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She laughs my teasing off. “My name’s Tracey Anderson. I’m from Kansas City.”
“Which side?” asks Prisha.
“Kansas City, Kansas.” Tracey beams with pride. “My family has always lived there.”
We tell her our names, and soon we’re settling in together as if we’ve grown up together. And we have, in a way. Our upbringings of privilege are interchangeable, and we’ve lived each other’s lives only in different places. Prisha starts to describe her mother’s new brownstone in Brooklyn, but I lose interest in the conversation as I wait.
I hear him before I see him. My heart starts pounding like a bass drum, and it hurts my chest. And why my heart isn’t traveling up my throat and out of my mouth, I don’t know. My fingers dig into the couch cushions, and I tell myself to look away. But I can’t will my eyes to stop looking at the archway leading into the room. My remaining pride will be shredded to bits if he walks in and sees me gawking like a boy band groupie. I clutch my hands in my lap and stare at my nails.
“Charlotte, are you okay?” asks Tracey. There’s genuine concern in her voice.
I nod. “It’s okay. I was addicted to Adderall over the summer. And sometimes I get the shakes.”
Wren gasps. “Ohmigod, poor Charlotte.”She looks at Prisha. “Charlotte’s dad is deathly ill. Cancer.”
Prisha places her hand on my knee. “My cousin was addicted to the three As. You can talk to me if you need anything. I so understand.”
This social shit is too easy, but fooling my heart is not.You better fucking not forget you hate that boy. My gaze lifts and meets his. I can’t call Asher a boy anymore.
Since high school graduation, his dark hair has been styled, but he still has to push it out of his eyes. His shoulders somehow seem broader in his worn leather jacket. And is he a little taller? He sees me, and for a moment, we freeze, locked in a bug-eyed stare. His blue eyes betray his emotions as his gaze travels the length of me. Have I changed? The clean-cut guy next to Asher gives him a nudge to get him moving again, and suddenly, his scowling mask is glued back in place. There’s no escape from him now. I can’t afford to quit school.
Two other boys sit down beside him in three plastic chairs across the room—the flannel shirt guy and the clean-cut guy who looks like he poses for stock photos. I try damn hard not to stare, but my eyes keep catching on his. I watch him from across the room as Wren holds court with the other girls. She sits up straight, ready to rule over all of us. Well, she’s welcome to the throne. My reign has ended.
“Welcome, freshmen, to Ivymore.” A good-looking guy bounds into the lounge, throwing off positive energy like a golden retriever. He’s wearing a short-sleeved polo in the school colors that shows off his large biceps. “I’m Jake Moretti, your orientation leader. I’m a junior here at Ivymore, and I will share my knowledge to make your transition into college life a whole lot sweeter.”
He stands near our couch with his hands on his narrow hips, and Wren smiles sweetly at him. She’s a sucker for any guy whose last name ends with a vowel. Jake smiles back, and then he faces the room. “Since y’all will be living together for the school year, let’s start with icebreakers. Get up and circle the room—shake hands and tell each other one thing about yourself that’s memorable. NFSW content is not allowed.”
People moan either at the game or at his joke.
“It will be fun,” Jake reassures us as he ignores our expressions, ranging from apathy to agony. “And we’re staying here until everyone has spoken to each person once.”
Chapter 5
Charlotte
Wren, Prisha, Tracey, and I stay put and send out a vibe that we would’ve broadcast at our old schools.You come to us, bow at our feet, and then we’ll look at you. I avoid looking over at Asher as he slowly makes his way around the room. There’s safety in numbers, and four entitled bitch girls are no match for a lone-wolf boy. Fitting in is my armor. My element has found me again, and I slip so easily back into my old existence.
“Hello, Charlotte. I’m Hudson Eckhard.” Stock-photo guy holds out his hand, and we shake. Bonus points for being clean cut. He’s all-American with dark blond hair and blue eyes flecked with green. His muscles are hidden under a bulky cable sweater, but he has them. I can feel it when he shakes my hand. His gaze is intense as dimples pop in his chiseled cheeks. And I have to remind myself that we only just met.
“Do you know me?” I give the guy my chilliest gaze. He probably read my name off the door, so he could hit on me later.
“We met a long time ago,” he laughs, “And I do recognize you.” His gaze lowers for a second and then returns to my eyes. “And you’re still sweet looking.”
Hudson seems outgoing, but when he looks at me hard, there’s something off. His mouth tightens, then relaxes as his intense stare pins my back to the wall. This strange sensation is like he’s reading my mind. With a prying look, he knows too much about me.
“Is that your icebreaker?” I ask. “That you know me?”
He smiles broadly, but his eyes are so guarded that I shiver. He makes me feel like I shouldn’t act superior, not after my mighty fall. “Yeah, that’s it,” he replies, grinning. He tugs my arm, so we’re closer, and I realize that he hasn’t let go of my hand. “What do you have to share with me?”
Could he recognize me from OnlyFriends? But I only shoot from the neck down. He couldn’t have sent me that email. He doesn’t look like a desperate creep. I don’t like to think about the people that look at my account, but I would never picture a clean-cut guy like him.
I narrow my eyes. “I want to know where you know me from first.”
He chuckles as I slip my hand out of his grasp. “Rockingham. We’re from the same town.”
I nod, unimpressed. “Well, my icebreaker is I don’t remember you.”
My blunt honesty doesn’t thrill Hudson. His grin freezes at an awkward angle on his handsome face. He moves away and speaks to Wren. I try to eavesdrop; maybe he’ll say the same thing to her. But the flannel shirt guy immediately takes his place. The one that made me stare at my shoes like a child.
