18. Sydney
eighteen
sydney
Dylan and Brandon have found me a new friend. They arrive at my upstairs table in the library, although I’m not sure who told them to check for me up here. And with them is the girl who sat next to me at the last hockey game.
“This is Maddy,” Dylan says. “She’s my roommate’s cousin.”
“Okay…”
“We think you’d get along,” Brandon says. “And Maddy said you guys sat together at the game.”
“We did,” I allow.
And yet, it still feels like an ambush.
Today has been weird, so I’ve taken to hiding. Again. I’m wearing Penn’s hoodie, and it might be fucking magic. People who would’ve locked the door behind them now hold it open for me, their eyes wide. I haven’t braved the dining hall, but Penn and I have a class later.
I can only imagine how that’s going to go.
It seems like my outcast status is slowly fading, just like L. predicted. Just… not quite the way he predicted it.
Speaking of L., he’s been absent. I sent him a text, to which he didn’t reply. And it’s not like I should care that much, because he’s this stranger who doesn’t tell me much at all. I know that he goes to college at either St. James or Framingham State, that he’s honest and on my side most of the time. I know he doesn’t want to run away like I do.
People who want to run away think about it.
I daydream of using the money to run as far as I can get. And when I voiced it to L., he seemed… well, maybe not confused, but just kind of blank.
My thinking is that he’s upset with me about the sweatshirt thing. It would make him one of the only ones… plus Carter. I can’t imagine telling Carter about Penn’s sweatshirt would go over well at all. He already discovered the necklace, although he exhibited some self-control and didn’t yank it off.
“Well, have fun!” Brandon’s voice brings me back to the present. He taps Maddy’s arm and points to the seat across from me. “See you guys later. For dinner?”
“Sure,” I manage. “My last class gets out at five.”
“We’ll meet you in the student center,” Dylan promises.
I let out a sigh, and then they’re gone. It’s just Maddy and me. I eye her. She’s cute, with super-light blonde hair, a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose, and deep-blue eyes. She seems to smile easily, while mine takes longer to surface.
“Did you hate me on sight?” I blurt out. “Before you saw me wearing this?”
I pluck at the hoodie.
Her gaze drops to the table, and she makes a face. “Unfortunately, I did listen to the rumors. But you genuinely seemed cool at the game. You were cheering for Penn.” She smiles softly. “I think everyone is afraid that you’re just here to spy.”
“Rumors are ridiculous?—”
“I’m not denying that, but they’re stronger when they have a kernel of truth to them. You snuck into Oliver’s house to get those plays, didn’t you?”
“Well… I did end up stealing them.” I haven’t told anyone this, and I’m not ready to admit that I’m after a family heirloom. Putting any importance on finding that bracelet will make it nearly impossible to find, simply because Oliver Ruiz hates my guts.
But he has it. I know he does, I followed the fucking path from my mother to the pawnshop to Ruiz. Not an older person, like maybe his father. Not a woman. Him.
The unwelcome truth is that he probably bought it for someone. A girl, obviously. Who else would he buy for? And I was too late.
I didn’t notice it was gone from my mother’s jewelry box until I went looking for it. And why did I do that?
Sentimental fucking sap.
It was Christmas break, the one time in the year I willingly go home, and something made me look for it. I was caught between being grateful that my mom was home—she was holding a steady job at the time and everything seemed normal—and longing for more family.
When I couldn’t find it, I screamed at my mother. I didn’t know why—I couldn’t figure out the anger bubbling like lava in my chest, boiling up my throat and erupting out my mouth at her. I wanted my words to fucking burn her, too. I used every jab in the book.
She finally confessed that she had sold it a month prior.
I’m convinced that’s what made her leave. Not because she had some boyfriend to run to, like in the past. I know that’s where she went. She would go whore out her body?—
That stops me cold.
How am I any fucking better than her?
The necklace around my throat suddenly feels heavy. More like a collar than a slender chain. I got this because Penn threw money at me and fucked me.
Simple as that.
This hoodie doesn’t represent any goodwill between us. It marks me as his slut.
“You okay?” Maddy asks. She’s pulled out her laptop and headphones, clearly intent on… working here with me. A phenomenon. “You just got pale.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
On my phone, I click on Mom’s conversation thread.
There are ten unanswered texts from me, the earliest from two weeks ago. I close out of it and switch to L.
Me
I’m having a weird weekend.
Did you see the SJU/FSU game? Were you there?
Where are you?
Nothing. Radio silence. My gut twisting, I type out another message. I didn’t think I’d ever be the type to double text, but here I am.
Me
I’m going fucking crazy, L.
And finally, he replies:
L.
Me, too.
Tell me another lie.
My feelings are too big for my chest sometimes.
And I want to run until I drop dead.
Maddy actually isn’t bad company. We work in near silence, only pausing when we need to get up and stretch our legs. I watch her stuff while she goes to the restroom downstairs, and she returns with two sodas for us.
I think about what I said to L., about running until I drop dead. The weather is getting colder. At night, especially, it’s starting to get that crispness. It’ll snow soon, I bet. We’re higher in elevation here, and snow tends to come hard and fast as soon as we slip into winter.
“What class do you have?”
I check my watch. “Intro to Law in twenty-five minutes.”
“And you’ve been staring at the wall for almost fifteen.” She laughs. “Do you need a break?”
“Nah, just… thinking. I have a writing assignment I need to get working on.”
“What’s it about?”
I pull out my folder of syllabi and flip to the writing class’s. “I need to pick an event that happened more than ten years ago and write a short story like I was there.”
Which should be fun. I actually was intrigued when I first skimmed it last week. Since the start of the semester, we’ve turned in a few short stories working on different techniques, but our professor hasn’t actually got into the grit of the class: critiquing. This is the first piece that we’ll be bringing enough copies for everyone, and then critiquing them over the next two classes. Andi Sharpe has since transferred out of the class, which makes it a little better. Since everyone will soon be reading what I come up with.
“The problem is, there are too many options and not enough information. Do I go abstract with it? I don’t think I want to pick a tragic event.” I frown. “I just can’t decide.”
“What about the Olympics? You could pick any event, any year, really.”
“Hmm…”
Boring.
“I’ve got some time,” I hedge. “I’ll figure it out this week.”
She nods.
“What are you working on?” I ask.
She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. “My parents thought it would be in my best interest to double major in political science and business. So I’m currently writing a mock policy proposal that I’ll have to present in front of the class, who will pretend to be the United Nations.”
“That sounds like the opposite of fun.”
“I like it in theory, but the idea of standing up and talking, and then answering questions… some of the guys take it super seriously, like this is going to propel them toward the actual UN. They ask insane questions, and if you show any weakness—they pounce.”
I can relate to waiting for the pounce moment.
“I’m sure you’re gonna crush it,” I offer.
She smiles. “Thank you.”
“Are you joining us for dinner?”
“Only if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
“My two friends transferred out last year,” she admits. “It’s been kind of lonely, and I know my cousin is getting irritated with me. She’s a senior, I’m a sophomore.”
“You seem cool.” I narrow my eyes. “But if you’re just hanging out to talk shit…”
She raises her hands. “The mean-girl stuff is over, promise. I’ve learned my lesson about judging a book by its cover.”
I smile. “I’m going to head over there now. But I’ll see you for dinner.”
I gather my stuff up and finish the soda. Class is on the other side of campus, and I kind of want to catch Penn before it starts.
“See you later, then. Thanks for hanging out.” I go downstairs and across the quad. Most of these buildings are old, which means my mother probably walked this same route. It’s eerie.
What I need to do is ask Dad about her.
Someone falls into step with me. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the dark hair and olive skin. My shoulders inch up automatically, my guard slamming into place.
Oliver doesn’t say anything. In fact, he seems to be waiting for me to speak.
When I get to the Admin building, he beats me to the door. He doesn’t open it, though. Instead, he turns and leans against it.
“Seriously?”
He appraises me.
“I’m pretty sure you could be giving me the silent treatment from the other side of campus,” I huff. “You don’t have to do it in my face.”
“I’m not giving you the silent treatment,” he says. “I’m trying to figure out how you got Penn wrapped around your traitorous little finger.”
I shrug. If Penn didn’t tell him about the money, then I’m sure as fuck not going to spill the beans. No way in hell is that getting out.
“Ask him,” I manage.
His brows lower. “I did.”
“Great, then take whatever he says with a grain of salt and move on.”
I go for the door handle, but he slides over to block me again.
“I think you’re just trying to get close to him so you can screw us over again.”
Maddy said that was the rumor. That I’m just here as a spy. I step in closer to him, my chest tightening. I mean—he can’t honestly believe that, can he?
“Here’s the thing, Ruiz.” I glare up at him. “If I wanted to screw you over, I’d break into your house again.”
He smirks. “Try. I’ll be waiting, doll.”
I bristle. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why? You’d look great covered in plastic and perched on my shelf. Immobile. Silent…”
I don’t like that the whole immobile thing does something to me. And I don’t like that my body reacts to just his words.
He seems to spot the fleeting desire, though, because he leans in. “I can do that, you know. Tie you down and spank you until you’re screaming into the gag for relief that will never come.”
I push my shoulders back. “Get out of the way. I’m going to be late.”
He chuckles and moves aside. “Just know, the instant you step out of line, or even hint about giving St. James a clue, you’re going to wish you were dead.”
Don’t I already?
Wait.
He’s already striding away, back the way we came, while I puzzle out that thought. A dark, insidious thought that shouldn’t have popped up in the first place.
The worry sticks with me all the way to class, where Penn waits outside the room. His expression darkens when he spots me, but it’s not anger.
It’s something more like lust.
“Want to skip?” he asks in a low voice. “There’s a good bathroom on the fifth floor that never gets used at this time of day.”
“I want to go to class.”
Penn pouts. “You’re no fun.”
“You’re trying to be a bad influence.”
He follows me in. “Obviously. Also, take down your hair.”
I eye him. “Excuse me?”
He motions to my head. “It’s all up, and I want it down. It’s our thing.”
“We don’t have any thing .”
He eyes me, and I glance away. Okay, fine, maybe it has become sort of a ritual. I didn’t even think about it as I put my hair up this morning. It needs a good washing, and I didn’t want to deal with it. So I braided it and looped it around my head, pinning it into place.
“It’d take a while to undo,” I hedge.
“You have a choice, princess. Take your hair down or I’ll rip my sweatshirt off you. No matter how good it looks. And then all the nice treatment disappears, going right back to how it was before. Or maybe it’ll be worse, because they’ll wonder what made me take it back.”
I glower at him.
But I feel strangely caught.
So I slowly pull the pins out, dropping them into his waiting hand. When the two braids hang down, Penn inches closer. We haven’t even taken our seats yet, although we both stand in the aisle, by our respective desks.
He reaches for one, undoing the invisible elastic. He rakes his fingers through it, the strands wavy after being caught up in it all day, while I do the same to the other side. He brushes my hands away and runs his fingers through all of my hair, pulling it forward over my shoulders.
“Better.”
“If you say so.”
The professor clears his throat.
I glance around. All eyes are on us, the last remaining standing students. I drop into my seat quick as a flash, while Penn takes his time. He nods at the professor, who starts the lecture as soon as his ass is down.
Penn drums his fingers on my back.
I sigh and flip my hair back. Because apparently he has some fixation with it. But then his finger coasts across the back of my neck, and a chill shoots straight down my spine. He’s touching the necklace chain, I think. It’s been hidden all day, tucked under my shirt even.
He leans forward, over his desk, when the professor turns to write something on the board. “I could’ve taken the sweatshirt and ripped it to shreds. The necklace keeps you just as safe, princess.”
I grit my teeth. He seems to have no qualms about drawing attention to himself or talking during class. He also manages to pay attention, because he speaks up and answers questions frequently.
What would Oliver think about the necklace? The sweatshirt is one thing. Stolen or gifted, it doesn’t matter. But this pendant?
I tug at the chain and struggle not to frown. I don’t like being pulled in two different directions—between Carter and Penn—but it’s even worse when I consider Oliver.
Although I shouldn’t, I can’t help it. He slips into my mind when I least expect it, and sometimes he stays there.
And, of course, L.
He’s quickly becoming a crutch… and a crush.
Horrible, terrible, stupid .
Me, that is. And my emotions.
Me
You never said if you preferred savory or sweet.
I wait, staring at the screen, but the reply doesn’t come. Not until toward the end of class.
L.
I have an incurable sweet tooth.
You should see a dentist about that.
They offered to pull it, but I told them my sweet tooth is satiated whenever I talk to you.
I scoff, drawing a few side-eyes.
Oops.
Penn tugs on my hair.
I glance back and scowl at him, but he just stares at me. His green eyes are the color of sea glass in this lighting, with little flecks of gold toward the center.
The people around us move, beginning to shuffle their things together and pack up their bags.
“What?” I finally ask him.
“Nothing,” he answers. “Dinner?”
“I’m meeting friends.”
“Later, then.”
“Is this an every night thing?”
He smirks. “Do you want it to be? I left you alone last night.”
And I was lonely. For the first time in a while.
“You left me alone because you had an away game,” I point out.
“Fine. See you tonight.” He hooks his bag over his shoulder and leaves me sitting at my desk, still in fucking disarray.