Montgomery flinches at being volunteered but he doesn’t speak.
“That’s it,” I say, trying to sound like I don’t care that all my worldly possessions fit into two boxes while my roommate’s maid has already unpacked his and made his bed for him. I’d known I would feel like I was in a different world when I’d accepted the Valmont scholarship.
“Let’s grab a bite,” Cyrus suggests to his friend. “We’ll let you get settled.”
“It won’t take long,” Montgomery mutters.
I can tell him and I are going to be close—close to killing each other. I keep this thought to myself. Francie doesn’t need to leave her worried that I’m going to be fighting the first opportunity I get. But I suspect I’ll be delivering a welcoming right hook to Montgomery’s face sooner rather than later. When they take off, I relax. I hope Cyrus is right and he winds up going Greek.
Francie seems to read my mind. “Maybe you should check out this house your roommate is pledging. He seems kind.”
He seems tolerant—at best. I want to tell her that guys like Cyrus and Montgomery and guys like me don’t have anything in common. From their bank accounts to their problems, we live in very different worlds. But when I turn to her and see the hope written across her face, I swallow it all down.
“I’ll consider it,” I lie.
The door to the dormitory opens and Cyrus strides in grinning apologetically. “Forgot my ID.”
“He’s not used to paying for things.” Montgomery leans against the doorway, a wolfish grin taking up residence on his face. He knows what he’s doing. He’s not going to establish dominance over me, but he’ll make sure I know how far beneath them both I am. “Just drop your last name, Cy. You don’t need money.”
“Shut up,” Cyrus orders him as he digs in his top drawer.
“Come on.” A pale hand appears on his arm, tugging at it. The owner of it comes into view slowly. Slender arms, dusted with freckles flow into a willowy body clad in a short, summer dress that showcases long legs. She’s dressed for the heat, but despite that her cheeks glisten pink with a slight sheen of sweat. Strawberry blonde curls tumble over her shoulders. She looks over to me, her emerald gaze sparkling intensely. One second is all it takes. She takes me apart with those green eyes, studies the pieces, and then turns to Cyrus. “I have things to do. Can we get going?”
Cyrus doesn’t introduce us. He grabs the ID card and heads toward the door. It swings closed between me and his world—his friends. Then it cracks back open and his head pops through. “Party tonight at the Beta Psi house. You in?”
My thoughts flash to the girl. I want to ask if she’ll be there. I have no idea what she saw inside me, but I want to know. “Sure.”
He leaves without giving me more details. Already I’m reconsidering. There’s no way to know if she’ll be there and if it comes down to spending more time with Montgomery, I think I’d rather drink Clorox.
Beside me Francie is practically vibrating with excitement. She doesn’t need to know going to the party is a gamble that the girl will be there. I don’t need her obsessing over that factoid. It’s bad enough that she heard me make the plans.
I start to tell her that I’ve changed my mind, but her face is lit up like I’ve just handed her a winning lottery ticket. “Promise me you’ll go to the party.”
There’s no goddamn way out of that, and she knows it. My past is a collection of broken promises. If she asks me to give her my word, I have to choices: refuse or keep my promise. I won’t make a promise and not keep it.
“Fine,” I agree. It’s one party.
“Don’t isolate yourself,” she says. “This is a chance to be anyone you want to be.”
“Like myself?” I ask dryly. But we both know the truth. About who I am. About who I was born to be. Violence is written in my DNA. Dragging me a thousand miles from home won’t erase my past, and it won’t change my future. A girl who runs with rich boys isn’t going to be interested in me. Not for long, anyway. Some truths are inescapable. I was born a bastard. There’s no changing that.
5
Adair
Frat houses smell like someone is trying to mask dirty laundry and stale beer with bad body spray. It doesn’t help that the ground level of the Beta Psi house is packed with undergrads all suffering from various degrees of intoxication. My own cup remains untouched. Cheap beer tapped by a guy wearing his clothes inside out isn’t exactly my poison. But the red cup is like a security blanket, a sign that I belong here. Well, not here exactly. Not in a frat house. But at college—at Valmont. With the Solo cup in my hand, I’m just an average freshman. As long as no one asks my last name, that is.
“It’s so big,” a wobbling brunette squeals, clutching my arm as she passes and spilling some of my drink. “I’ve never been in a house so big.”
“Thanks for clearing that up,” I yell over the crowd, swiping at the beer on my dress, but she’s already gone. My mind hadn’t exactly jumped to the size of the house when she spoke. To me, the Beta Psi house isn’t that big. Of course, it might feel a bit more cramped with hundreds of bodies crammed into it.
She did no favors for my outfit, a bodycon dress that wraps slinkily around my shoulders and hips. Thankfully the bright floral print masks the spill, but I doubt beer and silk are a good match. I groan as I realize my feet are
