AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I was hoping it would only be a few days, but when I went to the housing office this morning, things didn’t look too promising. Apparently, every room is taken. So unless someone leaves, I’m out of luck. It would figure that registered students would be at an all-time high and housing options would be down to nothing my very first semester of my very first year. My luck...”
“That’s bullshit. You mean to tell me they don’t have a storage closet in one of the buildings they can throw a cot in for you. Seriously, you were registered for housing. How does that just get overlooked?”
“It didn’t so much as get overlooked as it got overbooked. They had a room assigned to me. Unfortunately, they had it assigned to two other students as well, both of whom arrived before me. What were they supposed to do? Make one of them leave so I could stay?” I sigh, pushing my way through the double doors before turning right down the hallway, trying to figure out where my English class is being held. I spent yesterday walking my schedule, trying to familiarize myself with where everything is, but I still feel like I’m completely turned around. This campus is huge.
When picking a major it was a no brainer. I’ve wanted to be an architect like my dad since I was a little girl. Honestly, that’s the main reason I wanted to attend the same program that he did, knowing the success he’s achieved with his career. I just hate that I have to take so many BS classes that have nothing to do with my degree. Like English. Honestly, do I really need that to design structures?
“Besides,” I switch my phone to the other ear, “at least I had somewhere to go. It’s not like they were throwing me out on the street. I’m sure they could have figured something out if I had no other option.”
“Still doesn’t make it okay. I swear, I have half a mind to fly out there to give those incompetent housing people a piece of my mind.”
“Calm down there, killer.” I chuckle. “My dad already had a less than pleasant conversation with them yesterday and it did no good. I doubt you’d have a different result.”
“You never know, maybe someone who works in that department has a thing for redheads.” She laughs suggestively, and I imagine she’s wiggling her eyebrows up and down. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been best friends with someone since kindergarten; you know every facial expression they make and when they make it.
“Maybe.” I bark out a laugh. “But really, it’ll be fine. Honestly, I think both of my parents are relieved. They would rather me live with Brennon than on campus, anyway. You know how overprotective they are. And living withyou know who, while not ideal, is manageable.” I avoid saying his name as if doing so somehow gives him power. “At least I think it will be. I haven’t really seen or spoken to him since he arrived and found me and my bags in his living room. I think he’s avoiding me.”
“Do you care?” Zoe asks, although she already knows the answer.
“Hell no. The further he stays away from me, the better.”
“I stand by what I’ve been saying for years. He’s only mean to you because he likes you,” she teases.
“Likes to make me miserable maybe.” I snort.
“I’m just sayin’, when a guy treats a girl like that, it’s usually because he’s trying to bury how he really feels about her.”
“Yeah, maybe when he’s ten. We’re not children anymore. He’s an asshole to me because hedoesn’tlike me, and that’s fine, because I certainly do not like him.”
“You sure that’s it?” she questions for probably the five hundredth time since Atlas Keaton found his way into our lives.
She’s always sworn there was something more going on there. But Zoe doesn’t understand the full extent of my and Atlas’s dislike for one another. When other people are around, he’s not as bad. Sure, he’ll make snide comments or belittle me in public, but when it’s just me and him, he can be downright cruel. Even the way he treats me in front of Brennon is far nicer than how it is when no one else can hear. Whispering insults under his breath when he’d pass me. Teasing me about my flat chest. Making fun of the small bump on the bridge of my nose from when Brennon broke it head butting me when we were five. He’s been pointing out my flaws like it’s sport for years. People don’t do that to people they care about. They just don’t.
Zoe doesn’t get it because Atlas has always been in full blown charm mode whenever she, or any of my other friends, are around. No doubt trying to play it up in an effort to get into their pants. Though if he had ever actually tried with Zoe, she would have turned him down cold. Her loyalty has always been with me, without question. And I love her for that more than I can say. Most girls wouldn’t have the willpower to turn down someone who looks like Atlas. Someone who exudes sex and charm. Someone whose very presence makes you see things a little less clearly. I used to get lost in that fog myself, until I saw Atlas for who he really is. A player... Plain and simple.
“I’m sure alright.” I come to a stop outside the open classroom door—ENG 101—printed on a piece of paper taped to the wall. I let out an exhale of relief. For a moment I was thinking maybe I had taken a wrong turn somewhere. “Anyway, I gotta go, Zo. Class starts in five and I need to get inside and find a good seat.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go learn some shit, my cool college friend.”
“I’m gonna try. If you get any good shots today, send them over.”
Zoe opted to take a year off school in hopes of making something out of her photography. She said she didn’t want to subject herself to a mountain of debt if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. She doesn’t need schooling, anyway. You can’t teach the kind of talent she has in a classroom. It’s something you’re born with.
“Will do. Love ya, Barlow.”
“Love you, too.” I end the call, jamming my phone into the side pocket of my bag as I step into the classroom.
Less than half of the seats are full, and I’m thankful to have gotten here early enough to grab a seat at the back, my preferred seating location. I hate having people behind me. Maybe because when I was in seventh grade, Marcy Bailey thought it would be funny to throw gum in my hair, and not just one piece. Ever since then, I’ve always sat in the very back of the class. I guess you could say it was a traumatizing experience. Or rather, having my mother spend an hour trying every peanut butter and ice trick in the book before taking me to the salon to have it all cut off, was.
Atlas had a real good laugh about that one. He called me Barry for a year until my hair grew out past my chin.
Settling into my seat, I pull out a notebook and pencil, setting it on the desk in front of me. While most other students have laptops out, I’m a pencil and paper kind of girl. Always have been. Don’t get me wrong, I use a laptop, but only when I have to. I’m also probably one of the only college freshman in existence that still uses a paper planner. What can I say, I’m old school like that. I’m not much into social media either, unless you count Pinterest (which for the record I’m obsessed with). Too much drama if you ask me.
My mom has always said I’m an old soul. I guess she’s not wrong. I kind of am. I always choose a good book over television. A quiet night in over going out. A small gathering over a crowded party. Another way that my twin and I are different. Nope, it’s not just our looks, but our personalities as well.
Brennon is outgoing and fun, always the life of the party. On weekends, you’d rarely ever find him at home, and I don’t think there was one high school party he didn’t at least make an appearance at. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone that didn’t love Brennon. Me, on the other hand, not so much. I think most of the friends I had in high school, with the exception of Zoe and a couple others, were my friends simply because of who my brother was. He’s always been easier to like than me. Probably because I was born with no filter and have an impulse problem when it comes to the shit that flies out of my mouth at any given time. A quality I get from my late grandma, or so I’m told.
I grab my phone from my bag, double checking that it’s on silent, when someone slides into the seat next to me. Dropping it back into the side pouch, my gaze slides to the right and I swear my stomach ends up somewhere on the floor next to my feet.
