Chapter 12
You should ask her what she thinks, one day. You should ask her what she thinks, one day. You should ask her what she thinks, one day.
I open my mouth to do just that and chicken out at least twice Saturday morning.
Logically, I’m guessing I know what he meant. They have an open relationship. She wouldn’t mind if I got together with him. Given what I’ve seen, I wouldn’t be surprised either. But I tell myself it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter whether she’s okay with it or not, I don’t want to be the other woman in any relationship.
I groan in frustration, unable to focus on my work all day.
I’m normally never too bothered about missing parties, because I know I won’t fit in, and standing awkwardly in my corner, watching other people having fun until I’ve stayed long enough to be polite doesn’t appeal to me. But today, I find myself thinking about the pool party at the Shark House.
Seriously though, I only own four one pieces. Not even sexy ones. They would be perfectly appropriate on a twelve-year-old. And something tells me button-downs and A-line high-waisted pleated skirts isn’t exactly what people throw on top of their sexy bikinis.
Thankfully, my Dear Stranger distracts me a fair bit.
Yesterday, it amused me when he advised me to fuck my mother, but in the light of day, with the prospect of missing another fun gathering because of her stupid rules, I’m annoyed and frustrated, so I shoot back:
Dear Dick,
Right. And when she cuts me off, stops paying for my tuition, who’s going to take care of my expenses? You?
As we have a question again for next week: no, I’m not stressed out about the upcoming tests. I’m looking forward to seeing where I stand, actually.
Stay Privileged
PS: you’re a guy, right? Something in your entitlement makes me think that you possess a penis.
He’s quick to reply.
Dear Geek,
How’s your mom gonna know how you dressed at a party? And you could always earn your own cash. You’re clearly a brain. Have you thought of tutoring?
Stay Smart
PS: think about my penis much?
I take the last line as a confirmation of my theory.
As for the rest of the message…that’s food for thought. I never considered trying to earn pocket money. Back home, it would have been nigh on impossible without risking discovery, but here? I totally could. Something like tutoring should be easy enough for me, and I think people pay cash for that, right?
The possibilities swim in my mind. I don’t need much. My meals are covered, I can use my card for Senator-approved expenses, but I could buy myself some clothes actually appropriate for a twenty-two-year-old. Maybe get my hair done by someone who won’t copy the exact style of my mother’s.
No, that wouldn’t work. It’s just too risky. Thanks to the magic of the internet, nothing is ever truly secret.
Still. It wouldn’t hurt to earn some cash, some independence for the next few years.
It pains me to have to actually admit that he was helpful, given our usual exchanges, but I decide to tell him he’s given me a lot to think about.
Dear Wise One,
It’s not the worst idea. But I can’t get dressed in a way she wouldn’t approve of because people take pictures and post them online all the time.
Stay Useful
PS: here’s my phone number, in case you don’t want to have to log into the Rothford portal all the time.
His next message, a text, comes pretty fast.
Unknown: Dear Brains, Does your mom stalk you or something?
Again, the greeting makes it clear who I’m taking to, but I note that he omitted our traditional signature. I opt to do the same. It’s starting to be hard to find wishes for him.
Me: Dear Pal, Yes. And do you have a name by the way? To save your number.
I’m proud of myself for not writing a damn essay on Senator Cole.
Unknown: Dear Curious, I’m Aurelius.
Me: Seriously? That’s an unusual name.
I wonder whether I could find him based on that alone. I doubt there are many Aureliuses on campus.
Unknown: Dear Hypocrite, Riiiight, coming from Hestia Cole.
My jaw drops as I stare at the screen.
Me: YOU KNOW WHO I AM?
Unknown: Dear Tia, You changed the rules of the game. Naughty.
Me: SINCE WHEN???
Unknown: Dear Tia, Your second letter.
Me: HOW? And that’s not fair. Have we met??
Unknown: Dear Tia, Duh.
Me: WHEN?
Then the absolute dick leaves me hanging, not responding.
I click to change his name, hesitating, because I know his actual name now. Except, do I? I don’t know any Aureliuses. I would have remembered a name like that. He must have used a pseudonym.
I could push, but I feel like there’s a reason why this program was set up anonymously, rather than just a mentorship thing. The faculty assigned Calla Beaufort to me, and while she’s nice, we’ve only seen each other a couple of times for a coffee—long enough for her to ask me if I had any questions. Giving us someone we don’t know to chat with give us a chance at some judgement-free emotional support. I don’t think I’d be so open if I know him well.
And sure, Ari and Timothy revealed each other’s identities and met up like, the first week, but she’s Ari: bubbly, open, fun. She embraces everyone she meets immediately. I’m more guarded, and there’s no doubt that if we met in person, I’d clam up.
I decided to save him as Stranger, to keep things simple.
By the time I’ve typed it in, I have a series of answers.
Stranger: Dear Good Girl, To go back to your initial problem…make a second profile, block your friends from the first, except whoever you trust to only tag you in content-appropriate shit.
Stranger: I can’t believe I have to tell you that. Pretty sure every 13 year old knows the drill.
Stranger: Never, ever like any family / friends of the fam thing from your parent-appropriate social.
…oh. That sounds deceptively simple, and yet, I can’t see any reason why it wouldn’t work. Maybe when I was thirteen and Mother Dearest was more vigilant, that would have been an issue, especially since she knew my friends back then, but in a different city, a different state, there’s no reason why that wouldn’t work.
That means I can’t add Tanya on the new account, but she’ll understand.
Me: Dear Mentor, Huh. That might work. I would never have tried back home but she is pretty far away now.
Me: Thank you? I’m kinda expecting a trick. How come you’re helpful? Are you feeling okay?
I don’t know why I can’t just be nice, especially since nice is my default setting for everyone else. I guess his first letter made it so I’m incapable of talking to him with anything other than heavy sarcasm.
He doesn’t reply for the rest of the day, so I just get back to work, not admitting to myself that I miss the banter.
At least, he made me feel better about missing the pool party.
By the evening, I tell myself it’s a good thing I didn’t go. Sebastian was flirting with me last night. That can’t be good. I adore Ari; I can’t do that to her. They might be open when it comes to sex and all, but I’m not. It would mean something to me, so I’m not going there.
Maybe I can’t stop myself from having a bit of a crush on her man, but I can damn well choose not to do anything about it. That’d be a lot harder when he’s singling me out, whispering things to me, and looking at me like he wants to take a bite.
Sunday’s better. Tanya has a show in the evening, but we do brunch—though she sticks to orange juice, while I have two glass of Prosecco. She has a fair bit to say about Sebastian, as I expected.
“To be fair,” my friend tells me, “he flirts when Ari’s around. Maybe they have an understanding, you know? An open relationship. Or maybe they’re just fucking.”
I wrinkle my nose. I thought as much. “Even if that’s the case, I don’t want to be anyone’s spare girl. Not again.”
Tanya nods. She knows all about Robert and me. I suppose, in that specific case, I was the main girl—the one he took to his parents and openly dated. But there’s never been any doubt that he prefers his lover, Chrissy.
I only learned about her freshman year of college, and honestly? Part of me didn’t mind. I never liked Robert. He was just that guy Senator Cole approved of. I could date him, or face reprisals. But then, Robert pushed for sex, and I suppose I did believe we were in a relationship. It didn’t hurt my feelings much, given the fact that they’re completely flat when it comes to Rob, but my pride didn’t like it.I know I’m just not the sharing type from that whole ordeal.
Chrissy is one of the reasons I managed to convince him we should take a break—and as the idea came from him, officially, Mother Dearest couldn’t say anything. She threw in a few disparaging comments about my weight—how do I expect to keep a man if I can’t control my diet?—but in the end, she didn’t have much of a say.
Robert promised he just wanted a few years to sow his wild oats when he was in grad school, and that he’d marry me after college, so Mother’s appeased. Though she did let me come to California partially in the hopes that being close to Rob would ensure I’d keep him interested, no doubt with the occasional blowjob or something. He’s in LA for his MBA.
“Damn straight,” Tanya says proudly. “You’re no one’s second anything.”
I beam at my best friend, her support invaluable as always.
“Anyway, I think your pen pal was right about the cash and the second social.” She’s quick to offer, “I can loan you a bit. So you have some to get what you want.” I’m about to refuse, when Tanya adds, “We both know I’m not rich, but you know I can give you a couple of hundred bucks, and you can pay for food and drinks for a while. Your mom wouldn’t suspect expenses at restaurants, right?”
I blink, surprised I never thought about it. Tanya is pretty insistent about paying her own way so we split the bill when we got out, although I feel guilty as I’m a lot wealthier than her. But she’s right, Mother wouldn’t bat an eyelash at my spending a hundred instead of fifty on a night out; she’d just assume I ordered some wine.
“I mean, if you’re sure…”
“Say no more. I’ll withdraw some cash on the way out.” She grins. “Can’t wait to see you in clothes you actually pick. And for the social media, I should set up another account too, so we can still connect with each other. It’ll be nice, to not always have to be so proper, thinking about what the company would say. I’ll have to think about a pseudonym.”
“Well I can’t go under my real name either,” I say. “Pick mine and I pick yours?”
She grins. “Sold.”
I hand her my phone and take hers, thinking a moment before I type bleedingtoesnheart. Surprisingly, it’s taken. I replace heart with 3 and that works. We swap phones again, and I choke.
I guess I’m greeneyedpervert.
Tanya checks her account and gives me two fifty in cash, which is a lot more money than I’ve ever actually seen in dollar bills in my hand. She has to head to the theater for rehearsal, but I stay back…and I shop.
I avoid all the fancy boutiques I would normally head to, favoring the chains and discount stores. It’s wild what I find under thirty bucks, when my usual T-shirts tend to be three figures. By the time the stores are closing at six-thirty, I have several bags in my hands.
I’m giddy, and eager to show off my loot by the time I make my way back to campus. Not in the usual way. Whenever I shop, like clockwork, the next day I get a phone call. Some people would consider it sweet: my mother calling to check on me. “Show me what you got, sweetie.” She’d study every piece, checking the labels for pricing, too. And she’s made me return plenty of them, because of the wrong color, length, neckline. When I pick something she considers inappropriate, I see it in her face. And then there’s payback.
But today, I’m going to show my stuff to Ari, and I’ll take some pictures for Tanya. I can’t wait. For the first time in my life I have skinny jeans.
My smile doesn’t last long.
For the third time in as many weeks, I’m completely gobsmacked at what waits for me when I open the door of my dorm room.
Five foot eleven, slender, handsome, in a geeky, boy-next-door way, dressed in a preppy white shirt with a sage cardigan, and square glasses not unlike my own.
What the fuck?
“Robert.”