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“Are you here on scholarship too?” I ask.
Penny laughs. “Oh, the only thing worse than being a bad bisexual, polyamorous Jew in Bubbe’s eyes, is being poor. They’d have to cancel Hanukkah before Penelope Miriam Bergmann would allow me to go to anywhere other than an elite college on anything other than her dime. Joke’s on her. I’m majoring in Political Science, then I’m heading to Yale law. I’m going to change the damn world. Or at least, America, quoting her as my inspiration at every possible occasion.”
“I like your style.”
The humor seems to leave Penny as she stares at me. “Wait, are you here on a scholarship?”
This information isn’t something I consider important enough to keep a secret. She’s only going to have to walk back into my room and see the broken suitcase and realize something’s not right anyway.
Instantly, Penny waves her hands. “That’s not important to me—to anyone here.”
Folding my arms, I arch an eyebrow. “Really?” I ask, not keeping the skepticism from my tone. Sure, this might be college, and we’re all supposed to be more accepting when we get here, but how much money I have in this place? I’ll believe no one cares when I see it.
Penny offers me a sheepish grin. “Okay, so maybe a lot of people might…”
“Judge the fuck out of me?”
Without hesitation, Penny nods. “Sorry. Bubbe frequently tells me I’m too blunt. You passed my vibe test, and I don’t want to scare you off already. I’m trying to filter myself.”
“Just say what you want,” I tell her. I’ve had enough of people sugarcoating the truth or flat out lying about a situation. “I can handle it.”
She nods. “Fine. About half the school is going to make some form of comment about your situation, even though it has fuck all to do with them. Me? I have a limited number of fucks left to give.” When I don’t say anything, she stands up. “I’m serious. I keep them on my desk.”
“On your desk?” Arching an eyebrow, I glance over at her pink frosted creation.
Seeing me look, Penny walks over to the work surface and pulls over a hot pink cookie jar with a ring of baby pink feathers stuck to the rim. She picks it up and holds it out to me.
Curious, I take the lid off and peer inside. At the bottom are what looks like paper confetti that gets fired out of the cannons at concerts, all black. I reach in and pull out a few of them. It’s only when they’re in my hand that I can see the wordfuckhandwritten on them in silver.
Before I can stop myself, laughter bursts from me. It’s the fact these are all stored in a pink cookie jar.
“Be careful,” Penny chides as she hurries to take the small slips of paper from me. “They’re my last fucks.”
She says it with such a straight face that I let go. Watching the papers fluttering to the ground, I stumble over to the bed to catch my balance before I fall over from laughing so hard. I’m not sure why because it’s not eventhatfunny.
And when I try to catch my breath, I make the mistake of looking at Penny. She’s on the floor, picking up the last piece of paperpoutingat me.
By the time I’m clutching at the pain in my side, she’s laughing too, tears streaming down her face.
From her position on the floor, Penny rolls onto her back, her hair spreading out around her like an ice cream whip. “My stomach hurts.”
So does mine. “If it makes you feel any better, I think my number of fucks is significantly lower.” I wipe away the tears from the corner of my eyes, vaguely aware that there’s mascara mixed in them, and I probably have some streaks down my cheeks.
I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard.
“It’s decided. You’re going to the party with me tonight. I won’t go without you.”
“Not gonna lie, sticking cocktail sticks under my fingernails seems a better option than that Welcome Mixer.”
Penny sits up, wrinkling her nose. “Of course, you do. Everyone does. Unfortunately, the Freshman Welcome Mixer is a requirement. But that’s not the party I’m talking about. I’m talking about the real welcome party afterwards. The one where the faculty turn a blind eye and pretend we’re all tucked in bed by midnight instead of committing all acts of freshmen regrets.”
The only thing I’ll regret this year is not finding out the truth of what happened here three years ago, and I have zero intention of failing to experience that.
A college party will be a piece of cake. What could I possibly regret?
IV
Royal
