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Friends.
I thought of the crowd at Dale R. Fielding High School. A bunch of half-wits who spent their time going to the mall or making out, or doing whatever it is kids my age did to fill their time.
As if.
No, I was going to college, thankyouverymuch. Not that I’d ever tell them that. They’d just suspect me of embezzling tuition money from Dad’s vast stores of wealth. Which was a laugh. If there was any money, it came from a disability check he’d probably drank away long ago.
No, I was going to college tuition free. It was one of the bennies of having a genius IQ and crazy-high GPA. My preference was to get the hell out of Florida, and though my guidance counselor said I could get a scholarship wherever I wanted, fancy private schools didn’t take Needs Cases (gag) like me midyear. Graduating from high school one semester early was the best I could wrangle, and so it was state school for me.
“I suppose you think you’re taking that car you’ve been driving. ” The Yatch crossed her arms, believing she’d gotten one over on me. “But who do you think has been paying for your insurance?”
“I’ve been paying for my insurance, just like I paid for the car. ” I glared, challenging her to just try to argue.
“Bea!” Daddy Dearest crowed from the other room.
My stepmother and I continued our silent stare-off. Finally she snarled, “You think just because you’re smarter than the rest of us—”
“Bea! Get in here!”
God forbid the man got up from the Barcalounger to grab his own freshie from the refrigerator. He had no idea I was leaving, and wouldn’t care if he did. I gave her my best saccharine-sweet smile. “I think Daddy needs another tall boy. ”
The Yatch shot me a final scowl and bustled into the living room.
Out. Of. Here. I heaved my duffel onto my shoulder, giving a farewell glance to the Einstein poster on my wall. He was sticking his tongue out at me, and I stuck out mine right back. “Ciao for now, Al. ”
I snuck out the front door and was on my way.
CHAPTER TWO
Florida is famous for a variety of things:1. Disney World
2. Serial killers
3. Bizarre alligator accidents
4. Bizarre lightning accidents
5. Ginormous universities
A fan of neither princesses nor pain, it was number five for me. Gator Nation, God help me. But hey, say what you will—the University of Florida in Gainesville wasn’t exactly Paris, but it was a start.
I drove my Honda carefully, winding through campus, goggling at all the crazy architecture as I went. I was hot and sweaty after three hours of driving with a broken AC and the sun broiling overhead, but still, nervous excitement surged through me. So what if the stately brick buildings were surrounded by spindly palm trees instead of ivy? This was college.
I popped a chocolate madeleine for courage.
UF had more than fifty thousand students. Surely there’d be some other misfits like me. Surely there was at least one other girl on campus not sporting a French pedicure (do girls really think we’re fooled by the little white lines painted across their toenails?), who had some black in her wardrobe, and actually thought about things. You know, someone who knew the word French could imply more than just a way to kiss.
Surely I’d make a friend. Right?
I downshifted my little Civic, pulling into the parking lot off Museum Road. I didn’t need to look at the campus map for directions—I’d already memorized the thing. In fact, the moment the school catalog arrived in the mail, I’d studied every single aspect, inside and out, up to and including the bedbug advisory.
Walking into the registrar’s office, the blast of air-conditioning made my skin crawl. That was another thing that really freaked me out about this state: Cooling a room was one thing, but the compulsive need to superchill every indoor space to a brisk sixtythree degrees confounded me. It was January, for crissakes.
I shoved my favorite hat farther down on my head. It was a beige raffia fedora with a narrow brim, sort of like something you’d see on an old Cuban man. Mostly I wore it to tone down my conspicuously blond hair. But it wasn’t without its practical applications—I was feeling a little less chilly already.
Once my eyes adjusted, I spotted the bouffy-haired receptionist. She sat in a little glass-fronted kiosk that made her look like one of those old-fashioned carnival fortune-tellers. She was greeting each new student with a forced, coral-lipsticked smile.
If you resent teenagers so much, don’t work at a college, lady. She caught my eye, and I returned her stiff smile.
