CHAPTER THREE
LINA
A few days after my less-than-ideal glass-dropping incident, I’m getting into the elevator of my apartment building after class when a familiar face joins me inside.
It’s not a good look for me, either. By the time Grant steps inside, I’m already leaning against the back wall, wearing black leggings and my raincoat with white tennis shoes.
There’s not a doubt in my mind that I look like I’ve stepped straight out of a zombie apocalypse movie, with my hair thrown in a messy bun and the bags under my eyes that I’ve become completely immune to.
I read once that sleep deprivation can make your brain mistake synapses for waste. Basically, your brain starts eating itself, like a self-inflicting zombie. Maybe that’s what’s happening to me.
My eyes droop. My brain turns to mush. I need sleep like a druggie needs a pill, but my body is fighting it like an addict turning down a fix.
“Hey,” Grant says, leaning against the side wall, right next to the elevator button panel. He hits the button for the floor I’ve already pressed—entirely unnecessary.
Before answering, my eyes involuntarily scan down his body to examine his navy, form-fitting button-down under the straps of his backpack. He’s even wearing lightly colored slacks. It makes me wonder why he’s dressed so nicely.
When I scan back up to his face, I notice the way his jaw works with the gum he’s chewing. He must do it a lot, because there’s a prominent muscle there.
“Hi,” I then say before looking back up at the ceiling.
It’s not that I have anything against talking to Grant, but my social battery is already at an all-time low after walking through the busy campus while coming straight from my two hundred person lecture.
And on top of that, I know I’ll be having lunch with Eden and Kara when I get back to the apartment.
Safe to say, I was really looking forward to the few minutes of peace I would have in this elevator ride.
“Where are you coming from?” he questions casually.
“Class.”
“Nice. Do you go to school around here?”
I feel my brows pull together at the question. I thought it was quite obvious that we all went to the same school. “Yeah. I go to Yale.” My tone is purposefully stale.
Grant must notice it, because his eyes flicker back toward me, a look of shock passing over him. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah.” My fists clench at my side, a poisonous feeling coursing through me. “I go to the same school as the rest of you.”
“No, no.” He holds out a hand, stopping me. “That’s not what I was implying. I just wouldn’t expect someone so pretty to go to Yale, that’s all.”
Maybe it’s the way he says it, so casually. Like I’m supposed to be flattered. Like I should smile and blush in the way another girl would. One who trusts men more and questions their motives less than I do.
Compliments with strings attached. I know the type. “Why? Is there a rule that girls can’t be smart and pretty?”
I internally wince at my outburst because I immediately know it was too harsh of a reaction. But I’ve also never been the most level when it comes to navigating my emotions. It’s the one thing I’m not logical about, but that’s because emotions aren’t logical.
For some reason, regardless of how he meant it, my brain automatically responded defensively.
He looks shocked at my reply, as if he’s never had anyone turn down his advances.
Thankfully, the elevator door opens on the fourth floor.
I step out quickly before he can, continuing down the hall.
I know Braxton and Grant live in the corner unit at the end of the hall, though, so it doesn’t shock me when he follows after me.
“Lina, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” I say, approaching my door and quickly unlocking it before stepping inside. “Have a nice day, Grant.” I actually wince when I slam the door behind me.
Eden flinches from where she stands in the doorway of the kitchen. “Jeez.” She lets out a relieved noise when she sees that it's me standing behind her. “Bad day?”
“It was fine until I got trapped in the elevator with campus’s most popular playboy .” Dropping my backpack on the ground, I make a spectacle out of sitting on the barstool.
Eden whips around from where she was checking on whatever she has baking in the oven.
She’s not the most fond of baking, but it’s a hobby she’s taken up because she likes feeling useful. And she’s good at it.
“Grant?”
“He’s an asshole.” I want to be mad. I am mad . But not at him.
I’m mad that one stupid comment could send me spiraling when it shouldn’t have even been that big of a deal.
That one charming smile from a guy like him could remind me how it felt when everything fell apart.
“Woah,” Kara reenters the apartment with her arms full of grocery bags, startled by my outburst. “Are you talking about Gage?”
Eden’s eyes widen. “I wouldn’t mention him if I were you…”
At the same time I say, “No.”
Kara looks between us, blinking slowly like we’ve both lost our minds. “Let’s talk about it over lunch. I’m making pasta.”
“Please tell me you’re putting vodka in it,” I groan.
She shakes her head solemnly as she bends down to grab a pot from one of the lower cabinets. “Liquor doesn’t serve any purpose to me if it’s not to get drunk.”
Kara continues collecting ingredients from around the kitchen.
This is what Wednesdays in the apartment commonly look like.
It’s the only day where none of us have classes past lunchtime, which means Kara usually ends up making something for Eden and me, while Meredith goes to the gym with Braxton—at least that’s what they say they’re doing.
“Do you need any help?” I ask, like I do every other Wednesday.
“You’re smart enough to know your weaknesses, Lina.” She smiles at me. “Let me handle this one.”
Can’t argue with that one. I am notorious for being a bad cook. It’s the reason we have such a good system going within the apartment.
Kara cooks, Eden bakes, Meredith doesn’t show any interest, and I sit and keep everyone entertained.
“How was your economics class?” Eden asks, pulling an oven mitt off her hand.
“Horrible.”
It’s my very own version of hell, having to sit in a room with over two hundred students for two hours and listen to an ancient old man talk about the power of goods and services.
Political Economy of Globalization is a class required for my international relations major, and if I didn’t have to take it, I wouldn’t. It’s not necessarily difficult, only painfully boring.
“What are you baking?” I lift myself out of my seat, trying to get a view of what she keeps checking in the oven.
“Cookies.” She grins. “They’re pink and heart-shaped.”
“Just what I need,” Kara jokingly grumbles.
“As you’re making pasta,” I counter.
She continues stirring the noodles she has cooking on the stove. “Don’t tell my agency.”
Eden and I make a simultaneous “pfft” sound. Most people would be infuriated if they saw Kara’s body in comparison to the way she eats, and it’s probably because they assume models like her are all severely anorexic.
I can confirm, Kara Carr eats like she has a bottomless pit for a stomach.
“I think the line of coke you did last night evens it out,” Meredith remarks, appearing in the kitchen from the hallway. She must have finished early at the gym.
Silence rings through the kitchen at her accusation.
I’ve never pretended not to know what goes on at parties full of supermodels. In fact, Kara would probably tell us exactly what happens at them if we were to ask. But Meredith saying it out loud feels like she’s breaking some kind of unspoken rule.
Eden’s eyes go wide. Kara doesn’t flinch, just calmly lowers the heat on the stove like Meredith hadn’t said something nuclear.
“Funny,” she says smoothly, “I was thinking the same thing about the laxatives you keep hidden in the tampon box in your bathroom.”
Eden freezes mid-reach for the cookie tray. I blink, unsure if I actually heard her right.
Meredith’s smirk falters. For a second.
Kara finally looks up. “We all have our vices, right?”
Eden clears her throat and busies herself with plating her cookies. I stare down at the countertop, pretending not to notice the way Meredith slowly backs out of the room. I let her go.
Kara goes back to stirring like nothing happened.
“Pasta’s ready,” she says brightly, as if her happy smile and chipper tone will suddenly blanket over the conversation that just happened.
Honestly, I would love it if we let it, which is the only reason I rise from my seat, round the counter, and begin scooping myself a bowl of pasta. Eden easily follows, though her expression is still on the shell-shocked side.
A majority of the time, I’m not really sure how to handle these situations. Not because I’m uncomfortable, but because I’m still adjusting to the dynamic of living in an apartment with three of my friends.
The rest of them lived together last year while I was gone, so I would assume they have already built some type of conflict resolution skills.
“Well, I doubt Mer is eating,” Kara says, placing the lid over the pot once we all have all served our food. “But I’ll go find out.”
Eden and I make eye contact, silently asking each other if that’s really the best idea. But we both stay quiet as Kara walks out of the kitchen, knocks on Meredith’s door, and lets herself inside.
“Am I hallucinating?” Eden looks toward me.
She never fights with any of us, so this is completely out of her realm.
“If you are, then so am I.”
We each take a seat at the island, but I think we’re both too afraid to take a bite, as if we’re waiting for some kind of fight to break out.
Both of us have our ears partially turned toward the door, trying to hear if either of them are saying anything. When the two of them exit Meredith’s room, everyone goes back to acting like nothing happened.