Chapter Seven
“The booksfor that philosophy class are totally wild.” Harper walks and scrolls through her tablet at the same time, not even looking up to hit the button for the elevator. “Did you take a look at it yet?”
“I haven’t really figured out the tablets yet,” I admit. The door to our room locks behind me with a satisfying clack.
If she finds my response odd, she thankfully doesn’t say so. “You have yours with you, though, right?”
My fingers brush the side of my purse just to be sure. The firmness of the tablet through the suede both reassures and intimidates me. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”
“I’ll show you how to bring up book lists, then; don’t worry.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
She giggles, leading me into the elevator. “You’re too much, Lia. Any good friend would do the same.”
“I guess maybe I haven’t had any good friends until now.”
“Yeah, I feel that. Guess we both lucked out, huh?”
As promised, she runs me through the basics of the tablet as we walk out of the tower, past the boys’ dorms, and towards the neat row of white-shingled shops at the edge of campus. Today is nicer than yesterday, almost balmy, with cotton-ball clouds dotting the clear blue sky, and it looks like just about every single student is out enjoying it, hustling between shops with armfuls of books and supplies. Harper is quick to shuck off her jacket and tie it around her waist, a feat that she somehow manages with only one hand, the other still tapping away at the little icons on my screen.
“…And then this is the map—see the little green dot? That’s us! Well, technically it’s you—well, technically-technically it’s the tablet, but whatever, same difference. As long as you keep it on hand, it’s pretty much impossible to get lost.”
Sure enough, the tiny light that she indicated is moving across the screen in real time, mirroring our trek across campus. It’s just a GPS, sure, but that doesn’t stop it from being eerie, as though giant invisible eyes are fixed upon us from above.
“But it does just track the tablet, right? Not us?”
“Oh, for sure. If you’re going to meet up with someone to get some booze or pot or whatever, probably best to leave it at the dorm.”
Hm. Noted.
“Then here’s your schedule, and from here you can get to the grade portal, and… voila! The booklist.”
Charmingly, she pronounces the French word with a hard v. Whatever language course she ends up taking, I hope for her sake that they aren’t too hard on that sort of thing.
“See, Prof Winters is a total weirdo. What the hell does The Picture of Dorian Gray have to do with philosophy? And the autobiography of Harry Parker—what is that, one of the Beatles?”
“Well, it’s art philosophy, right? So that sort of makes sense.”
“Huh.” She closes the tablet’s hard cover and passes it back to me; I tuck it securely in my purse. “Maybe it’s gonna be too smart for me. Damn, it sure would suck if I had to drop out of our only shared class.”
“We could always study together.” The prospect perks me up—shared study sessions are a foundation of the college experience, aren’t they? “And help each other out if we get stuck.”
“Hell yeah—you know I’m down for that. I heard the library is amazing…”
Her voice lowers as she squeezes through the crowd and shoulders open the glass door of the nearest shop, a quaint little building with a sign simply reading BOOKS. A bell jingles, signaling our entrance, and an elderly, bespectacled cashier looks up from behind the checkout counter with a smile.
“Can I help you girls find anything?”
“Actually, yeah—” Harper hurries over, pulling out her own tablet. “So, I’ve got this massive list of books for classes, I don’t even know where to begin…”
Their voices slip out of my awareness, overpowered by the vision before me.
As small as the shop may be, I’ve never seen anything like it. I didn’t know this many books existed in the world. Lining the walls, the close-nestled shelves, the special display tables here and there… shiny hardcovers, sleek paperbacks; everything from handheld grammar guides to three-inch-thick atlases with covers wider than the purse tucked under my arm. And the smell—an airy, rainless forest steeped in ink, clean and well-aged at the same time. Other students stroll about, browsing and whispering to one another—none of them seem as breath-taken by the sheer scope of the books as I am.
Okay, Lia. Pick your jaw up from the floor; don’t make a scene.
My feet carry me to the nearest shelf. Upon closer inspection, it’s filled with math books—not exactly relevant to me—but I linger by it all the same, trailing my fingers along the rows and rows of crisp spines.
Is this what I’ve been missing, cooped up in my house for so long? Not just the people of the outside world, but the entire spectrum of knowledge? Papa’s weekly gift of a single novel—one that he personally approved, of course—feels far less generous now than it once did.
Something flares in my chest. Anger? No—it can’t be. I owe Papa everything, including my current freedom. I can’t begrudge him for trying to keep me safe.
And yet the feeling won’t leave me alone.
Another jingle draws my attention back to the front door in time to see two more students enter—one with a neat black bob and dark green sweater vest, the other sporting a scarlet crop top and all-too-familiar head of golden curls.
It’s her. The ridiculously pretty girl from registration—though her current expression is almost foul enough to make her ugly.
“He’ll figure it out one way or another,” she mutters to her friend as they pass by me—I pretend to occupy myself with the rack of math textbooks, and they don’t seem to notice me. “I think a part of him knows it, too. He’s just scared, you know? Because he doesn’t date. As a rule. He just doesn’t. But what we had, it was almost…”
Her voice grows muffled as the two of them recede towards the back of the store. Without knowing exactly why, I find myself trailing them at a distance, straining to make out their half-whispered conversation.
“I don’t get it, though,” the brunette says. “If he felt like that?—”
“How couldn’t he? I was the best thing ever to happen to him. The things I let him do—you couldn’t even imagine. He’s never going to find anyone else like me, and I’m going to find a way to show that to him, whatever it takes.”
“Yeah, well, good luck with that.”
“I don’t need luck. I just need to be clever about it.” She folds her arms, brow knitting in concentration. “The party tonight should be perfect. I just need to get him alone. If he’s a little drunk…”
Her friend lets out a brief, grim chuckle. “Careful, Mar. If you don’t pace yourself, you’re gonna be, like, falling-over levels of wasted by the time he’s got a buzz on.”
“Jesus, thanks for the good faith.”
“My name’s not Jesus. And hey, I’m just being realistic.”
“I can drink responsibly…”
They move to another aisle. This time, I don’t follow. No need to—they’ve given me more than enough to think about.
They’re talking about the party tonight. They’ve got to be. The blonde girl’s not just a big deal, she’s the VP of the most exclusive sorority. Which means that the guy she’s talking about must be pretty high status himself, if he’s been rejecting her. That moment in the cafeteria, when she tried and failed to get the guy with the blue eyes and tattoos to sit with her…
It’s him. It has to be.
Bitterness wells in my stomach. She’s not just beautiful herself, but she’s also going out with a man that gorgeous? Or, well, used to be going out with him, if I understood their conversation correctly. Still.
It shouldn’t upset me this much. It doesn’t upset me this much. For all I know, he’s just as much of a jerk as she is. Or even more of one, if he’s giving her the cold shoulder when she genuinely wants to be there for him.
If they’re both going to be at the party tonight?—
“You good, girl?”
Harper has an armful of books piled all the way up to her chin. Judging by the look on her face, they’re just as heavy as they look. I silently take a few of them from the top, and she flashes me a grin of relief.
“Thanks. This isn’t even all of them, if you can believe it. Thank God the cost is covered by tuition.”
“Mm, yeah. That’s a relief.”
She tilts her head. “Okay, but seriously—you were just totally zoned out. Everything okay?”
“I’m fine. Just thinking about the party.”
“Oof. So real. I’m almost nervous, if you can believe it. I’ll feel better once I have my outfit planned. So let’s find your books and go check out the rest of the shops, shall we?”
A couple of minutes ago, I could have seen myself lingering in here for hours. Now? I couldn’t be more eager to get as far away from that snotty blonde girl as possible.
“Yeah.” My mouth feels dry. “Let’s hurry up. I can’t wait to get out of here.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing in the dressing room of a cute clothing shop called Willow’s Boutique, trying on a light blue dress. I turn to examine myself in profile, eyeing my reflection critically. I”m not sure I like the way it fits… but maybe I’m overthinking it. Harper, of course, has already gone through a slew of dresses and still can’t seem to find what she wants.
“I still like the skirt you had on,” Harper calls out from behind the thick black curtains of the changing stall. “I definitely think you should get it.”
“I don’t know. I don’t usually wear things like that.”
She snorts, and I can almost imagine her eyes rolling at my comment. “You do realize our school uniforms have skirts—I mean, it’s literally signature.”
“Right. I know.” I smooth out the dress once more, frowning at the way it hugs my chest. Uniforms are one thing. Wearing revealing stuff of my own accord? Totally different situation.
Okay, I’m definitely overthinking this now. Maybe Harper’s opinion will help me decide.
I step out of the stall just as a bell chimes at the front of the store, signaling a new customer. Several customers, in fact—a whole group of girls chattering with one another, led by a tall brunette with the whitest smile I’ve ever seen.
A quick ache runs through my chest. Harper has been wonderful, the best friend I could have hoped to meet so soon after arriving. But the way that these girls’ laughter overlaps, the ease with which they move together as a group… it tugs at me like a physical hook in my heart.
I’ve never experienced something like the camaraderie they share.
And I’ve never wanted anything more.
I don’t realize I’m still staring until the brunette”s eyes meet mine. She quickly scans over the dress that I’m still wearing, and I’m all too aware of the way it clings to my body—not to mention the stretches of exposed skin along my shoulders and thighs.
“That looks good on you.”
Looks good? On me? Is she joking? I’m vaguely aware of Harper tensing up beside me, staring with the wide eyes of a cornered animal.
The girl’s eyebrows raise slightly, beckoning a response—I clear my throat and push a smile onto my lips. “Thank you.”
“No problem. I haven’t seen you around—new on campus?”
“A freshman,” her blonde friend confirms.
“Interesting.” She taps her lower lip with a slow, thoughtful finger. “You know, you should swing by the party at the GODs house. Everyone’s going. But, as cute as that is on you, don’t wear it. Wear something that”s… more you.”
“How do you know it isn’t me?”
Her eyes narrow, and her friends glance among one another, making no effort to disguise their alarmed expressions. Did I do something wrong?
“I just know.” The flashes me a quick, enigmatic smirk. “I’ll see you around, freshman.”
The moment she and her friends walk off, Harper unfreezes beside me and lets out a low whistle.. “Do you know who that was?”
“No. Should I?”
“Should you? Fucking of course you should!” Her whisper is so piercing that I would almost prefer her to speak normally. “That’s Rashel. Rashel Martin?”
“Should I recognize that name, or…”
“Lia. She’s the president of Omega Phi. The it girl of the school.”
“The it girl?” I echo.
“Oh my God. Are you for real? If you want to make a name for yourself, befriending her is the way to do it. And there’s no way you’ll have a chance of getting into Omega Phi without her approval, even if you somehow get all the other members to fall in love with you during rush week.”
“You’re going to laugh at me for this,” I say, bracing myself, “but… what’s rush week?”
She doesn’t laugh—just gapes at me. “What’s rush week,” she repeats, deadpan. “Only the most important few days of your college career. And the rest of your life for that matter. It’ll determine which sorority you join, and that’ll determine your friends, connections… everything.”
Everything?
I knew I wasn’t ready for whatever college had in store for me, but this is more than I could have even anticipated. She’s talking about friendship like it’s a form of currency—one that will buy your way through the rest of her life.
Well… fitting in is what I came here for, after all. Maybe I’ll get myself in trouble… or maybe I’ll find a way to earn the acceptance that I so desperately crave.
One thing’s for sure:
The only way to find out is to try.