College Ruled

sixteen

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TRUST ME must mean something completely different in Christina's vocabulary, because by the time the car dumps us onto the sidewalk outside the absolute last place I want to be, she's beaming from ear to ear. And I feel as if two freshly manicured hands have just shoved me down into a dark, terrifying abyss.

"I should've gotten to the apartment sooner," I mutter, staring at the gate to hell. I clutch my olive green tote bag tighter in my fist. "I would have thrown myself to the flames."

"Okay, drama queen—"

"You can't really be serious." I turn to her. "This is really your big plan? They cannot have room for us."

"Yes, it is." She twists her hair into a knot, unbothered by the fact that half of it falls right back out the second her hands leave the strands, and practically blinds me with that grin when she turns to bat two artificially innocent eyes my way. "And yes, they do."

I don't believe that for a second.

"Well that's fantastic for you, but I'll be staying outside. There's a patch of grass on the sidewalk that would make for a lovely pillow—"

The door swings open, and—

        Oh, would you look at that. The devil is nice enough to greet us himself.

    "You're here." Grayson leans a shoulder into the doorframe and folds his arms across his chest. His stare climbs from my loose jeans to my cropped hoodie, looking bored and utterly unimpressed. "How wonderful."

     The blatant bite in his tone is enough to confirm any remaining suspicions that the lack of face-to-face with him lately hasn't been entirely my fault.

He is pissed at me.

    And I'm not the only one who picks up on it.

    "Yikes." Christina picks her cherry red backpack up from the porch and shoves it over her shoulder. "I don't want any part of whatever this is. I mean, later—" she raises pointed eyebrows up at me "—later I want all the details. But right now I gotta find someone. And decompress." She pats Grayson on the arm. "We've had a very stressful day."

Under the setting sun, Grayson's eyes shimmer wickedly, as if our stressful day gives him some sort of satisfaction.

    "Christina," I shout after her. I push past Grayson, who doesn't bother stepping out of the way and barely budges from my less-than-discrete shoulder bump, to trudge after Chris. "The problem is not solved. The problem is very much the opposite of solved!"

    She disappears up the carpeted stairs with one last dismissive flick of her wrist. My shoulders fall, and I drop my tote onto the hardwood floor with a loud thump.

I've lost.

Now, with the house empty of drunk athletes and sweaty underaged crashers, the cold clutches of expired nostalgia latches right onto my gut.

    How many times had I been here, back when I was that lovestruck idiot version of myself that I'm trying so desperately to shed and bury? Tiptoeing around in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Hiding away in Theo's room when he was off at class and I would wait for him to return, secluding myself from any and every other living thing that roamed this house back then. How many times had Theo and I draped ourselves over the couch, ignoring whatever played on the TV, drowning in each other while everyone else was off at some party or off doing whatever it was Theo was always getting us out of?