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Chapter One
Alex
Sitting in the refurbished lofts at lunch gives me space to set up the party invitations I had one of my staff design for me. I’m sliding flyers across the table to random students when Demetra waltzes up with two trays of food. She sits in the seat beside me and pushes one of the trays toward me, a chicken salad sandwich with extra pickles.
“What’s that for?” I ask while pushing another flyer toward an approaching student.
Demetra snuffles. “To eat, of course.”
The guy holding the flyer lingers for a second, seeming like he wants to say something, until I give him a hard frown. While keeping my gaze on the flyers, I whisper, “I’m not hungry.”
“You should eat something, Alex.”
I shrug. “What’s the point?”
“The point is to keep up your strength while you grieve.”
“So, you’re an expert now.”
The sigh she releases isn’t quite defeated, but it’s close. “You get grumpy when you don’t eat.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“It’s your favorite.”
A group of girls shuffles past the table, mindlessly grabbing flyers and holding them up to inspect. Many of them turn around to wave and shout that they’re going to attend. One of the girls ducks away to toss a flyer into the trash.
My little party seems to be producing some mixed reactions.
Demetra grabs a sheet from the dwindling pile and shakes it. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Why not?”
“You’ve been manic lately.”
I shrug as I lift half of the chicken sandwich and inspect it carefully. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ever since the funeral last month, you’ve been ditching class and spending more time by yourself.” She rests the page on the table and flattens her hand over it, whispering, “You haven’t been returning my calls.”
“I’ve been mourning.”
She nods. “I understand that, Alex. I just want to help you. Will you let me?”
For a second, I think about all the times my best friend has protected me from certain failure. She’s been by my side at every possible point, nearly sacrificing her own mental health and well-being just to spend time with me. Many of the things that those boys did to me were whispered shamefully into her ear, all those dirty details circulating in her brain.
Heavy is the crown I wear, but what about my advisor? Surely her shoulders must be exhausted from holding the weight I apply to her.
“This might be in bad taste,” Demetra comments. “So many deaths around the families, you know?”
“I don’t see how celebrating my inheritance is poor taste.”
She frowns, the indentions on either side of her mouth drooping into her chin. “It’s not like you.”
“Well, maybe this is the new me. Ever think of that? Ever consider how I might need to change to survive?”
“Don’t invite me to the party, Alex. I regret telling you to lean into any part of this.”
I drop the sandwich half I was holding and fold my arms over my chest. Looking this sour with a ton of party invitations is poor taste, not the party itself. Can’t she see how much she’s dampening my mood? “I guess that makes two of us, huh?”
