Our old place was nothing to scoff at, like not at all. But this place … is balls. All grays and whites. All raw materials. All brand new updates before they sold. This place is tits.
We spent the entire day unpacking boxes that the movers unloaded. I threw a lot of shit out that I no longer wanted, or that I didn’t even know I still had. Felt good to purge, really good. I’m edging past the need for the material things, which doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate what money can buy. I do. But what I’m learning at this damn school is money doesn’t buy you the things that matter the most.
I’m pretty sure when Mom Marie Kondo’d our life right before the move, I shouldn’t have hid shit that didn’t seem to matter anymore.
Lying in my king-sized bed, in a room that could house twenty, I feel queasy as I think about what this Ivy League of high schools has taught me.
“What a bunch of assholes,” I sigh as I think about the shit that mostly Kiki and Truth are dealing with. Half the time, I want to lose my chill and step in and all over that shit, but my philosophy is not to do that. Except it seems to be wavering when it comes to the little badass who would rather scare people off than open up and accept people who want to be her friends. And those of us who feel that pull, people talk about, to a girl who wants nothing to do with me.
Not to toot my own horn, but I’m a fucking catch. And not to call bullshit on her liking girls—I mean, she’s got mono because she and Chloe, who I know damn well isn’t a lesbian, but she certainly doesn’t look at me like she’s not seeing me. She’s either pissed off or checking me out like she wants to see what I’m all about.
I grab my phone and reread days’ worth of messages, from the first day she didn’t show up to class until last night. I skipped this morning, because I felt a little like a fucking clinger.
Day One
9:00 a.m. – What up, Savannah?
12:21 p.m. - Why aren’t you here?
5:07 p.m. - Hope all is chill. See you tomorrow.
12:01 a.m. - Do you ever read your messages?
Day Two
9:10 a.m. - SAVVY!!!! What up?
1:21 p.m. - Gym class blew without you being the greatest source of amusement.
5:40 p.m. - Hitting a girl isn’t something I’ll ever do, so if they’re being snatches, I know four pretty badass chicks who would do it if needs be.
12:02 a.m. - Damn, girl, way to make a guy feel like a douche.
Day Three
9:20 a.m. - Heard you’re sick. Hope you get better soon.
12:18 p.m. - Let me know if you need any notes from any of our classes.
5:03 p.m. - WEB MD says you’re exhausted. Hope you’re resting up.
12:01 a.m. - Thinking about you. Need anything, just holla.
Day Four
9:47 a.m. - No plans for the weekend. You need something, let me know.
12:22 p.m. - Let me know if you need any notes.
4:32 p.m. - Last night with the Crew. Moving tonight. Let me know if you need anything.
My finger hovers over the messenger app while I contemplate what to send, or if I shouldn’t send anything at all.
Fuck it.
Day Five
11:55 p.m. - Seriously hoping you get better soon, girl. I’m dialing it down on the messages. Not like you’re reading them anyway. Let me know how you’re doing, Savvy, or at least let someone know.
*prayer hands*
Send.
I toss my phone on the bed beside me, grab my remote, and flip on the TV, hoping something will be on to take my mind off becoming such a bitch and worrying about the girl who’s probably filing a restraining order.
“Maybe you should watch the Hallmark Channel, Tricks,” I huff. “Maybe you should get yourself some pads and period cramp meds, too.”
I start scrolling through Netflix when my phone buzzes. Blindly, I grab it and hit accept.
“Sup?” I answer then hear that rasp.
“What are you doing in my phone?”
Shit, she knows I’m checking her location on the daily, and now the messages make me look like a fucking boy scout.
“I can explain,” falls out of my mouth in a way that is an absolute admission of guilt.
“Um, who is this? And why are you hiding?”
Hiding? I think and pull the phone back to make sure it is Savvy. She looks like hell, and I know that’s a shit thing to say, but she does. Sick as hell.
“Damn, babe.”
Shit, I think and quickly amend my mistake. “I mean—”
“Patrick, what do you want?”
I sit up and scoot back against my headboard. “Have you been seen by a doctor?”
“Necessary for a diagnosis. They insisted because stupid Chloe has it. I hate doctors, and I hate them more because they landed me in this”—her lip pouts out and her voice quivers now—“stupid fucking room.”
“Shit, Sav.” I stop myself from saying Savannah, not wanting to piss her off. “Savvy. What can I do to help?”
“Well, for starters, stop having Chloe call me to make amends.”
“Thought you may be stuck in there with her and wanted to make sure—”
“If I was stuck with her, I’d have offed myself.” She flops back on her bed, her black hair fanning across the pillow. Sick or not, she’s incredibly beautiful. And yes, I am eyeballing her tits, now jiggling slightly because she’s braless and on her back.
“Don’t say shit like that,” I whisper.
She sighs. “Anything else?”
“Would it be fucked up if I admit I kind of miss seeing you?”
“I don’t know why you keep pushing something that’s never going to happen. I mean, there are plenty of other girls who would love your attention. Trust me; these dorm walls are thin. Do you want to know what they say about you?”
“Don’t really give a shit.”
“Their names?”
“Not interested.”
“I’m not interested in having sex with you.”
“Just out of curiosity, when have I ever said I’d like to
