Page 5 of Top Shelf

I run my fingers along the cold marble countertop and open random kitchen cupboards just to give my hands something to do. I ignore the large envelope propped against the backsplash, stamped with the Valehurst College crest and my name scrawled across the front in my mother’s neat, legible handwriting. Presumably, it contains a welcome pack and class schedule—all things I’m not yet ready to face.

Numb inside, I pull on the handle for the fridge. It opens with a hiss, and my bad mood gets instantly worse when I see what’s inside. It’s been fully stocked…with low-calorie organic meals, green juices, and enough kale, spinach, and beetroot that I could set up my own stall at the Sunday market.

And absolutely none of it is stuff that I eat.

But of course, why would thatmatter?

Swallowing the anger that bubbles up in my throat, I close the fridge and walk away without touching anything.

With nothing else to do, I decide to tackle the stack of boxes since I’m eventually going to need to find my toothbrush and pajamas. As I move toward them, I scrape the strands of auburn hair that have fallen out of my messy bun off my face and rework my hair tie so it securely holds everything in place.

Starting with the smallest box, I pop open the lid and carefully pull out the first item. A photo frame. It contains a photo of me and Dylan the night of the Championship game last season. We’re standing in the middle of the rink, heads close together as I take a selfie of us. Dylan is wearing the bermuda blue and silver jersey of the Steelhawks, her hair damp with sweat, and smiling wider than I’ve ever seen her. I’m smiling too. It was the last time I didn’t have to force it. The last time the twinkle in my eye was real.

The last night of ignorant bliss I had.

The following day, my parents obliterated the small amount of peace I’d managed to obtain for myself at BSU.

Staring down at myself, it’s hard to swallow. Hard to even remember that girl I was—happy and carefree. The girl who didn’t let her demons beat her down.

Every day since, I feel like I’ve been chipped away at. Carved out. Hollowed.

Fear, expectation, and both knowing and not knowing what awaits me at Valehurst have reduced me to a shadow of my former self. My honey-brown eyes are now dull when I look in the mirror, and dark circles rim my eyes. There isn’t the same flush to my skin, the same energy surrounding me.

I haven’t even set foot on Valehurst campus, and I’m already fuckingdone.

I’m yanked from my morbid thoughts by the ringing of mycell phone. My lips twitch in a semblance of a smile—all I’m capable of nowadays—when I see the caller ID. Dylan.

“Hey, girl. I’m just checking in. Making sure you made it okay.”

Something unclenches in my chest at hearing her voice. Oh, how I wish I were sitting beside her, the two of us curled up on my sofa in my old apartment, hot chocolate in hand and a romcom paused on the TV while we gossip.

Feeling as though my legs can no longer hold my weight, I sink onto the nearest soft surface, an armchair that probably cost a five-figure sum but feels like concrete beneath my ass.

“So?” She drags out the word when I don’t respond. “Did you get there okay?”

“Technically.”

She laughs under her breath. “What’s the new place like?”

“Bland. Like my parents hired a decorator and told them the vibe was ‘I have money, but I still want to blow my brains out’.”

Dylan snorts. “Very…you.”

I smile, just a little. Then it fades. My voice is heavier when I confess, “I miss you.”

“Miss you more,” Dylan responds, equally forlorn-sounding. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Hearing that question from Dylan threatens the shaky foundations I’m standing on. Like I might fall apart if I answer honestly. If I actually let myself consider the fact that I might not be okay. That I might be as far from okay as one can get.

“I’m fine,” I tell her, knowing it’s the only response I can give. It’s the only one I can tell myself.

Another silence, like she can read through the lie. Dylan doesn’t push; she never does. It’s the thing I love most about her.

My phone beeps with another incoming call, and I pull the device away from my ear to look at the screen. I smother a groan as my mother’s name flashes on thescreen.

“I have to go,” I tell Dylan.

“Text me later, okay?”