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We stop walking when we can’t see the edge of the campus and sit at the base of a gnarled tree. The bark is twisted in a diamond pattern, and I rub my fingertips over knife marks in the trunk. A series of short lines are stacked above each other from eye level down to almost the roots.
Jaxon sits his butt down at the base of the tree. “Rumor has it that whenever couples have sex under the tree, they leave a mark in the bark.”
I count the marks. “They ain’t doing it right then. There are only seventeen.”
I sit down beside Jaxon, and Hudson sits on his opposite side. Jaxon gets the joint going, and we pass it back and forth, just staring off at the tranquil horizon. The weed we smoke relaxes my shoulders, and for a moment, I stop trying to fit in.
“So, how do you know Charlotte?” Hudson kills my buzz with his fucking questions. Jaxon diverts his gaze, but his ear twitches. They’re both curious.
“I already said. We’re all from the same town.”
Hudson chuckles like I said something funny. “Yeah, Rockingham. Same school?”
I know better than to lie. “No, I went to public school.”
Hudson’s brow rises and then he nods, satisfied with my answer. Long ago, I learned from my uncle to keep my answers short and vague. Only villains in movies shoot their mouths off and brag about how bad they are. For the rest of the time, we stay silent in our private solitude while we smoke.
We were there for a while. And the sun starts going down quickly as we hurry out of the woods. We walk through campus, and I glance up at our dorm, wondering if Charlotte will show up at the frat party. Her friend Wren was eager to go. Long ago, Charlotte had the same eagerness in her smile before Monarch ripped it out of her. I like Charlotte better without the obliviousness. She’s better broken.
Alpha house is a walk from campus, but the change in surroundings places it miles away. A whole block on High Street in the College Hill district is lined with old Victorian mansions with huge Greek letters over their front doors. But only one frat house stands out, and that’s Alpha house at the end of the block. The house is Edwardian, with a foundation made of river rocks. Growing up in Vermont, I recognize different stones instinctively.
“That’s Alpha,” says Jaxon, following my gaze, “I know some brothers there. They won’t hassle us.”
Hudson takes an interest. “You think you might pledge a frat?”
Jaxon shrugs his shoulders and walks with a relaxed gait toward Alpha’s front walk. “I might pledge if it means living off-campus. More freedom when you’re off campus.”
We step onto the wraparound porch, and I’ve seen MC clubhouses cleaner than this place. We pick our way through empties and red cups to the front door. As soon as we enter, Hudson taps my shoulder, and I follow his gaze. The freshmen girls are already here and easy to spot. All of them have on Ivymore sweatshirts in shades of pastels that no straight guy would dare wear. It’s like draping a bunch of virgins in glowing neon. Not that they’re all virgins.
Charlotte stands out among the pack, and she’s barely trying to. Her sweatshirt is the same blue as her eyes, and she’s the only girl wearing jeans and not a short skirt. But she has a distant look in her eyes, as if she wishes she were somewhere else. She takes a sip from her red cup and frowns at whatever’s inside. My gaze stays on her expression until she notices me. Her startled eyes widen, and that’s what I expected her to do.
“What is your deal with Charlotte?” Hudson starts busting my balls again. I wish I could hit him. This isn’t Monarch. Ivymore has different rules, and I’m never returning to Weymouth.
“Nothing,” I snap, “We just know each other.”
Jaxon rolls his eyes and then drifts off as more people come through the door. The noise volume increases in the room as more sweaty bodies fill it up. It doesn’t take long for me to lose track of Hudson and Jaxon. But I recognize Prisha from the dorm and attach myself to her small group. I try to keep up with the conversation.
“Siena is so underrated compared to Florence,” she says, “There’s a small café that has the best homemade breads.”
“We go there to watch polo,” says the guy next to her, “It’s amazing. But my favorite vacation is going spelunking in Reims.”
Spelunking? What the fuck language are these people speaking? How did I end up standing next to a bunch of brains?
“So, what about you, Asher?” Prisha looks straight at me. “Where are you from again?”
Do I risk it? They’re waiting for an answer. “Rockingham. I’m from Rockingham in Vermont. My uncle owns a small business, so we didn’t travel much.”
“What kind of business?” the guy asks, leaning in to hear.
“Security,” I reply loudly.
He nods and then faces Prisha. “My brother owns a cybersecurity firm on the left coast.”
They start talking shit among themselves as if I had vanished, so I take the hint and leave. In what might be the dining room, a guy swallows down beer through a clear rubber tube direct from the keg. He’s surrounded by people cheering him on. They better hope he doesn’t hurl on them. I make a sharp turn away from that high-school bullshit, and I end up in the kitchen with Charlotte.
Chapter 8
Asher
