Page 58 of Ruthless Court

I adjust my glasses and head toward the library. My new life was hardly Malibu Barbie.

I haven’t found my people, my place here and the last text from mom suggested I do-fast. Because my tuition and housing bill will be due soon and the portion my scholarships and grants don’t cover… will put my family under.

The email arrives during my eight a.m. lecture.

Housing Transfer Approved.

I read it twice beneath the desk.

A space opened in Briar Hall, one of the older residences on the opposite side of campus. No athlete quad. No basketball court outside the window. No girls shouting draft projections through the bathroom stalls.

Move-in begins tomorrow.

I accept before the professor reaches the next slide.

By lunch, I have boxes.

By four, half my room is packed.

Piper watches from her bed while I tape the bottom of a carton shut.

“You’re really leaving?”

“My request went through.”

“I didn’t think it would.”

“Neither did I.”

She picks at the corner of one pink pillow.

The room feels different with my books gone from the shelf. Her side is still bright, glossy, and crowded with perfume bottles. Mine has been reduced to cardboard and a bare mattress.

“We weren’t that terrible,” she says.

I look at her.

“No.”

It’s true.

Piper apologized when she crossed lines. She saved me a seat in the dining hall, loaned me shampoo while my suitcase toured the country, and defended my glasses after spending the first afternoon insulting them.

We might have become friends under different circumstances.

“I just need somewhere quieter.”

She nods toward the window.

A basketball strikes the pavement outside.

Once.

Twice.

A whistle follows.

My shoulders tighten.