5. Pandora
PANDORA
After a long day of classes, I’m ready to collapse into bed. They were all intro classes, of course, the profs giving us a class agenda and introducing themselves, but I can already foresee a lot of late-night study sessions and last-minute assignments for me.
I wish I could skip the theoretical and get straight to the hands-on stuff, but apparently autopsies are reserved for the older students.
That seems a bit ageist, if you ask me.
Maybe I should ask Uncle Slayer if he’ll give me an in-depth anatomy lesson.
I open my dorm suite door and stop short when I see who’s sitting at the small kitchen table.
My new roommate, whom I somehow haven’t bumped into until now—except I have.
Her bland white shirt blends in with the bland white walls. Elite university or not, their interior designer must be an escapee from Basic Beige Addicts Anonymous. The kitchenette is as white as the walls, and I know a single drop of blood would stand out starkly on the white tile.
My roommate’s black shoes and skirt match the kitchen table .
“You?” I ask with a laugh. “Seriously?”
It’s the same woman I’d met while grabbing condoms on my first day here. She glares at me. “Oh, great,” she says, her lip curling in disgust. “Of course I get the disease-ridden whore as a roommate.”
I grin widely at her, completely unbothered by the comment. “Aw, it’s not so bad. Think of all the fun stories you’ll be able to tell your friends. ‘The other night, Pandora brought home?—’”
“Pandora?” the woman repeats. “As in the woman responsible for all the ills in the world?”
I laugh. “Yes, that one. My papa thought for sure I’d cause society’s downfall.”
“You probably will,” she mutters. “Anyway, I’m Samantha, and you’re going to stay out of my way.” She crosses her arms against her chest.
“Hi, Sam.” I wave my hand in greeting and finally close the suite door. “As long as you don’t mess with my stuff, we’re golden.”
“ Samantha ,” Sam hisses. “And I wouldn’t be caught dead near your things. In fact, the less I have to see of you, the better.”
“Sounds good.” I look past Sam at the closed door to her suite. I wonder who her parents are, that she was able to afford one of the private, two-person suites instead of the larger four-person ones.
It’s not only about money, of course.
It’s about connections, too. They don’t hand these privileges out to just anyone.
“What do your parents do?” I ask.
Sam purses her lips. “That’s none of your business. And didn’t we just agree we’d avoid each other?”
“Oh, we did?” I tilt my head at her. “I mean, that sounds like it’ll get tedious in the long run.”
“It’ll be less tedious than talking to you.” Sam sniffs loudly, an expression of distaste that’s so familiar from my classmates at the elite prep school I’d gone to that I start grinning.
Yeah, she’s definitely one of the richer kids.
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later!” I say, waving to her as I walk into my room.
“You won’t!” Sam shouts back.
What an interesting turn of events. I’ll have a constant source of entertainment in my prissy little suitemate, but she seems like the kind who would snitch if I broke the dorm rules.
Snitches get stitches , I think, then smile when I remember Papa’s affronted expression.
“ Snitches get murder , Frog. Get it right.”
I set my backpack down on my bed and glance around the room. I’ve unpacked, but it’s still missing the homey touches. I need another table where I can set up a few decorative items.
As long as I can be sure Sam won’t go running to the RA when she sees exactly what kind of decorations I want to install.
Speaking of.
I pull out my phone and dial Daddy .
It only takes a few seconds before he answers with his deep, calm voice. “Pandora. How was your first day of class?”
Of course he knows it was my first day. He probably has my schedule printed out and memorized. Out of all my parents, he’s the most organized and most detail-oriented.
He isn’t really related to me by blood, but he raised me like I was his own daughter.
“It was great. Kind of boring since it was only the intro stuff. Going over the syllabus, reminding us about their phone policies, that kind of stuff.” I sit up to pull out my tablet and access the syllabi. “Nothing weird. I think I’ll like all my classes.”
“Phone policies,” Daddy repeats. “I don’t think that existed when I would have been going to college.”
He never did go, but he’s always hesitant to talk about his life before meeting Papa.
There’s a rustling sound on the other end, and I smile because I know exactly what’s about to happen.
“Yo, Frog! You called Damien but not me? I’m hurt,” Papa says with faux emotion. The call quality has changed, and I know I’m on speaker now. “I should have been first on your list.”
“But if I’d called you, you would have answered even if you were busy,” I say with amusement. “That’s why the rule is to call Daddy first.”
“Of course I’d answer! You’re my favorite little tadpole!” I can’t see them, but I can already imagine Daddy’s exasperated expression.
“Okay, favorite tadpole or not, you do still have a real job last I heard.” I can’t help the grin though.
I love Daddy, and Uncle Slayer, and Mama, of course, but Papa is my favorite.
He’s the one who really gets me.
“My real job is boring, and my favorite frog is a lot more important,” Papa responds. “And… oh, Mama, you want to talk to Pandora?”
“What kind of question is that?” Mama asks. “Pandora, are you staying out of trouble?”
“Of course she isn’t,” Uncle Slayer says before I can answer. “She’s going to have enough stories to make your hair turn gray by the time the first week is over.”
Before the first day is over, apparently. Mama definitely doesn’t need to know about all that, though. She already has a hard enough time with the knowledge that I’m sexually active.
“Hi, Mama! Hi, Uncle Slayer,” I greet. “It’s been fun. I went to a party, met a few people. First day of class was boring, of course.”
“That’s why I never bothered with the first week,” Papa says. “Better to spend your days getting laid than?—”
“Giulio!” Mama interrupts. “Pandora is being safe , and that’s all that matters.” I must hang on that for a little too long, because Mama says, “You are being safe, right?”
“Yeah! I mean, what’s your definition of safe?” I say that last bit mostly to rile her up, and I’m not disappointed when Papa bursts out laughing .
“You know perfectly well what I mean,” Mama replies. She sounds exasperated, but that’s nothing new. She should be used to Papa and me ganging up on her by now. Maybe she is, and she’s humoring us by pretending to be offended.
“I do. I’m fine, Mama. You won’t get unwanted bastard children out of me.” I pause before adding, “Only wanted ones.”
Mama lets out a frustrated sound while Papa laughs again.
“Okay, okay. I just wanted to let you all know that things are fine. Classes are good, nobody’s bullying me, and I will not tell you about my sex life,” I say.
“Of course nobody’s bullying you,” Uncle Slayer says. “You’ve still got your knife, right?”
“I never leave home without it,” I confirm. “By the way, Papa, I think I’ve got everything sorted, so you can send the stuff over.”
“The stuff?” Mama asks, and this time she sounds wary. “What stuff are you sending her, Giulio?”
“Nothing dangerous,” Papa answers, and I know that does nothing to reassure Mama.
I chitchat with them for a bit longer, with Daddy staying quiet in the background while everybody else grills me for details.
As the call winds down, Daddy switches the phone back to private.
“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” he says. There’s no real emotion in his voice, but that’s just the way he talks. I know he’s happy to hear from me.
“Yeah. Hey, uh. I ran into Blaze Bouchard,” I say, a lot quieter. I don’t want to risk any of the others overhearing.
“From the Bouchard Syndicate.” Daddy hmms. “We haven’t had dealings with them lately. Your grandfather tried to make a few deals down south, but that never got very far. The Bouchards had a strong network.”
I’m surprised Daddy even mentioned him. Nobody likes to talk about my grandfather. There’s a photo of him gored open, blood all over his white wedding tuxedo, that Papa sometimes hangs from the Christmas tree.
That’s the only version of him I know.
Whoever he was, my parents all hated him.
“Yeah. Well, I just wondered if you could send me more information about them. Don’t tell the others though. I don’t need Papa showing up and blowing up a school building.” I don’t mean that as a joke, either.
There’s a long pause before Daddy says, “Is this related to Rachel?”
“What else would it be related to?” I ask with a spike of annoyance. “Are you going to help me or not?”
There’s a long sigh before Daddy responds, “I will. But be safe. Don’t act like Giulio.”
Now that’s a stupid suggestion.
“I would never,” I say, and of course Daddy doesn’t believe me.
Like father, like daughter, and all that.
“I love you, Pandora,” Daddy finally says. “If you need anything, you can always call us. We’ll drive down there as fast as we can.”
“I can handle myself,” I tell him. “And now I have to go. I’ve got to do more stuff I can scandalize Mama with on the next call.”
I hang up on him and set my phone down with a groan. I love my family, I do, but I knew the moment I mentioned anything related to Rachel, Daddy would get cautious.
They all think I should drop it.
They don’t understand why I’m still on it, months after her body was discovered.
Nobody else in the world is willing to treat Rachel like the person she was.
They’re all happy to leave her rotting in the trash.
Well, I’m still here, and I remember her, and she. Was. Not. Trash.
I get up, grab my wallet and head out. I’m surprised to see Sam still sitting at the kitchen table .
“I thought you were avoiding me?” I ask, my eyebrows raised.
“I’m not talking to you,” she retorts, not looking up from where she’s scrolling on her phone. “That doesn’t mean I’ll hide from you.”