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Chapter 2
Socially Exhausted
Three years later
I hate dating.
It’s exhausting.
I’m socially exhausted.
My thumbs peck at my phone’s screen as though it is to blame for my many social failings.
Maybe it is.
I reread my text, add,Maybe I should join a convent, and tap Send before lying back on my sunlit pillow. I stare at my screen and will my roommate and closest friend, Ivy, to give an immediate response. Three blinking dots appear in a conversation bubble and bring a smile to my face.
Ivy:You’d have to change religions...
Me:Hmm...
Ivy:That bad?
Me:Worse.
Last night’s first date was so depressing that even the prospect—not that I have any—of another first date makes me want to throw up. Or eat a full pint of Häagen-Dazs.
Ivy:Wow. Need to talk?
Me:Maybe. Still in class?
Ivy:Yeah, but Prof. Plum is winding down. Meet for lunch?
I chuckle and wonder what my roommate’s professor has done to earnthatnickname. There’s probably a good story behind it—there usually is, with Ivy.
Me:Yes, please.Anything to take my mind off my misery.I’ll attempt to drum up an appetite. And put on some actual clothes. See you in a few.
Thank heaven for Ivy—and no early classes.
A glance at the time propels me out of bed and into the bathroom, where I stuff my dark curls into a messy bun as protection from a speed shower. I locate my favorite jeans on the closet floor as I dry off and snatch a top at random from among the hangers, forgoing makeup and deciding the bun looks presentable enough for campus.
In ten minutes flat I bounce out of our apartment and head up Campus Hill by way of the tree tunnel, thankful for the branches arching across the paved trail and the welcome shade they provide for the climb. The air holds the excitement of a new semester, the stress of papers and testing still a week or two away. Summer leaves have yet to yield to autumn colors in the high mountain valley that is home to Oak Hills, Colorado, and the small university that bears its name. It will be hard to say goodbye to this beautiful area once I graduate in December.
Not as hard as coming back in January would be.
I shove the disturbing thought aside and pick up my pace, forcing a smile as I pass a fellow student going the opposite direction.No way can she be eighteen, I think, feeling every one of my twenty-four years. One more reason I donotwant another semester.
Reaching the student center, I push through the outer doors and speed-walk down the wide hallway that leads to the food court, relieved to narrowly beat the chaos that will ensue when eleven-o’clock classes let out. Still, there are already plenty of noisy students staking claim to lunch tables. After an assessment of the various lines and a quick consultation with my nose, I decide on a beef burrito for brunch, work my way through the rabble to pay, then scan the growing throng for Ivy.
“Grace!”
My eyes turn at the sound of my name, and find Ivy tucked away in the coveted corner booth. Auburn hair pulled half back in a Dutch braid and cascading over one shoulder, my elfin friend throws me a look of triumph around a long, skinny carrot, greens intact.
“How?” I demand once I navigate through the crush.
She lifts a shoulder, wielding her vegetable like Audrey Hepburn’s cigarette holder inBreakfast at Tiffany’s. “Skill.”
I set down my tray, shrug off my backpack, and scoot in across from her, my long legs not fitting nearly as easily as her shorter limbs. “Three and a half years here, and I’veneverscored the corner booth. Sometimes I think you’re magic.”
