Chapter 48
Bree
“Are you shopping for anything particular?” I asked Savannah, my voice scratchy from sleep as I watched her from my bed.
She sat at her desk with the precision of someone who had done this routine a thousand
times before, leaning close to her mirror as she swept a line of black liquid across her eyelid.
Her wrist moved with such steady confidence that it looked like art more than makeup. I
hadn’t even managed to convince my legs to swing out from under the covers yet, but she
was already putting on a flawless show of being awake, alive, and perfectly put together.
My first night in Walton Tower had been… a lot. Too much, really. Every creak of the building,
every shuffle of feet in the hallway, every muffled laugh carried under the door had reminded
me that I wasn’t at home anymore. I wasn’t even at camp anymore, where I had grown so
used to falling asleep to the sound of cicadas and the comfort of knowing Rachel was close.
Here everything was sharp, new, unknown.
The texts hadn’t helped either. Caleb, Miguel, and Kenneth had all been blowing up my phone,
asking to see me, to catch up, to hear everything about college so far. I had stared at their
names lighting up my screen, guilt squeezing me tight, but my thumbs never moved to reply.
Because if Gage was with them–and he usually was–I couldn’t face it. Not yet.
But at least Riley had made things easier. She was so… effortless. Last night, after we had
settled in with greasy cartons of takeout, she’d tossed her cap on backward and asked if
anyone wanted to take a walk, to check out the campus. I’d agreed before my brain could
come up with excuses, and I was glad I did. She had a way of making me laugh, of pulling me
outside of my own head for a while. We walked past the towering red–brick buildings, she
pointing out places she’d read about in the campus guide, me soaking it in with wide–eyed
wonder.
She had told me about her high school soccer team, about training sessions and old
victories, and how she wanted to study sports medicine. Her voice was alive when she spoke
about it, her steps quick and sure. I admitted that I’d gotten into working out during camp,
that maybe I even enjoyed it. She grinned like she’d caught me in a confession and
immediately offered to be my workout buddy. By the time we got back, we’d already
scheduled gym sessions for Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday mornings. Just like that,
someone was in my corner.
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“I’m not sure yet,” Savannah finally answered, her voice smooth, her eyes steady on the
reflection of her winged eyeliner. She dragged the line out with effortless symmetry, making both sides perfectly identical, like she had been born knowing how to do it. “I think I’m just going to browse around, see if anything catches my interest.”
I nodded, but didn’t push further. She didn’t seem like the type who wanted morning chatter,
so I let the quiet settle and forced myself out of bed. My limbs were heavy, my brain even
heavier, but I pulled clothes from my suitcase anyway and shuffled into the bathroom. I
counted myself lucky no one else was in there.
When I came back, Savannah had moved on to curling her hair. Her long dark strands
gleamed under the light, tumbling into perfect, glossy waves as if she’d stepped straight out
of a magazine ad. I, meanwhile, perched on the edge of my bed with my modest little tube of
mascara and brow pencil. My mom and I had bought them right before I left.
Savannah suddenly appeared beside me, startling me so much I almost dropped the pencil. She was holding something that looked like a miniature pair of scissors, shiny metal with
strange curves.
“You need to curl your lashes for the full effect,” she said casually, like she was pointing out the weather. “And maybe use a lighter mascara. Yours looks heavy, and your lashes don’t
hold much curl on their own.”
I blinked down at the contraption in her hand. “Uhm… what?”
She let out a sharp sigh, like I had asked the most ridiculous question in the world, before
retreating to her desk. She dug through the cavern of her toiletry bag and pulled out a handful
of sleek tubes and powders, each one pristine and intimidating.
“You should also use concealer, maybe some powder,” she said, tapping her cheek with one
manicured finger. “Your eyes look a little dark. Could just be tiredness, or maybe it’s your natural undertone. But concealer will brighten everything, make your eyes pop more. Especially with glasses.”
I stared blankly, nodding like I understood while my stomach twisted with embarrassment.
Tentatively, I picked up one of the tubes. Rolling it open, I revealed a nude–colored stick.
Lipstick, I thought with relief, finally something I recognized. I lifted it toward my mouth.
I
“What are you doing?!” Savannah nearly shrieked, darting over to snatch it from me. “This is concealer, not lipstick. Oh my God, what is wrong with you?”
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Heat scorched my face. “I–I…” I stammered, my words tripping over each other as I twisted my fingers in my lap.
Her eyes widened in dawning horror. “You really have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
The shame was unbearable. I dropped my gaze, wishing I could sink through the floor. “I just … I only started using this kind of stuff recently. I don’t know much about it.”
Savannah’s sigh was heavy but not cruel this time. She pulled her chair around so we sat face to face. She held up the tube between us like a teacher with a stubborn student.
“Okay, listen,” she said, her tone softening just a fraction. “This is concealer. It hides
under–eye circles, blemishes, uneven spots. Think of it as a magic eraser.”
And just like that, she started showing me. One by one, she explained the items I’d been too intimidated to touch, demonstrating on the back of her hand, then guiding me to try. The
more she talked, the less scary it all seemed. When she offered to take me into the city
someday to buy shades that actually matched my skin, I felt my shoulders ease.
Another friend, I realized, warmth blooming faintly in my chest. First Riley, now Savannah.
Maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as alone here as I thought.
**
I came out of the introduction to the creative writing class with a bounce in my step,
clutching the syllabus against my chest like it was a lifeline. For once, I felt like I’d made a good decision. I’d signed up for it mostly to pad my résumé, to give myself one more little tool in my box for when I became a teacher, but sitting through the lecture had stirred
something in me. The professor had spoken about words like they were living things, about
how every student had a unique voice worth uncovering. I walked out of there feeling like maybe I could do this, maybe I could take all the brokenness in me and make something out
of it.
Still, my brain was already moving ahead. I had to check out the introduction to Poetry or
Fiction class, see if it was too much to add. Linguistics was waiting on my list, and the Multicultural Literature professor had been practically glowing with passion in his
presentation. Each option tugged at me, tempting me to overload myself, and I knew I couldn’t. I had to be realistic. My class load would be heavy already, majoring in English while slipping in teacher–focused courses on the side.
I was lost in that thought when it happened.
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e Rewards.
I turned a corner too quickly and slammed straight into a wall. Or at least it felt like one. A solid chest, unyielding arms, and before I could topple back onto my ass, big hands clamped down on my upper arms, holding me steady.
“Careful, gorgeous,” came the low, familiar voice that had haunted my every dream since
camp.
My heart skipped violently in my chest. No. Not here. Not now. Not him.
I forced myself to look up, and there they were–green eyes shining down at me, bright as
emeralds, full of warmth I didn’t deserve.
Gage.
“Thank you,” I muttered quickly, my gaze dropping like it weighed a hundred pounds. I prayed to every god I’d ever heard of that he would vanish, that I wouldn’t have to fight this battle
again, that he wouldn’t pull me back into the storm I had barely crawled out of.
“Never thank me,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over my hair. His hands slid down my
arms in a deliberate, intimate glide until they came to rest on my waist. “Or do-” he leaned
closer, his grin curling wickedly, “–but do it with a kiss instead.”
Heat surged into my cheeks, a sharp, humiliating rush that made my mouth part in shock. I
should have pulled away, I should have shoved him back, but his words curled around me like
smoke, choking me with longing.
“How was the class?” he asked lightly, though I could see the storm in his eyes. His thumbs
brushed just above my hips, his grin tugging wider as if he knew exactly how much power he
had over me. “I bet Professor Leon couldn’t compete with you.”
My eyes snapped up to his. “How did you-” I started, then stopped myself, shaking my head
furiously. “You shouldn’t be doing this, Gage.”
“Doing what, gorgeous?” He tilted his head, feigning innocence, though the devilish light
never left his eyes. “Standing in a hallway? I can stand wherever I want. You’re the one who
bumped into me. Not that I’m complaining.”
“Don’t flirt with me,” I begged, my voice breaking, too raw, too desperate.
“I’m not flirting,” he murmured, his grin spreading wider, his hands pressing slightly firmer
against me. “But if you want me to, I’d be more than happy to.”
Before I could breathe another word, Riley’s voice sliced through the air like a knife.
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“She said back off.” She stepped right up next to me, her stance wide, her shoulders squared like she was ready to go to war. She planted herself between me and Gage’s looming frame. without a shred of hesitation. “So f**k off, Goldilocks. You’re not wanted here.”
The shift in Gage’s expression was immediate. His grin faded, his brows furrowed, his jaw tightening as his eyes flicked over Riley. His grip on me didn’t loosen; in fact, his fingers dug just a little harder into the small of my back, like he was making a point.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’m Gage Simmons, Bree’s
boyfriend. And you are?”
My lungs seized. My heart shouldn’t have reacted–shouldn’t have fluttered, shouldn’t have flipped itself upside down at hearing him claim me out loud. But it did. God, it did.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Goldy,” Riley shot back without missing a beat. She hooked an arm around my shoulders, tugging me firmly against her side, like a shield. “You’re not her boyfriend. You’re her stalker. And until she decides she wants you near her, you better stay the f**k away. Or I’ll cut off your ballsack and feed it to your teammates. Got it?”
I sucked in a gasp, torn between shock and the wild urge to laugh at Riley’s sheer audacity.
Before Gage could respond, Riley yanked me away, her steps fast and unyielding. I stumbled, forced to keep up with her pace, my heart pounding so hard it rattled my ribs.
Still, I couldn’t help it. My head twisted back, my eyes dragging over my shoulder.
Gage stood rooted in place, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyes dark and narrowed as he watched us disappear. That look–it was both a promise and a threat.
Some part of me wanted to cry with relief at Riley’s interference. She’d rescued me, shielded me, given me space to breathe. But another part of me… God, another part of me wanted to run back, to hear him call me “his girlfriend” again, to let him hold me until all the broken pieces stopped cutting me from the inside.
But I couldn’t. Not when Jenna was his sister. Not when Oliver had already stolen so much of me. Not when I still carried the humiliation like a second skin.
“Those goddamn jocks are insufferable,” Riley muttered, her jaw tight as we pushed through the exit doors into the sunlight.
A shaky laugh escaped me, and I glanced sideways at her. “Aren’t you a jock yourself?”
Her lips quirked, and she kept her arm looped around me, her warmth steadying me in a way I
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didn’t know I needed. “I might be a jock,” she said with a grin, “but I’m not making girls
uncomfortable, am I?” She winked, cocky and protective all at once.
Despite everything, I smiled back at her, my chest loosening just a fraction. “I’m not
uncomfortable, at least.”
“Fantastic!” Riley threw her head back dramatically, her grin wide. “Because I’m gonna need a shot of caffeine before my next class if I have to hear another lecture about how men are apparently more ‘suited‘ to sports medicine than women.”
Her mock outrage made me laugh for real, the sound bubbling up and breaking free like a
crack of sunlight through a storm.
Emilia M
Learning more and more about those roommates of hers, what do we think?
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