Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
She looked good. Healthy.
She was taking me in as I was doing the same to her.
Her eyes lingered on my bag with the frayed edges. My hand tightened on the strap again, feeling a little self-conscious. It wasn’t fancy. I came from nothing. Had no one at one point. I needed to live in strangers’ homes, made do with hand-me-downs, or what the state gave me, and it was obvious from the name-brand jeans, heels, and off-the-shoulder sweater she was wearing that we weren’t the same. But as soon as that feeling reared, I stuffed it back down because I would not feel bad about where I came from.
“I can’t wait,” I said.
Her eyes were still tracing over my face before dipping down to give my arm and hand the same scrutiny. My nails were bare. If I ever got them painted, the nail polish chipped off within a few hours. I’d learned it was pointless to try and keep pretty colors on my nails.
I knew my nails didn’t look like hers. Hers were exquisitely done. She wore a couple sparkly rings on her fingers, matching bracelets around her wrist.
I tucked my hands away so she couldn’t keep staring at them.
“You are stunning.” She blinked, as if she wasn’t aware of what she’d just said. Retracting her hand, she straightened herself up, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Like, holy shit. Your hair is so sleek and black. And long. You have literal almond eyes. Sorry. I’ll get myself under control. And I’m not coming onto you, but you are really beautiful.” Her eyes grew distant before snapping back into focus. She laughed. “I’m straight. Palma. That’s my name, which I already told you.” A nervous hitch came next from her. “I’m totally messing this all up and you’re probably scared of me. I swear I’m normal. Sane. Well, I don’t know if I’m totally sane. Bad breakup recently. Like three days ago recently. We’d been together all through undergrad and he swore we could do long distance. I stayed, obviously. This is graduate housing. He went back home at the end of the summer to start working for his father’s company. He lasted two days. Can you believe that? Two days back home before his dick was inside his old high school sweetheart. I want to call her something like Fanny Mae, but the bitch has a cool name. I’m not saying it. She doesn’t deserve that.
“She totally knew about me too. And he’s a piece of shit. I hate them both equally. Well, I hate him more. He didn’t even tell me he’d cheated on me. One of her friends sent me a video of them. Can you believe that? A video? And it was her friend who sent it? Like, was it all a plan to break us up so she could get him back?” She laughed. Harshly. It hitched on a high note. “She’s welcome to him. I’m sure they’ll get married. Have kids. He’ll cheat on her the whole marriage, but she won’t care at first. She’ll be set. My ex comes from serious money, so yeah, she won’t care that he’ll do disgusting things to his mistresses while she gets it missionary or the occasional doggy-style. And oh my god, I have to stop talking.”
I was quiet for a bit, because, yeah. Processing. “What’s his name?”
She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Ugh. That’s the worst part. Brad Grundle, the fifth. It’s the ‘the fifth’ part that I can’t stand. Like they’re royalty or something. Pretentious. We’re all from the same town and we’re in the south, and I don’t know why I told you that either. Look at me. Whew. A bucket of TMI.” Another nervous laugh came from her.
I dipped my head down. “New rule of dating. Only date a guy up to the ‘the thirds.’ Fourths, fifths, and anything beyond is banned.”
Her eyes rounded on me before a laugh ripped from her. As soon as it did, another one followed. Deeper. More authentic. She kept going as tears came to her eyes.
My lip curved up.
“You—” She wiped at her eyes, her shoulders still shaking. “That’s hilarious. Where were you when I started dating Brad?”
If they dated all through college and he’d graduated while she was now in graduate school, I would’ve been a senior in Cincinnati. A flash of blood, sounds of screaming, and the smell of burnt toast and sulfur clogged my nostrils.
I gave her a small smile. “Probably in high school and planning my escape.”
She laughed, relaxing. “That’s right. The email I got about you said you’re still in undergrad? What’s your major?”
“Senior year. Psychology. I decided I wanted a change of scenery for my last year.”
“Psych. Nice. Feel free to analyze me. Maybe you can help me.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’ll just analyze myself. From what I hear, the license to analyze doesn’t happen until much later. You know, when we’re full of graduate school debt and need to hear ourselves talk.”