Not that falling in love was my priority, of course. I’d come to Hart to learn, and I wasn’t going to put anything before that. But at my senior prom a few months ago, dancing with a perfectly nice guy I had no romantic feelings for while my friends hung onto their boyfriends with stars in their eyes, I’d felt a little wistful. It would be nice to feel that way about someone—provided you didn’t make a fool of yourself, of course. Love should be a part of life, not your whole life. I’d seen what romantic obsession had done to some of my friends and it wasn’t pretty.
I was fairly confident I would never turn into a blubbering mess over a guy, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want a boyfriend. Someone sexy and brooding and sensitive, someone romantic, someone—
Someone like that.
I’d pictured my dream guy with dark hair and this guy was blond, but other than that, he was exactly what I’d had in mind.
He was cute, but it was more his attitude than his appearance. He was wearing really old jeans and a white T-shirt with something on it I couldn’t read, and he carried a battered guitar case over one shoulder.
It was no effort at all to replace poet with musician in my catalog of perfect guy characteristics.
He’d driven up in an old blue Volkswagen with no parents in sight, which of course made him even cooler. If I were a girl with chutzpah I would’ve sauntered over and asked if he needed any help moving in, but I was chutzpah-free.
I doubted that I would ever have the guts to approach a guy I was interested in. My plan was to look as good as possible in public places and hope that guys approached me. Since I was decent-looking but not spectacular I didn’t expect this strategy to have them lining up outside my door, but I didn’t need a crowd of suitors to feel good about myself.
All I needed was one.
As the beautiful blond boy disappeared into Bracton with his guitar over his shoulder and a cardboard box in his arms, I decided that he was the one.
I’d moved all my stuff into my new room and picked out my future boyfriend. Not bad for my first day.
Speaking of my stuff, I should probably head inside to unpack. Maybe my new roommate had finally—
No.
Oh, no.
A familiar car pulled up in front of the dorm and Sam Payne and his mother got out of it.
Theresa saw me before Sam did.
“Rikki!” she cried out, her face all smiles as she hurried over. “Oh, it’s so lovely to see you. Are you going to be in Bracton, too? How wonderful! I know Sam will—” A ringtone interrupted her, and she pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I’m so sorry, but I have to take this. I’ll be right back,” she added to Sam, who’d come up beside her.
She went to her car to take the call and Sam and I were left alone.
We looked at each other resentfully, like a couple of cats on contested ground.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“What are you doing here?”
“This is my dorm.”
“It’s my dorm, too.”
That seemed to end round one.
“You don’t do music or art or theater,” Sam said after a moment.
“You don’t, either.”
“How do you know I don’t?”
“How do you know I don’t?”
And that took care of round two.
Theresa was still on the phone. If I waited for her to finish, I’d probably have to stand there chatting with them for a while before I could escape.
I frowned at Sam. “Let’s just stay out of each other’s way. All right?”
He shrugged. “Fine by me.”
I waved to Theresa as I hurried into the dorm, following it up with a smile and a thumbs-up that I hoped would convey a general sense of Hey, it was great to see you again, but I have to go to my room and unpack and I hope you have a safe trip home.
Sam Payne was in Bracton. He was in Bracton.
I took a deep breath. It would be okay. There were over two hundred students living here, which was bigger than our entire high school class. We’d still be able to avoid each other; it would just be a little harder now.
My head was so full of Sam that I’d forgotten all about my new roommate. But when I climbed the stairs to the third floor and went down the hall, the door at the end was standing open. I’d left it closed, so I figured my roommate had arrived.
Sure enough, there was a dark-haired girl inside, standing by the windows with her back to me.
I went in with a big smile. “Hi,” I said, and she turned around.
The first thing I noticed was her cigarette. She looked me over, took a drag without breaking eye contact, and blew the smoke out of a corner of her mouth like an actress in a 1930s film noir.
The second thing I noticed was her outfit. She was wearing black leather shorts, a belt with iron studs, and a white tank top with no bra.
“I thought… isn’t this a nonsmoking room?” I asked tentatively.
The girl stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray she’d put on the windowsill. “It is. But I’m not stupid enough to say I’m a smoker on a dorm application. Smokers always get treated like second-class citizens, and anyway, I’m trying to quit. Consider me a future nonsmoker.”
She came forward and stuck out a hand. “I’m Tamsin.”
I shook her hand. “Rikki.”
Her hair was dark by art rather than nature, and her black lipstick and eyeliner enhanced the effect.
“Rikki,” she repeated. “Is that short for something?”
“Fredericka.”
“Fredericka? Wow, that’s a mouthful. Of course Tamsin is short for Thomasina, so it’s not like I can talk.”
I wanted to like her. I really, really did. Along with fantasies about my first college boyfriend, I’d had fantasies about my first college roommate and the friendship we’d forge during our freshman year.
She went back to the bed by the windows, grabbed a pack of cigarettes from her purse, and lit up.
Okay, so maybe I didn’t like her right now. But that was probably because I hated the smell of cigarette smoke so much. Charlotte had smoked until I was five years old and I could still remember lying down in the backseat of the car with my shirt pulled up over my head, trying to breathe in only the smell of clothing and not the stench of tobacco.
Tamsin must have seen something in my expression. “You’re not going to rat me out, are you?”
Of course there was only one answer to that. “No.”
“Good. I really am trying to quit.”
I nodded and started to unpack my stuff, and she did the same.
Okay. On the negative side of the ledger: Sam Payne was in my dorm and I wasn’t crazy about my roommate. But I’d seen the guy who might be my future boyfriend, Tamsin might turn out to be nicer than she seemed at first, and I was really here, at Hart University.
I was officially a college girl.
Chapter Four
There was a big dinner that night to welcome the freshmen. The dining hall at Bracton had been modeled after the Christ Church refectory at Oxford and it was gorgeous. As Tamsin and I stood in the doorway looking inside, she said:
“Someone told me they do a Harry Potter dinner here every spring. They divide the students up into the four houses and decorate, and people come in costume.”
I still reread the Harry Potter books once a year. “That’s so cool!”
Tamsin didn’t say anything, and when I glanced at her she was staring at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Please tell me you wouldn’t actually dress up in Griffinpuff wizard robes or whatever.”
I was a little intimidated by Tamsin’s obvious coolness, and I didn’t want her to dismiss me as geeky and childish right off the bat. But one of the things I’d looked forward to about college was the chance to be myself without feeling ashamed or embarrassed. This was as good a place to start as any.
“It’s Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and yes, I will definitely be dre
ssing up. My favorite house is Ravenclaw, though.” I paused. “You must have known that Bracton was the type of place where they would do things like Harry Potter dinners. Why did you want to live here?”
Tamsin shrugged. “They don’t just do Harry Potter dinners. They also do an annual showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show with a live student performance. That’s more my kind of thing.”
We were heading for an empty table, but suddenly Tamsin veered off course. “Let’s sit over here,” she said. “I want to ask that girl something.”
The table she was steering us toward had three girls sitting at it. I didn’t know which one Tamsin wanted to talk to, but I wasn’t concerned about that as much as the fact that they were sitting next to a table with four guys—one of which was my future boyfriend and one of which was Sam.
“Hey. Can we join you?” Tamsin asked.
When the three girls all nodded we sat down.
“I’m Tamsin, and this is Rikki.”
One of the girls had blond hair, blue eyes, and wore a fedora. “I’m Claire.” She gestured toward the girl on her right, who looked like my conception of Nefertiti and was possibly the most beautiful human being I’d ever seen. “This is my roommate, Dyshell.” She gestured toward the girl on her left, who had red hair held back by a thick green headband. “And this is Julia. Her room is next door to ours.”
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
With the pleasantries out of the way, Tamsin leaned toward Claire. “I saw you bringing your stuff up today, and you were with a woman who looked like—”
“Jenna Landry?” Claire asked.
“Yes. Oh my God. Was that really her?”
Claire nodded. “She’s my stepmom.”
“Jenna Landry is your stepmom?”
“Yep.”
On the off chance I was the only one who didn’t know who Jenna Landry was, I kept my mouth shut.
“Who’s Jenna Landry?” Dyshell asked, for which I was grateful.
Tamsin raised her eyebrows. “Lead guitarist for the Red Mollies.”
“I’m guessing that’s a band?”
“Are you guys talking about the Red Mollies?”
That was from my future boyfriend, who turned around so he was straddling his chair backward, his forearms resting along the back.
Tamsin nodded. “Jenna Landry was here today. She’s Claire’s stepmother.”
My future boyfriend looked impressed. “Wow,” he said, looking at Claire. “That’s really cool. I’m Jason, by the way.”
We did another round of introductions, and it ended up with the four guys joining us at the table.
Along with Jason and Sam there was also Will, who had jock written all over him—he was tall and powerful and kind of clean-cut and wholesome-looking—and Andre, who turned out to be Dyshell’s twin brother. He was as gorgeous as his sister and I decided if things didn’t work out with Jason I’d be happy to add him to my potential boyfriend list.
Considering that Jason seemed pretty well occupied by Claire and Tamsin, it was looking like I was wise to have a backup plan.
Sam, across from me, was talking with Dyshell and Andre. Will was saying something to Julia, who blushed. I was very glad to see that blush, because it was the first hint I’d gotten that I wasn’t the only one feeling a little unsure of myself. Claire and Tamsin seemed completely self-confident, and Dyshell was so beautiful that she didn’t need confidence. Sam, I noticed, couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Julia was sitting next to me, with Will on her other side. When Andre asked Will a question about football practice—apparently I’d been right about Will’s jockitude—I took the opportunity to smile at Julia.
“So Claire and Dyshell are roommates. Where’s yours? Hasn’t she shown up yet?”
Julia shook her head. “I have a single.”
“You do? Wow. I didn’t even know that was an option. I don’t remember seeing a field for that on the application.”
“You have to request it,” Julia explained.
“Oh.” I was curious about what had motivated her to make a request like that, but that was way too personal a question to ask on the first day. “So, what made you apply to Bracton? What’s your, um, talent?”
Julia smiled for the first time. Up until then she’d seemed like a shy, quiet, kind of nondescript person with red hair, freckles and a round face, but when she smiled she seemed much more alive.
“I don’t know if I have any talent, but I’m a dancer.”
“You are? That’s cool. I took classes for a long time but I was never any good at it. What kind of dance do you do?”
“Ballet, mostly. But Hart is supposed to have an amazing modern dance department and I’m excited to try that.”
A door was flung open on one side of the room and someone called out, “Soup’s on, ladies and gents! Come and get it!”
The food wasn’t quite up to the setting but it was decent enough. The salad bar was great, with lots of vegetables and toppings and dressings to choose from. I decided to stick with salad since I was too keyed up to have a big appetite. Because of that I was the first one back with my food, followed by Sam, who sat down next to me.
“I thought you were sitting over there,” I said, pointing at the chair across the table.
He ignored that. “So Jason’s your target, huh?” he said, loading his fork with chicken casserole and taking a bite.
I glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I saw the way you were looking at him. But even if I hadn’t seen it I could have predicted it. You have rotten taste in guys.”
I put down my fork. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong with Jason?”
Sam put down his fork, too. “Are you kidding? Did you see his T-shirt?”
Once I’d gotten close enough to read it, I’d seen that it had three names on it: Jeffrey, Paul, and Ric. I didn’t know what it meant but there didn’t seem to be anything terrible about it.
“What’s wrong with his T-shirt?”
“They’re the guys in Velvet Crush.”
Another band I hadn’t heard of.
“So? Do you hate their music, or something?”
“No. They’re actually pretty good. But it’s total hipster bullshit to wear a shirt with just their first names. It’s like a secret handshake or something. If you’re cool enough to know the members of an obscure 90s indie band, then you pass the test.”
“Well,” I said, seeing Jason coming out of the cafeteria line, “I appreciate the tip.”
Sam frowned at me. “What do you mean? What tip?”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, keeping it out of sight under the table as I tapped on the screen with my right thumb. As Jason sat down I gave him a huge smile.
“So you’re a Velvet Crush fan, huh?”
His face lit up. “Yeah, I am. You, too?”
“Yep.”
Sam gave me an are you kidding look. “What are your favorite songs of theirs, Rikki?”
“Hmm,” I said thoughtfully, glancing down at my smartphone screen. “I guess ‘Hold Me Up’ and ‘Weird Summer’.”
“Those are great,” Jason said. “So you like their first album the best?”
“I do,” I said, feeling smug as I watched Sam out of the corner of my eye. He’d caught sight of my phone and he seemed torn between disgust and a kind of grudging respect for an opponent’s resourcefulness.
As for myself, I was actually glad that Sam had sat down next to me and acted like a jerk. If he hadn’t, it might have taken me weeks to get up the courage to start a conversation with Jason.
“What about you?” I asked him. “What are your favorite songs of theirs?”
After that, of course, I didn’t need to contribute anything more for a while. Jason started talking about the band with enthusiasm, joined by Claire and Tamsin when they sat down. Will, Dyshell, Andre and Julia talked about classes
and what they might major in, and what had brought them to Bracton.
Will didn’t live in Bracton, but his dorm was next door and it didn’t have a dining hall. He knew Andre because they were both on the football team. Dyshell, like Julia, was a dancer.
At that point the Velvet Crush conversation gave way to the Bracton conversation. Jason, of course, played guitar, and Andre played the bass.
“Dude, we have to jam,” Jason said. “Like, tonight. They have two music rooms in the basement. What about you guys? Any other musicians in the crowd?”
“I sing,” Claire said. “And I play keyboards. Jenna’s trying to teach me guitar but I’m not any good at it.”
“What about our dancer babes?” Jason asked, looking at Julia and Dyshell.
They shook their heads, Dyshell with a smile and Julia with a blush.
“You, Tamsin?”
“I’ve played around with drums a little but it’s not my thing. I do theater.”
“Sam?”
He shook his head. Tamsin leaned toward him, and I saw his eyes go automatically to her breasts. Without the inconvenience of a bra they were only separated from him by her tank top.
I felt a flash of irritation.
“So why are you at Bracton, Sam?” she asked.
He glanced sideways at me, hesitated a moment, and then said, “I’m interested in art. Painting and sculpture.”
“You are?”
I’d said that involuntarily, and he frowned at me.
“Yeah, I am. And what about you, Rikki?” he asked pointedly. “Why did you want to live in Bracton?”
I couldn’t say I played piano, because then the musicians would expect me to jam with them and I sucked. I couldn’t say I danced, because the dancers would expect me to take classes and again with the suckage.
I cleared my throat. “I’m a writer,” I said, figuring that was the safest answer. It was even kind of true. I’d kept a journal since I was seven and I’d experimented with poetry, although that was a deep and dark secret. But while I had a sneaking suspicion I sucked at creative writing as much as I sucked at piano and dance, I was slightly less likely to make a fool of myself in that arena.
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