Page 9 of Blacklist

“You’re staying in the dorms?” Surprise flashes across Francie’s face. I can’t blame her.

“His father is teaching him a lesson,” his friend says and I can hear the sneer in his voice as he leads us toward a stairwell.

“He wants me to have the typical college experience.” If he’s bothered by this teachable moment, he doesn’t show it.

I take the steps two at a time, ready to get this over with. It’s bad enough that my roommate is clearly rich and privileged. Now I’ve inherited his jackass buddy, too. As soon as Francie is gone I can look into a different room.

“He wants to torture you,” Montgomery corrects him.

“It’s no big deal,” Cyrus says. “I’ll probably crash at the house after rush week.”

Yet another reason to avoid Greek row. Cyrus is okay, but I’d bet money most of the frat members are more like his friend. With any luck, they won’t be around much. He might be nice, but if his dad’s idea of a life lesson was doing something average like living in a dorm room, I expected we didn’t have much in common. My own dad didn’t even know I was in another state starting school. He didn’t deserve to know. Yeah, I was nothing like either of these guys.

Our dorm room is the definition of average. Cinder block walls painted a sickly neutral beige and cold tiled floors, probably brimming with asbestos greet me, from under the edges of an expensive rug. One bed is already made up—a bit too neatly—and there are no boxes in sight. Either my new roommate is seriously OCD or his mom has been here.

“Magda chose the bed closer to the window. I hope you don’t mind. She said it was better for circulation.” He shrugs like he doesn’t buy it or care.

“Is Magda your girlfriend?” Francie asks.

He blinks, temporarily confused, but Montgomery laughs, dropping the box carelessly to the hard floor. “Magda is his maid. Daddy might be forcing him to slum it, but even he’s not that cruel.”

Withholding the help is punishment to my new acquaintances. Where has Francie sent me? Hell?

“I hope you don’t mind,” Cyrus looks genuinely concerned and I wonder if it’s because now I know he has a maid or if it’s because he’d rather jump out the open window than continue this awkward introduction. He looks between me and Francie and back to my boxes. “Do you have more? We can help.”

Montgomery flinches at being volunteered but he doesn’t speak.

“That’s it,” I say, trying to sound like I don’t care that all my worldly possessions fit into two boxes while my roommate’s maid has already unpacked his and made his bed for him. I’d known I would feel like I was in a different world when I’d accepted the Valmont scholarship.

“Let’s grab a bite,” Cyrus suggests to his friend. “We’ll let you get settled.”

“It won’t take long,” Montgomery mutters.

I can tell him and I are going to be close—close to killing each other. I keep this thought to myself. Francie doesn’t need to leave her worried that I’m going to be fighting the first opportunity I get. But I suspect I’ll be delivering a welcoming right hook to Montgomery’s face sooner rather than later. When they take off, I relax. I hope Cyrus is right and he winds up going Greek.

Francie seems to read my mind. “Maybe you should check out this house your roommate is pledging. He seems kind.”

He seems tolerant—at best. I want to tell her that guys like Cyrus and Montgomery and guys like me don’t have anything in common. From their bank accounts to their problems, we live in very different worlds. But when I turn to her and see the hope written across her face, I swallow it all down.

“I’ll consider it,” I lie.

The door to the dormitory opens and Cyrus strides in grinning apologetically. “Forgot my ID.”

“He’s not used to paying for things.” Montgomery leans against the doorway, a wolfish grin taking up residence on his face. He knows what he’s doing. He’s not going to establish dominance over me, but he’ll make sure I know how far beneath them both I am. “Just drop your last name, Cy. You don’t need money.”

“Shut up,” Cyrus orders him as he digs in his top drawer.

“Come on.” A pale hand appears on his arm, tugging at it. The owner of it comes into view slowly. Slender arms, dusted with freckles flow into a willowy body clad in a short, summer dress that showcases long legs. She’s dressed for the heat, but despite that her cheeks glisten pink with a slight sheen of sweat. Strawberry blonde curls tumble over her shoulders. She looks over to me, her emerald gaze sparkling intensely. One second is all it takes. She takes me apart with those green eyes, studies the pieces, and then turns to Cyrus. “I have things to do. Can we get going?”

Cyrus doesn’t introduce us. He grabs the ID card and heads toward the door. It swings closed between me and his world—his friends. Then it cracks back open and his head pops through. “Party tonight at the Beta Psi house. You in?”

My thoughts flash to the girl. I want to ask if she’ll be there. I have no idea what she saw inside me, but I want to know. “Sure.”

He leaves without giving me more details. Already I’m reconsidering. There’s no way to know if she’ll be there and if it comes down to spending more time with Montgomery, I think I’d rather drink Clorox.

Beside me Francie is practically vibrating with excitement. She doesn’t need to know going to the party is a gamble that the girl will be there. I don’t need her obsessing over that factoid. It’s bad enough that she heard me make the plans.

I start to tell her that I’ve changed my mind, but her face is lit up like I’ve just handed her a winning lottery ticket. “Promise me you’ll go to the party.”