Chapter Six
A t seven in the morning, my alarm clock buzzed like an annoying bee in my ear, yelling at me to get my ass up. It was time, the dreadful move-in day to hell. I’d packed, unpacked, and repacked my remaining crap in my Louis Vuitton suitcase all weekend. I tried to avoid the inevitability of going to college all summer, but the days crept up faster than the imaginary monster under my bed.
Jeremy texted me good luck, but not a peep came from Nickie, and, honestly, it was for the best. I would deal with our argument another time when I had a clearer head.
My mother had a car sent to the apartment around seven-thirty. The rest of my belongings were already in the dorm room I would be sharing with Heather Price. A freshman like myself, her hometown was nothing compared to my city life. Originally from Florida, her favorite color was purple, and she loved The Beatles. Her go-to snack was pretzels dipped in peanut butter, and she loved hiking on the weekends. We had nothing in common with my love of the color black, obsession with underground rock bands, and would rather get dragged by my hair by a tractor than go hiking. I knew all this because they sent a little index card about my roommate. It also explained why I had to fill one out months prior with facts about myself.
It bored me to tears.
I despised talking about myself.
Kissing my dog Tito goodbye on his head, I made my way to the outside world; the smell of fresh-baked bread and outdoor flower shops made me feel all warm inside on this miserable day. In the backseat of the black SUV, my mother and father had me sit in between them as the driver finished loading my belongings in the back. The anxiety of just sitting with my parents made me feel like I was drowning. Sometimes, family wasn’t always good to be around. Not that they didn’t love me enough, but the overbearing feeling of it all made me want to wither away to nothing just to get out of there.
The urge to reach into the trunk for my flask to calm my nerves resulted in picking at the leather on the seat with my fingernails just to relax.
Traffic in New York City, no matter what time of day, was always a fun time. Green could mean go, but if you had to take that right turn and the crosswalk was lit up for pedestrians to cross, then you better brace yourself for a lot of honking at your rear and hoping you could cut through the crowd without killing anyone.
Why would anyone want a car or license while living here baffled me. I learned about the subway system at twelve and never looked back.
The driver effortlessly weaved his way in and out of traffic as if he were playing a round of Mario Kart. A strong indicator that he was a native of the city.
My mother patted my knee, a failed attempt to make me more comfortable about this new transition in life. “I hope you enjoy yourself, Remi.” The undertone of disgust about my Grams’ secretive ploy was not lost on me.
“I’m still in the city, Mom,” I mumbled.
“Yes, and could you at least make new friends? Preferably normal ones,” she sniped.
“Jeremy is normal.”
“You know what I mean.”
I knew who she meant.
She began to text on her phone. “Maybe a club or two would do you some good.”
I wanted to puke all over her Gucci heels.
“Just promise us you’ll try to stay a few weekends?” requested Dad. Fixing the buttons on his freshly tailored suit, he extended his arm to uncover a silver Rolex watch, gifted from my mother last Christmas.
Checking the time, he gave me a quick smile. “I know you’ll do great.”
For once, my returning smile was genuine.
“And don’t forget that family weekend is in two weeks. I can’t wait to meet your new friends,” my mom reminded me. Her eyes were just as much a warning as her tone.
It took every ounce of strength not to tell her to fuck off.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I remained silent for the rest of the way there. I didn’t have enough energy to argue with my parents, and it would end up nowhere regardless of how hard I pressed them to leave me alone about certain things. Thankfully, the traffic getting into the school was a mess, and I convinced my parents to let the driver drop me off at 113th Street inside the campus compound. The view ahead was of a beautiful, old stone church, like a cookie cutout of a fairy tale story and dropped by a helicopter at Columbia University.
After a few hugs and kisses goodbye, I dragged my luggage down Amsterdam Avenue to the college walkway. The streets were flooded with incoming and returning students for the fall semester. I pulled out my campus map from the back pocket of my jean shorts and followed the path that led to my dorm building. Hopefully, I could avoid human interaction until then. I knew my roommate Heather Price would be bouncing off the walls with excitement to see me, especially since she sent me a text the night before, gushing over our first meeting today.
Note to self, never fill out an about me card again, or be subject to the roommate’s annoyance forever.
The late summer heat trickled into September and appeared on my neck, and I was grateful I stuck with a white tank top and jean shorts so I wouldn’t arrive with sweat-stained patches all over my body. As I made my way through the crowd, trying not to step on anyone’s feet even though there were a couple of moments I wanted to elbow a few girls in the head who wouldn’t move out of my way, I made it through a joyous crowd of teenagers. While I walked by unnoticed, I passed the “adult section,” where juniors and seniors nonchalantly hung out around tables that displayed their clubs and whatnot. At one point, a group of guys—just by the look of their clothes and cocky attitude, my assumption was a fraternity crew—whistled at me, but my quick hand gesture shut them up before any of them opened their obnoxious mouths.
I didn’t have time for frat boys who bought trucks bigger than their—
“Come to our open house tonight!” A tall blonde shoved a vibrant pink flier in my face. I declined, shooing her away like an annoying housefly, and continued on my merry way.
“You’ll regret it!” she shouted back at me.
I gave a dirty look over my shoulder. “Fuck off.” The sound of her gasp had me snickering. Good. Leave me the hell alone.
Entering 116th Street, I realized with complete horror that I stood directly in sight of a group of girls sitting at a table for their sorority Kappa Alpha Theta. I almost gagged when they called me over. They waved me down like fans at a boy band concert, and I never wanted to run the other way so badly in my life.
“Hi! Here’s a flier for our mixer! We would love for you to come by this weekend and check it out and see if the Kappa Alpha Theta sisters are a good fit for you!” said a pretty brunette.
“Thanks,” I muttered. I was retreating before they harassed me any longer. Completely out of view from their table, I found the nearest dumpster, crumbled up the flier, and tossed it.
This was a total nightmare.
Finally, after some unnecessary detours, I made it to the famous college path, with my dorm building just a few feet up ahead.
Carman Hall. It had a charming feel to it, and I almost— almost —saw myself enjoying living there.
In front of my dorm building were two young girls with dark hair. One was shorter than the other, but they smiled at me as if I were their favorite person.
Shit, this might be another sorority group.
“Hi, I’m Georgia! Can I have your name to sign in?” she asked pleasantly.
I was relieved she didn’t coax me into joining her all-girl cult group.
“Remi Watson.”
The short girl skimmed down a list on her clipboard, then checked something off with her pencil. The other girl reached behind to look inside a box of files, separated in alphabetical order, I assumed, where she pulled out a thick packet with my name on the front.
“Here, we have your brochures of all the local restaurants and shops, the key to your dorm room, campus map, and I.D. to scan in and out of the buildings on campus. Your class schedule for this semester and the menu for September for our dining hall are in there too. After that, the menu will be online on the campus website. We’re your RAs. I’m Sam, and this is Georgia. We’re both located on the second floor of Carman Hall. I’m in room 204, and Georgia is in room 230. If you have any questions—”
“Oh! Your dorm number and floor are on the back of your I.D.,” interrupted Georgia.
“Girl, I was getting to that.” Sam laughed.
“Sorry,” she apologized sheepishly.
“Thanks,” I said with a forced smile. At least they didn’t offer to escort me to my room.
“Enjoy your first day!” they said in unison. Their cheeriness made me cringe as I walked to Carman Hall.
I dug aggressively inside the folder, trying to find the stupid key, only to discover it at the bottom. Closing the packet back up and trying to juggle my suitcase simultaneously, my head slammed into something hard, causing a dizzy spell. Whoever I crashed into grabbed me by the waist just in time before I fell backward down the stairs, my suitcase hitting a few steps on the way down.
“Oh, shit! Are you all right?” he asked.
Stars clouded my vision as I tried to get my balance in order. Solid hands gripped my waist, pulling me back to avoid the treacherous tumble down the stairs.
“Yeah, I think.” Man, that hurt like hell.
“Wait, Remi?”
He let me sit down as the spots started to vanish, and there, right before my face, was Josh, the lead singer of Gods Sacrifice and Nickie’s beau.
“Josh?” This was so fucking annoying bumping into him all the time.
“Yeah! Hey, I forgot she told me you were coming here! Welcome!” He laughed. Josh took it upon himself to retrieve my runaway suitcase and placed it right by my side, then grabbed a water bottle from one of the side pouches on his backpack and handed it to me. “Sorry again.”
His curly brown hair was tousled in a way male models only wished to achieve. Clinging to his skin was a white T-shirt above khaki shorts. Josh stood with confidence, all six feet of him or more.
That was when I spotted the little hoop earring in his left ear. It screamed rock and roll for his aesthetic when he played with his band.
And it was kind of hot.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t paying attention.” Taking a seat on one of the stone steps, I sipped the water he offered me; at least he was friendly.
“You do that a lot?” he asked.
“What, exactly?”
“Not pay attention.”
I snorted a hearty laugh as Josh joined me. “I guess lately I’ve been distracted.”
“If you ever need a place to unwind, there’s a little nook on the library’s third floor you can chill in,” Josh offered.
I nodded, giving him a solid thumbs up. “Thanks.”
“I’m guessing this is your dorm hall?” Josh pointed to the building behind us.
“You guessed right.” My head was pounding. Thank God I had a big bottle of pain relievers in my bag.
His smile was bright and inviting as he joined me on the steps. “What’s your major?”
“Uh… Business Management.”
His knee brushed mine. “Oh, nice. Mine is Music.”
I snickered. “I should’ve known.”
Josh bumped his shoulder against mine. “I know, I’m that predictable.”
“No, I think it’s great that you’re applying it to your studies.” And I was impressed.
“Glad to see you recovered,” he commented, ignoring my compliment. His blue eyes traveled down to the large bruise on my arm. Josh gave the impression he cared more about my injuries than the small talk.
My instant reaction was to touch the bruise, but I refrained, the grotesque creature lurking at the back of my mind. “Yes. I’m surprised you remembered.”
“Hard to forget when you came in white as a ghost.”
I swallowed. “I looked that bad?”
“What scared you, Rem?”
My heart skipped a bit at my nickname. Nobody called me that but my closest friends. I wondered if Nickie had used it in front of him.
Josh waited for my response, his hands placed on his knees, a perturbed expression contorting his angelic face. Even in daylight, he was a breathless sight to see.
I need to stop analyzing everything about him . For fuck’s sake, he’s with my best friend.
He sat there patiently, his eyes never leaving mine. It became unnerving, and I had to look away.
“I’m the last person to judge,” he added.
But would he believe me? Hard to tell, especially with him; a mere acquaintance no matter the status he held with my best friend.
Shrugging, I conjured up a party girl response, because not even a pretty boy like him could get me to admit the wild imagination my mind seemed to run with. “I got too drunk and felt too high from making out with your bandmate.”
Josh slung his backpack over his shoulder, shaking his head with laughter. “Ah, yes, the infamous Kal.”
“How did you—” Nickie .
Josh registered rather quickly that I figured out who spilled the tea. “I didn’t mean…”
I waved his attempted apology away. “No, it’s fine.” She just had a big-ass mouth, that’s all. “I should probably get myself settled.” Josh helped me to my feet. His hand supported under my arm, and his calloused fingers brushed against my too-hot skin. I wanted to melt in a puddle where I stood.
What the is wrong with me?
“I’ll see you around campus. I gotta help some freshmen out.”
“Yeah, uh, thanks again.” I shook the water bottle at him.
“No worries. Sorry I almost killed you,” Josh joked before waving goodbye. I watched him walk across campus to the other dorms, staring at his back, trying to understand his weird behavior toward my well-being.
Nickie never mentioned Josh attended the same school. I mean, she could have, but that night we were too busy screaming at one another to even get that far about him, or anything for that matter.
I let the dizziness subside before I got back on track to my dorm room. At least nobody had to call 9-1-1 for an ambulance on my first day. That would’ve been embarrassing, but it wasn’t the first time. During my freshman year of high school, I tripped, fell down two flights of stairs, and broke my right leg because some kids wanted to be first in line for lunch.
After six months in recovery, I made it known I would hunt them down and kick them both in the balls. They never came near me again.
The doors to Carman Hall were a little tough to open, or I just lacked upper-body strength, but after another good tug, I finally managed to make my way inside. Blue carpeted floors greeted me, with a big, round, red table surrounded by matching chairs to the left side of the room. A live ivy plant scaling the wall between the staircase had me thinking what a peculiar idea to have a plant growing inside. I’d been so used to concrete walls and the smell of gasoline outside my window that a plant would be the last thing I would expect in a place like this.
At the front desk inside the hall, a guy with curly dark hair, big square glasses, and stubble on his chin held up a scanner to students’ IDs to access the building. Each one thanked him before they ascended the staircase to the second floor. I followed suit and let him scan mine, offering the same monotone thank you in return, then joined the train ride of students until I broke free to find my room.
The hallways were semi-narrow, and nothing pissed me off more than a crowd of girls trying to walk side by side, forcing me to push up against the wall to pass them while they laughed and flipped their overly sprayed hair.
My biggest fear was not finding my room, but lo and behold, in gold, elegant font, number 201 was nailed to the door, which stood ajar. Inside, Heather Price and some older lady were fixing a flowery bedspread on a twin-size mattress. Her long, curly red hair hung down her back like a curtain, with her slender figure all of five feet. Any shorter, and I’d have been convinced she was an elf.
She noticed me under the threshold and jumped for joy like a kid in a candy store. “Remi! You’re finally here!”
I forced a half-smile. “Surprise.”
The older woman peeked around Heather’s frame. “Hello, Remi. I’m Heather’s mom, Cindy.”
I should’ve known since she boasted a striking resemblance to her daughter, with the same vibrant red hair, diminutive height, and arresting green eyes.
“Hi.”
Our room was set up exactly like the pictures from the website—a crappy twin mattress on either side with a matching light brown closet and desk. At least our things covered most of the underwhelming furniture with matching colors and patterns, but it didn’t soften the dread of being there.
I placed my suitcase on my bed, grateful for once for my mother having someone set up my room already and unzipped it to reveal my neatly folded clothes.
Heather’s side of the room looked like a four-year-old threw up candy and sparkles, with a dash of country bumpkin on the side. Posters of country singers and mediocre art on canvases that probably came from a local decor shop adorned the walls, with splashes of blues and purples on her comforter and matching pillows and curtains that she was in the process of putting up. My side of the room was so modern-looking that I never wanted to set something on fire so fast. Of course, this was indeed my fault; since joking with my mother about wanting goth-style decor, she had a fit and took it upon herself to pick my color scheme. I guessed my sarcasm fell flat on that one.
I watched the interaction between Heather and her mother trying to set up the curtains, and it made me a bit envious of their relationship compared to the stiff one I shared with my mother. There had been a brief time in my childhood when she was warm and gentle, but as I got older, she became busier with our family business, becoming one of the most well-known real estate agencies in the city.
“Remi, are you going to the freshman mixer tonight?” Heather asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I would rather stab my eyes with a cafeteria fork than expose myself to that cliche shit. “Uh, I don’t know.”
“You gotta! It’s supposed to be fun!” she bragged. Heather made her way over to her closet and began to organize her winter jackets. I peeked at her shoes and gave her a mental thumbs-up for having an impressive collection.
“I think it would be good for you girls,” added Cindy while she condensed the rest of the brown moving boxes.
Poor Cindy had no idea how much I hated stuff like mixers and lame social parties, and all she wanted was for her daughter to attend one with her new roommate like we were old friends.
I sighed. “What time is it?”
Heather smiled. “It’s at seven. "
“I’ll give it an hour, but if it starts to suck, I’m out.”
She held up her hands. “Fair enough.”
Cindy ended up saying goodbye early; she had dinner reservations with her aunt in the city and wanted to explore more of Manhattan before her flight back to Florida. Heather gave her mom three more hugs goodbye, wiping the snot-like tears from her face, and joined me on the bed.
I couldn’t remember the last time my mother gave me a genuine hug.
“The mixer said casual, but my mother kind of overdid herself with buying fancy clothes for my wardrobe,” she said.
“How about your birthday suit?” I joked.
Heather laughed as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “I mean… would that be too much?”
“Too much? Or not enough?”
“Oh, you’re right. I’ll show the world all my goodies.”
“Just the freshmen of Columbia.”