle of a cafe, not with someone who used to hook up with the guy I’m falling for.
But the thing about Savannah is that she doesn’t press in a way that feels invasive—she asks the questions to show you how much she cares. That makes it harder to lie.
Which is why I say, “I think at first, my hang-up was Grant’s hang-up —we kissed in Martha’s Vineyard, and I freaked out because of how against commitment he is. But then I realized it had a lot to do with me.”
“How so?”
Well, there’s no use in holding back now. “My ex-boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend in my bedroom.”
Everybody else I’ve told, like my friends and Grant, have at least attempted to keep their facial expressions neutral. Savannah doesn’t.
Her mouth drops wide open, her jaw practically hitting the table as she audibly gasps. “ Oh my gosh! What an asshole !”
“That’s not even the worst of it,” I prepare her before adding, “It was also during my mom’s wake.”
Savannah lets out a strangled sound, halfway between a gasp and a horrified groan, before covering her mouth with both hands. “Lina. You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”
I shake my head slowly. “I wish I was.”
She drops her hands, eyes glassy with disbelief. “That is—no, that’s evil .”
“Yeah, well. It happened. And ever since, I’ve been…”
“Scared?”
I swallow harshly, completely forgetting about my coffee.
“There’s a lot of trust involved in being committed to a person in the way I was to my ex.
Having that ripped away in one of the most vulnerable moments of my life…
It wasn't good for me. It feels like I’m almost setting myself up for failure by trying to force the guy who is anti-commitment to stay. ”
Savannah doesn’t say anything right away. She looks at me like she’s seeing all the cracks I’ve spent so long trying to hide.