I’d love to shower, get the smell of salami out from my hair and fingernails, but I’m too tired. It’s almost midnight, on a Saturday. I haven’t been out this late for anything other than work in months. And I can’t say it was for a party or a date. No, it was for studying. Maybe I am one of those convention dorks. I rub my eyes and pull my pants and shirt off, tossing them by my door in the pile that I secretly love my mother picks up for me every day. I crawl on my hands and knees to the pillow, letting my face collapse into the coolness, and fall asleep with Paige’s voice rolling R’s in my head.
Chapter 2
Paige
When nothing happened Sunday, I chalked it up to the weekend. But then Monday came and went. And Tuesday, too. The anticipation of confrontation was almost worse than shit actually hitting the fan.
I’m so consumed with finding Chandra’s name on the campus news website’s gossip page, I almost miss it—almost.
ASSOCIATE FACULTY MEMBER FILES LAWSUIT AGAINST SCHOOL FOR WRONGFUL TERMINATION
The headline couldn’t be more wrong, and the story is total bullshit. The home page of the news site is dedicated to my sister’s attacker. I scan it quickly, my heart racing that Cass’s name might be in there.
It’s not.
Paul Cotterman is my sister’s physics professor. He got a little touchy-feely during a tutoring session a few weeks ago, so Cass kneed him in the nuts and punched him in the temple.
Paul Cotterman is also Chandra’s ex—of course he is. Two gross people dating; what’s more perfect than that? I can’t believe they broke up.
I read the story all the way through, laughing out loud by the end over how innocent the quotes make him sound.
“Oh my god, did you read that? Isn’t that guy the one Chandra dated? I feel so bad for him,” says Ashley, a freshman who joined Delta when I did. Keeping my back to her, I let her glance over my shoulder at my laptop. I know if I turn around, I’m going to tell her to get the fuck out of my room, but I’m going to need allies when Chandra’s story comes out.
“Yeah, that’s the guy. But…I don’t know. I get a real sleazy vibe from him,” I say, my eyes penetrating his name on my screen.
“Huh,” Ashley says. “Not me. I think he’s super hot.”
I twist in my chair, but Ashley’s back is to me as she’s walking out the door—probably a good thing, because my rebuttal was perched on my lips, and it wasn’t nice.
She pauses at the door, and leans into my room with her hand gripping the frame; her head tilts so she’s looking at me upside down, like she’s about to start a back bend. “Delta meeting in ten minutes, by the way,” she smiles, then flips upright and rounds the corner.
My breath comes in slow and hard. It could just be an end-of-the-year thing. There are academic requirements to stay in the house—maybe it’s a grade check or announcement for study sessions through finals.
I close my laptop and slip it into my backpack, along with a few of my books. My classes are all done, and tomorrow is campus study-day. The only thing left is finals. I’m starting to think spending the rest of this semester at the library wouldn’t be a bad idea.
A month ago, I never wanted to leave my room. Now, it feels like a trap. It’s disguised as a place I should love. Looking at it now, I’m starting to think it’s all part of the plan, to lull me into a false sense of comfort until I break.
My room is purple, the furniture white with fancy trim. We all have special doorknobs—that’s sort of a thing they do for the girls who get selected to move in. Every Delta gets to pick a doorknob from the Restoration Hardware catalog. The girls who have roommates have to agree. But I’m alone, so I got to pick my own door décor. My knob is glass, with purple and silver swirls inside, cut like crystal. There’s a matching coat hanger—which I paid for on my own—mounted in the center near the top; I used half a month’s spending allowance.
Cass probably spent her money on granola bars and Gatorade, with lots of change to spare. I bought a hundred-dollar coat hanger. Now, I can’t help but fixate on it, noticing how small it is. The mount is made of iron, but the ball at the end is plastic. I chuckle quietly the more I think of how much it cost.
“Meeting starting,” someone yells from downstairs.
My small fit of laughter fades, and my frown feels heavy. I grab my bag, making sure I have my essentials inside—books, music player, phone, keys, purse, gum…yeah, I think that’s it.
The common room is pretty full by the time I get downstairs, so I plop my bag at the base of the steps and take my seat on the bottom stair, another girl standing next to me, leaning on the rail.