Chapter 2 Lexi
Lexi
Ifold the last of my shirts into the suitcase, pressing them flat so the zipper won’t fight me. The house is small enough that I can hear her humming something old and churchy, the kind of tune that makes the walls feel older than they are.
“Lexi, honey.” Grandma’s voice drifts in before she does, soft-edged but firm. She appears in the doorway with a mug in each hand, white hospital socks on her feet. “You eat?”
“Not hungry yet.”
She sets a mug on the dresser anyway. Black coffee, no sugar. She knows.
We don’t talk while I pack. She folds a pair of my jeans that I’ve already folded, refolding them her way, corners sharper. Her hands shake just a little. They always do anyway.
“Your mother would’ve bragged to everyone.” The words come out quiet, careful, like she’s testing the weight of them. “I would never hear the end of it about how her daughter is going to take over the world and do big things.”
My throat tightens, but I force a smile and keep my hands busy with the zipper. “Yeah. She would’ve drove you insane.”
Grandma presses her lips together, nods once. “And your dad—”
“Dad?” I laugh, but it’s sharp, bitter. “Come on.”
She waves me off, folding another pair of jeans and warns, “Don’t start. In his right mind, he’d be proud. Very proud.”
“I don’t think he’s ever been in the right mind.”
Her face hardens. She sets the jeans down, doesn’t look at me. “He’s still my son, Lexi. I don’t know where I went wrong with him, but—” She stops. Shakes her head. “Your mom is rolling around in her grave right now, laughing at me. She did a much better job than I did.”
Guilt curls in my chest. I shouldn’t have said it, and I can’t help but think that my mom failed us more than Grandma failed Dad. My older brother is worse than Dad.
She moves to the closet, pulls out the last box—my memory box, duct-taped shut, corners soft from being touched too many times. She sets it on the bed without asking what’s inside.
“I can drive you,” she says, changing the subject. “I don’t mind playing hooky.”
“Thea’s coming. You can’t miss your shift.”
“Lexi—”
“Grandma. I’ve already been an inconvenience enough. I’m fine.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I know she’s cataloging everything I’m not saying.
The peeling linoleum under our feet. The framed photos on the wall—Mom’s high school graduation, me and Axel as kids, Dad in his good days.
The oxygen machine in the corner that hums even when she’s not using it.
This house is survival, and she’s been surviving alone for too long.
She reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out a white envelope, folded in half. “Take this.”
“Grandma, no—”
“Take it.” She presses it into my palm, closes my fingers around it. “Emergency money. Just in case.”
I can feel how thick it is. Too thick. I know it’s half her savings, maybe more. My chest aches. “I can’t—”
“You can, and you will.” Her voice is steel now. “You’re doing something good, baby. Let me help.”
I nod because if I speak, I’ll cry, and I’m not crying today. Not on move-in day.
Thea’s car sounds like it’s dying before I even see it. The engine coughs, then roars, and the dented red Corolla careens around the corner blasting something with too much bass and not enough melody. She honks twice, leans out the window with a grin so wide it could crack her face in half.
“College girl!” she screams.
I grab my bags and jog down the steps. Grandma waves from the porch, and I wave back, swallowing the lump in my throat.
When I open the passenger door, weed smoke rolls out in a thick cloud. Thea’s in a crop top that says BAD DECISIONS in glitter letters, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
She offers me the joint between her fingers. “Morning pick-me-up?”
“Not today.” I toss my bags in the back and slide in. “New leaf.”
“It’s college, babe. New leaves need fertilizer.”
I laugh, buckling in as she peels away from the curb.
I take one last glance at Grandma. I wave, feeling my heart tear.
I can’t believe that part of my life is done.
I look forward, trying to not let the guilt eat me.
I’m no longer her burden, and it feels freeing.
The bass rattles the windows. Thea turns it down halfway through the block, glancing at me with a softer smile.
“You good?”
“Yeah. I’m good.”
We drive in silence for a few minutes. The town shrinks behind us—the gas station with the broken sign, the Dollar General, the church with the crooked steeple. Everything I’ve wanted to leave for so long.
“So.” Thea taps the steering wheel. “Dorm decor. What are we thinking? Fairy lights? Tapestries? One of those neon signs that says Good Vibes Only?”
“I’m thinking not broke.”
She snorts. “But you’ve got scholarship money, right? Live a little.”
“That money’s for books and food, Thea.”
“Books are overrated. Food is negotiable.”
I roll my eyes. She grins, takes a long drag, and flicks the ash out the window.
“Okay, real talk,” she says. “Boys. Are we talking about boys?”
“No.”
“We’re talking about boys.”
“Thea—”
“What about your hot brother?”
“Please don’t.”
“I’m just saying, if I see him on campus—”
“He won’t notice you’re breathing.”
“Rude.” She laughs, but it’s light, teasing. “But you love him, right? Like, despite everything.”
I sigh, staring out the window. The trees blur past. “Yeah. I’m sick in the head to keep putting up with his shit after everything.”
“You’re literally only going there because he goes there.”
“I’m just happy he’s in college.” I glance at her. “I hate to admit that I didn’t think he’d last this long.”
She nods, takes another hit, and exhales slowly. “Knock on wood, bitch.”
I laugh, knocking twice on the dashboard.
“I’ll fix him,” she says, smiling.
We pass a billboard for the university—big block letters, a photo of the football team looking way more polished than they probably are in real life. Under it, someone’s spray-painted graffiti in sloppy red: Nothing’s clean, dirty cunts.
Jesus.
“Charming,” I mutter.
Thea cackles. “Welcome to higher education.”
The campus is bigger than high school but smaller than the photos online.
Rougher, too. The sidewalks are cracked, weeds pushing through the concrete.
The streetlights buzz even in daylight, and there are football posters peeling off every lamppost. Some hockey ones, too—guys in helmets, sticks raised, faces blurred by motion.
Behind the dorms, the rink looms like a warehouse. I hear the sharp crack something echoing across the parking lot, and my stomach twists.
Great.
“Where’s your brother?” Thea parks crooked, half on the curb. “Wasn’t he supposed to meet you?”
I pull out my phone. No texts. No missed calls.
I dial. Voicemail.
Lexi: Where are you?
Nothing.
Irritation prickles under my skin, but I swallow it down. “He probably forgot.”
“Maybe he’s just busy. You know how boys are.”
“Yeah.” I shove my phone in my pocket. “I’m stupid to think coming here would change our relationship.”
Thea reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You’re not stupid. He’s just... Axel.”
I force a smile. “Let’s just get checked in.”
We check in at the student center—a building that smells like burnt coffee and industrial cleaner. A bored student worker hands us keys and maps and tells us our dorm assignments.
Different dorms.
Thea’s face falls. “Wait, what?”
The girl nods like she’s bored and then asks for the next person in line.
I grab Thea and pull her aside before she makes a scene. “It’s fine.” I hug her quickly. “We’ll get dinner later, okay?”
“This is bullshit. You better text me.”
“I will.”
She squeezes me once more, then disappears into the crowd of parents and freshmen and rolling suitcases. I feel bad because I knew we weren’t dorming together. I had thought I could afford what she got, but my scholarship didn’t. So, now we’re in complete different buildings.
I drag my bags alone down the hallway that smells like fresh paint and old popcorn. The carpet is stained in places, the walls covered in bulletin boards full of flyers for clubs I’ll never join.
Room 212.
I unlock the door and push it open.
A girl stands by the window, petite and pale, with her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She turns, smiles politely, and offers her hand.
“Hi. I’m Scarlett.”
“Lexi.” I shake her hand. Her grip is gentle, careful.
Her side of the room is already unpacked. Everything white and beige—sheets, pillows, desk organizer, even the picture frames. It’s so bland it almost hurts to look at.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she says, gesturing to her half. “I got here early. Wanted to settle in before classes start.”
“No, it’s—it’s fine. Looks great.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Do you need help?” She nods toward my bags. “That one looks heavy.”
“I’m good.” I pull the box closer. “I don’t need help.”
“Oh. Okay.” She steps back, wringing her hands. “Well, let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
She leaves the room—probably to give me space—and I finally breathe.
I pull out my phone. Text Axel again.
Lexi: Seriously, Ax. Where are you?
Ten minutes. No reply.
“Classic,” I mutter, throwing the phone on the bed.
I open the window, let the air in. It smells like cut grass and exhaust. I start unpacking my clothes in the dresser, toiletries on the desk, shoes under the bed.
And then I stop.
I stare at the tiny room. The blank walls. The secondhand comforter Grandma bought me at Goodwill. The space that’s mine.
Mine.
I smile. Just a little.
The memory box is the last thing I unpack.
I set it on the bed, peel back the duct tape, and lift the lid.
Inside are old letters from Thea. Photo booth strips from junior year. A hospital bracelet with my name printed in faded ink.
And the pill bottle.
Blank label. Single pill inside.
I hold it up to the light. The imprint is barely visible now—worn down by time and the number of times I’ve turned it over in my hands.
Fourteen. I was fourteen. Still am, some nights.
I tuck it behind a textbook on the shelf. Not ready to throw it away. Not sure I ever will be.
“Everything okay?”
I jump. Scarlett’s back, standing in the doorway. Shit. She saw the pill bottle in my hand and has made an assumption. I glance down at myself. Do I give off drug addict vibes like the rest of my family?
“No.” My voice comes out aggravated. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
I close the lid. End the past. Shame rips through me, but I ignore her.
She nods, steps back and scrolls on her phone.
My phone buzzes, and I reach for it, hoping to see my big brother soon.
Thea: Eat? I’m starving already.
I roll my eyes. Stoner.
Lexi: Meet you out there.
I change into jeans, check myself in the mirror. My hair’s a mess, but I don’t care. Excitement wins over exhaustion.
Scarlett’s hanging out on her bed. The room is quiet, the light soft through the window.
I stand in the doorway for a moment, looking back at the space and make a wish.
Please let this be better.
It’s picture perfect, even with Scarlett here. This is my new life. She looks up at me after I stare at the room for a moment.
And then I smile.
She gawks awkwardly, but I ignore her.
I love a fresh start.
It feels like I’m finally moving on with my life. It’s freeing.