by Dahlia Adler
The place is completely full of shit. Cait, Connor, Mase, and Sam all live in dorms, so whatever’s not coming with them now—bedding, winter clothes, and unspeakable amounts of assorted crap—is lying all over our apartment. But I like the mess, if I’m being honest. It feels like a promise that we’ll all be back. That we’ll return the same found family unit we’ve been working our way into from the day Cait, Lizzie, and I were placed together through the six months and counting Samara’s been putting up with me.
I mentally tick off everything important I might be forgetting. As many art supplies as I could cram into the car Lizzie’s graciously lending me for the trip? Check. Socks, because for some reason, Lizzie and Connor insist we must hit a certain bowling alley on our caravan’s way down to Pomona? Check. Ample amounts of sunscreen for lying around on various beaches on the way south, mostly to give me an excuse to rub my hands all over Samara’s bikini body? Definite check.
The caravan was Lizzie’s idea—one epic journey to say goodbye as we split for the summer. It’s a five-hour drive from Radleigh down to her house in Pomona, where we’ll be dropping her and Connor off to stay with her brothers for the summer, and the two of them have somehow managed to find a billion things for us to do along the way. Then the remaining four of us will continue on to Philly so “Claw” can spend a little time with Mase’s mom and brother before Cait starts her summer job at a bank.
And then, finally, it’ll just be me and Samara, ambling down toward South Carolina, toward Meridian, toward what she may be calling home for the last time.
I’ve told her a million times she doesn’t have to tell them anything she’s not ready for, but she says if we can survive driving all the way from Upstate New York to South Carolina together, then I’m clearly someone her family and friends need to know about. So that’s our new deal: we make it down there, we make it everywhere.
I feel pretty damn good about our chances.
As if she can tell I’m thinking about her, she calls me right then, “S&M” muffled by my denim pocket. I pull out my phone and allow myself to appreciate the picture of her lighting up my screen—the way her eyes are sparkling and her skin is glowing and her smile is teasing and all of it is because I’m the one behind the camera, taking her (secretly post-coital) picture.
Hell, I feel pretty fucking good about everything.
“Hey, you.”
“Frankie, you’ve got to get out here. Lizzie’s trying to get me to send you topless photos to lure you out.”
“So if I stay here, I get boob shots?”
Sam sighs. “Trust me, Cait and Connor are practically fistfighting over which one gets to explain to her how incentives actually work.”
“I’ll be out in a minute, I swear.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, just being a sap. I’m appreciating that this will be the last summer break that isn’t followed by everything in the world changing.”
“Maybe everything in the world won’t change after graduation either,” says Sam. “Mase graduated, and he’s still coming back for another year.”
“Yeah, but for a master’s and to keep coaching. We already know neither of us has grad school plans right now, and Cait will work at a bank or something for a few years before business school, and Lizzie’s gonna move back and get custody of her brothers for good, and Connor’s done here after one more year, and—”
“Oh my God, Frankie, breathe.” Her gentle laughter floats through the phone line. “I’ve never heard you get so nostalgic.”
“Me neither,” I admit. “There’s a lot to miss about this place, I guess.”
“Well, you don’t have to start missing it for a long time, so why don’t you get that sexy ass out here and actually hang out with us?”
She has a point. “Fine, but I’m instituting a rest stop-makeout rule.”
“Deal.”
Finally, the nervous tingles that’ve been coursing through my body all day are replaced by ones of anticipation. “Okay, I’m coming.”
“Not yet, you’re not,” she drawls, “but I bet we can fix that somewhere around Binghamton.”
Have I mentioned I fucking love this girl?
I head outside and the others make exaggerated “Finally!” proclamations while I flip them off, gliding straight over to Samara for a kiss.
“I had a feeling she’d be able to lure you out,” Cait says with a wink.
“So confident in yourself now that you’re a two-time national champion.” I stick my tongue out at her. “You’re not the boss of me, Captain Johannssen.”
She just beams smugly in response, while Mase drops a kiss into her hair. Her new title has totally gone to her head, and the rest of us couldn’t be prouder.
“Enough, children!” Lizzie claps her hands. “We’re already running behind schedule. Get in your cars!”
“So, she’s always this bossy, huh?” Mase murmurs to Connor.
“Yes, yes she is,” Connor replies under his breath, as if we don’t all know he’s completely turned-on by it.
But none of us want to face Lizzie’s wrath, so we get in our cars like the relatively well-behaved students we are.
And off we go.
Thank you so much for reading Out on Good Behavior; I hope you enjoyed! Please consider reviewing it on Goodreads, Amazon, BN.com, or anywhere else you like; I would really appreciate it! If this is your first book in the Radleigh University series, you can still go back and read the first two! (Or, if it’s more f/f Romance you’re looking for, check out Under the Lights!)
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Finishing a series is a bittersweet thing. When the last four words of this book came to me as I was walking down the street, I’m not ashamed to admit I teared up. The Radleigh University books are, by definition, Romances, but for me—and I’d venture to say for most readers—the friendship between Lizzie, Cait, and Frankie is the heart of the series, and I will miss these girls unspeakable amounts. First and foremost, my deepest thanks to anyone reading this, for sharing them with me, for caring about the Radleigh girls (almost) as much as I do.
Of course, nothing inspires fictional friendship like the friends who get you through the day in the real world. To that end, my deepest love and gratitude to:
Lindsay Smith, who whips my butt into shape, champions everything I do, and picks me back up when I don’t do it all that well; Katie Locke, who…I feel like I should just text this all to you instead, as we generally realize about most things; Marieke Nijkamp, who somehow holds my hand through so many things from across an ocean, and Maggie Hall, who does it from across a continent; Sara Taylor Woods and Rick Lipman, who complete the rainbow tribe of my heart; Gina Ciocca, who will always be my bookish fam, and whose real-life fam has welcomed me with such open arms; my West Coast Bae, Candice Montgomery, whom I love despite being so superhumanly talented and helpful, she makes me feel bad about my everything; Patricia Riley, who will forever be my editor in life in one way or another; Ashley Herring Blake, who I’ll be quiet about now because I won’t shut up about her in 2017; Becky Albertalli, who probably carries more kindness in her pinky than most people give in a lifetime; my sister-mods, Jess, Sharon, Kelly, and Tess, who are the most wonderful little family in the world; and all the gif-bearing darlings of my Twittering heart—you know who you are.
To the women of NA Hideaway, I don’t know WTF I would do without you. Thank you for being brilliant, for sharing your wisdom, for endless support, for the most ridiculous laughs, and for hugs both virtual and otherwise as needed.
Thank you to those who made this particular book shine—to Ashley, Cam, Patricia, Chelsea, and Jenn for your wonderful beta notes; Katie, for your early edits; Sarah, my copyediting queen; Cait, for magically making my books look like books (and being so excited for this one); and Maggie, who crea
tes such perfect covers I wish I could wallpaper my entire world in them. Many thanks, too, to Louisse Ang, Charliene Paule, and Karla from Reads and Thoughts, for your much-appreciated assistance in this book’s Filipino menu planning!
Thank you so much to the incredible, selfless readers, bloggers, and authors who’ve supported my books all along the way. I’m so blessed to be surrounded by people who love books as much as I do, and who squeeze mine into their massive TBRs, and who are just wonderful besides, including but in no way limited to Christina, Debby, Natasha, Chasia, Sil, Ashley, Marie, Jim, Shelly, Anna, Emilie, Serena, Jessica, Bekka, Angie, Shira, Alexandra, Lauren, and, of course, Dahl’s Den of Iniquity.
To all my friends and family who quietly support me, who step outside their comfort zones to read my words—thank you. I love you. Let’s never speak of this again.
And to Yoni, with love and gratitude and my whole heart, always.
Dahlia Adler is an Associate Editor of Mathematics by day, a blogger for the B&N Teen Blog and LGBTQ Reads by night, and writes Contemporary YA and NA at every spare moment in between. She’s the author of the Daylight Falls series, Just Visiting, and the Radleigh University series, and she lives in New York City with her husband and their overstuffed bookshelves. If you give her a macaron, she just might fall in love with you.
More often than not, you can find her on Twitter as @MissDahlELama, and on her blog, the Daily Dahlia.
Turn the page to see how it all began in Book #1 of the Radleigh University series,
Supposedly no one even answered the door when they first started knocking. No one could hear it over the music blasting from the speakers, the Sigma Psi Omegas chanting around keg stands, and Jessica Fiorello singing loudly along with some song no one else seemed to hear. (She got admitted to the hospital that night for alcohol poisoning, but nobody really talks about that. It kinda got lost in what came next. Lucky me.)
I didn’t hear the knocking either. The tightly closed door of Trevor Matlin’s room made sure of that. Even if it hadn’t, Trevor’s moaning in my ear as he begged me to get down on my knees probably would’ve drowned it out. He’s never been very quiet. Kinda makes me wonder how we got away with it for so long.
The knocking was impossible to miss when it sounded on Trevor’s door, though. And once Trev and I were silenced by it, it was almost as easy to hear Sophie Springer yelling, “Why the hell would you think she’s in there? That’s my boyfriend’s room.”
“Shit,” Trevor mutters, yanking his pants back up as I straighten myself out. “Who the hell is that?”
“Well I obviously don’t know,” I whisper back, snatching my black-framed glasses from his nightstand and sliding them on. “Am I zipped?” I show him the back of my sleeveless top, then check my fly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me?”
“Yeah. Wait, no, your buttons are off.”
“Trevor Matlin? Are you in there?”
“Who wants to know?” he calls back as we both scramble to fix his shirt.
“This is the Radleigh Police Department. We’re looking for Elizabeth Brandt. We have reason to believe she may be with you.”
Trevor and I both freeze, eyes widening in a panic. “Why the fuck are the cops after you?” he whispers fiercely.
“I have no idea! Just tell them I’m not here.”
“I can’t lie to the cops!”
“Your girlfriend is standing right outside that door,” I remind him. I have no love for Sophie Springer—not since she “accidentally” spilled her beer on me last year when she spotted me talking to Trevor for the first time—but that doesn’t mean I want her seeing me with her boyfriend, in the flesh.
As if on cue, Sophie yells, “That slut better not be in there, Trevor Matlin!”
“Ma’am, please,” I hear an officer say, his voice muffled. I wonder how many of them there are. What the hell are the police doing after me? I wouldn’t say I’m a model citizen, but they just walked through an entire house of underage drinkers, so…. Then the same officer says, “Mr. Matlin, I’m not going to ask again. Open this door.”
Trev and I exchange one more quick glance and then I dash under the bed, squeezing in as much of my body as possible. I’m not tiny, but sadly, this isn’t my first time in a similar predicament, though this is the first time the cops are involved. I’ve learned how to get decent coverage under Trevor’s full-size mattress.
I pull the blanket down enough to cover me but still allow me to see feet, just as Trevor pulls open the door. “Sorry about that,” Trevor says with the same charismatic smoothness that allows him to be president of Sigma Psi Omega, date the campus princess, and bang a random nobody on the side. “How can I help you, officers?”
“We’re looking for Elizabeth Brandt,” one of them replies. I count shoes. Six, including Trev’s. They’re all men’s, but I know Sophie’s lurking there somewhere. I can feel her silent fuming. “Her roommate said she was probably here with you.”
Fucking Cait.
“Sorry, officer—I don’t even know who that is, or why her roommate thinks she’d be here.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them,” Sophie says, her voice steel-edged.
“Are you certain about that, son?” the other officer asks. “It’s very important we speak with her.”
“Very certain,” Trevor says. Hell, I’d believe him with that confidence in his voice, if I didn’t know way, way better. “I’m sorry I can’t help you gentlemen. Whatever this girl did, I hope you catch her.”
“She didn’t do anything, Mr. Matlin. There’s been a family emergency. If you find—”
I whoosh out from under the bed like a tidal wave; I’ll deal with Sophie later. “What family emergency?” I demand, getting to my feet on wobbly legs. “What happened?”
The officers don’t even look amused at the fact that they’ve caught perfect Trevor Matlin cheating on perfect Sophie Springer, and that’s when I know this is really, really bad. My brain starts to go fuzzy and my hands clam up, my heart turning over in my chest. Sophie’s screeching at Trevor somewhere in the room, but it’s barely penetrating my consciousness.
“Elizabeth Brandt?”
“Yeah. Yes, I mean. That’s me. But… Lizzie. It’s Lizzie.” My tongue feels enormous as it struggles to work with my lips and teeth to form words.
“Lizzie.” The lighter-haired officer’s face falls, and I can tell he’s wishing I’d never slid out from under that bed, that he’d never found me at all. “I’m so sorry. There’s been a terrible accident. Your parents…they didn’t make it. I’m so sorry.”
I know the words he’s saying are horrible, life-altering ones, but I can’t seem to assign them any meaning right now. Because he can’t be saying what I think he’s saying. I wonder if it’s his first time delivering news like this. It certainly sounds like it is. The double apology—that’s the giveaway. He’s new at this, new to the force. Looks it, too, all young and covered in shaving nicks.
“Lizzie?” I’m not even sure who says my name. It might be one of the officers. It might be Trevor. Hell, it might even be Sophie. I’m so far away, I swear it could be fucking Santa Claus. I shouldn’t have had those stupid Jell-O shots. They’re just confusing everything right now.
“Lizzie?”
“Miss Brandt?”
I blink. I’m not sure why it’s “Miss Brandt” that does it, but it is. “I’m sorry, did you just say that my parents are dead?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m so sorry.”
“You apologize a lot.”
“I’m sorry.”
I smile, just a little, and it briefly occurs to me I must look deranged. I feel deranged. “You’re still doing it.”
“Miss Brandt—”
“Please don’t call me that.” I hold up a hand. “My parents are dead. Yes? That’s what’s happening here? That’s actually what you meant to say?”
“Yes.”
It feels like I’ve swallowed a blade and it is s
lowly but surely shredding my insides with every word. “My parents were in an accident, and they were alive, and now they’re dead. My parents, like, the people who raised me. Edward and Manuella Brandt. Tall lawyer guy with a mustache? Filipina high school history teacher? Those parents?”
“Miss Brandt—”
“It’s Lizzie.”
“Lizzie, then. Do you have a counselor on campus? Someone you can speak to? A family member we can reach out to?”
It’s like having salt rubbed in an open wound the size of my entire chest cavity. “Didn’t you just tell me my parents are dead? Who the fuck in my family would I want to reach out to if my parents are dead?”
Blondie wants to melt into the floor; I can see it. I should feel bad, I know, but also, apparently my parents are dead, and I don’t give a fuck how he feels.
“We’ve spoken to your grandmother—”
“Fantastic. She won’t remember in the morning.”
“And your aunt—”
“Well, I’m sure that stopped her drinking for a whole thirty seconds.”
Dark Hair sighs again. They really should’ve introduced themselves. If you’re going to tell an eighteen-year-old college sophomore that her parents are dead, don’t you think you should at least open with an “I’m Officer So-and-so” first? “Yes, we gathered that the rest of your family is… not in a position to assist you with this news. Is there anyone else?”
And then it hits me like an actual punch to the gut. Of course there’s someone else. There are two someone elses. “My brothers,” I whisper. “Where are my brothers? Who’s with my brothers?”
“Your brothers are being taken care of,” Blondie assures me, confident again now that he actually has something to offer other than my name and an apology. “Your neighbor has them right now. We’re working on other arrangements.”
“But… permanently. Who… what….” I don’t even know what I should be asking. This is an insane amount to process for someone who isn’t half-drunk and wasn’t interrupted mid-sex haze, let alone me, right now. “I need to sit.”