"I can't remember what happened that night. I'm not talking slippery details or fuzzy-edged visions; I mean a complete and utter blackout. Like I wasn't even there. Except... I know I was."
Since the death of her boyfriend six months ago, Morgan Cai...
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The anger takes longer than I expect to settle, and a baseline rage is still coursing through my system when I get back to my dorm that evening. After storming out of the student center, I went to the library instead, but my mind was racing too fast for me to concentrate on any assignment. I gave up after about thirty minutes and came back here.
The fourth-floor corridor is busier than usual; several bedroom doors are propped open and girls dart from room to room, in various states of dress and undress. I know most of them by name and face, but I'm definitely not part of the close-knit friendship group that's formed over the last few weeks. Still, they're nice enough, and one of them—a freshman called Mila—gives me a wave when I step out of the elevator.
"Hey, Morgan!"
She's standing in her doorway, half dressed in a denim skirt but with a towel wrapped around her top half. Her long hair curls down to her waist, and she's done something magic with her eyebrows that makes them look bushy yet perfectly tamed. "Hey," I say, with a polite smile. "Big night out?"
"We got an invite to a frat party," she says proudly. "I know what you're thinking, and I agree—most of the guys there are douchebags. But it's a free invitation and free booze, so we're making the most of it."
I feel a little twinge at the mention of a frat party, sadness making waves through my lingering anger. But I don't let it show. "Sounds fun."
"Want to come with?"
I figure she's joking, so I laugh. "Yeah. Right."
But she doesn't laugh with me. Just looks perplexed by my reaction.
That's when the conversation with David comes rushing back, and I shrink under her gaze and start wondering what she really thinks of me. Why she always takes the time and effort to be nice, even though I'm never in the mood for more than small talk. How much she knows about Josh, whether she knows about me and him, and if she sees me as a victim to feel sorry for. If she would think, given the opportunity, I'd throw the actual victim under the bus to save a reputation.
I can't stop thinking about what David said—and right then, I realize sitting in my room alone tonight is probably the worst thing I can do.
Maybe a distraction isn't a bad idea.
"Okay," I say, and I almost hear the screeching of brakes as my night takes an unexpected U-turn. "Yeah, I will, actually."
Mila's face brightens immediately. "Great!" she says, then throws a glance over her shoulder and calls to the two other girls in her room. "Did you hear that, guys? Morgan's coming with."
There comes a cheer from inside, and I laugh self-consciously because I'm not sure how to react. I wasn't expecting such a warm reception—probably because I've never extended the same courtesy to them. And it's all my doing. They've been friendly from day one, happy to include me if only I stopped brushing them off and shutting myself away.
