Hiya Readers
Thanks for reading another chapter. This book has a slow beginning as you meet all the characters, so I can’t wait for you to get to know Billie, Jimmy, Xander, Zane, Imogene, and Billie’s dad. I love all these characters.
xoxo Dana
Chapter Three
When Mr. Hodges finishes his lesson, I pack away my books.
On the other side of the classroom, Zane shoulders his bag and stands, ready to leave, but he pauses. Per usual, his straight black hair falls in his eyes. He approaches and stops next to my desk as I zip my backpack.
“I might be late tonight,” he says as we exit the classroom. “I have a meeting with my adviser, and he usually runs late. But it’s in Mercier Hall, so that’s close.”
“That’s fine.” We head upstairs to the first floor of Stanley Hall. The math classes are in the basement. “We can start later if that’s easier.”
Zane shrugs and pauses at the top landing. “Oh, hey, I have something for you.” He rifles through his bag, and I stop beside him, glancing around the foyer as the other students pass. He pulls out a tattered envelope, overflowing with cash. “We’ve done six sessions already, and I figured you’d like to get paid.”
He offers the envelope, and I cock an eyebrow. I didn’t realize we’ve spent that much time together. I accept the envelope and flip through the contents. “Uh, thanks.” I pocket it. Why does this feel like a drug deal?
“It is the deal, Wilhelmina.”
“Why do you call me that?”
Zane sends me a skeptical glance. “We exchanged emails and text messages for several days before meeting. How was I supposed to know you go by a nickname?”
I suppose that would be my fault for not clarifying.
“Right.” I turn away from him, ready to move on. “I have class. I’m sure you do too.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
He follows me, but my fingers fight with my hoody zipper. The bottom pins won’t fit together. Finally, they catch, and I slide the zipper upward and collide with someone in front of me.
“Mina?”
I look up.
The man in front of me has wavy deep-brown hair, smooth dark-brown skin, wire-rimmed glasses, a five o’clock shadow—and hazel eyes to match mine. He looks professional with his navy dress shirt, khakis, and a bright-blue bow-tie, but he stammers at the sight of me.
“Dad.”
Behind me, Zane comes to a stumbling halt, nearly running into me.
My father clears his throat. “You look, uh, well.”
“Thanks. You too.” I slide the zipper up to my neck and glance toward the door. “I have class…in Cameron Hall.”
“Of course.” A rueful smile spreads across his face. “You’re always welcome to stop by my office. Room 311 on the top floor.”
“Sure thing.” The forced excitement in my voice probably sounds like sarcasm, but I take a step toward the door.
“Mina…”
I look back. He and Zane are both standing awkwardly, watching me. The contrast between their skin tones is unmistakable under the fluorescent lights.
“Yeah?”
Dad takes a couple steps closer, and his lips form a thin line, the mark of determination. “I would like to see you. I have my tea at four o’clock and dinner at seven. Would you join me tonight?”
For a second, I hesitate, but a response stumbles out of my mouth. “I have plans at five, and I don’t have the address.”
“I can email it to you.” For a second, his firm gaze falters. “Could you make dinner?”
No. Of course I can’t. It doesn’t matter if it’s true, say no.
“I should be free then.”
“Then I’ll see you at seven.”
“Yeah.” I step toward the door, utter one last, “Goodbye,” and leave the building.
The door shuts behind me.
All at once, the wave of nausea hits me full-blast. Under the awning, I clench my eyes shut. Count my breaths, not my heartbeats. Swallow down the lump in my throat.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
In the past four months, all I’ve seen are glimpses. Him riding down the Lane on his bicycle, walking up the stairs of Stanley Hall, packing a to-go meal in the cafeteria. A million times I’ve seen him and turned the other way, hidden behind a bush or in the bathroom. Even so, surely he’s seen me sometime during these months. But he never pursued me, never contacted me, never showed any interest.
Why now? And worse, why couldn’t I think of an excuse?
I tear open my eyes and kick one of the shrubs along the walkway. In the green space between here and the library, a couple students glance my way before continuing the trek to their next class, and I lean against the nearest awning support. “Dammit.”
“Are things really that hard with your dad?”
I twist my head.
Zane, standing outside the building doors, stares at me.
“Don’t worry about it.” I shake my head. “I have class.”
He approaches before I can force my legs to move again. “Just curious. I didn’t get the impression it was that serious.”
Wasn’t that the point? My failed relationship with my father has nothing to do with my business arrangement with Zane.
“I have to go to class, Zane. I’ll see you at five. When you’re done with your adviser?”
He nods. “I’ll meet you in the library.”
Zane glances up from his notebook. “Don’t you need to wrap up? We can finish later.” He pulls over his phone and lights up the screen. “It’s 6:30.”
I square my shoulders and point to one of his homework problems with my pencil. “Make sure you use the chain rule for twenty-one.”
“Sure.” When I look at him again, he’s watching me. “Your dad said seven, didn’t he? How long will it take you to get there?”
Eight minutes, according to Google Maps.
“We need to go over more integration techniques.”
Despite the serious look on his face, Zane laughs. “Should we meet up tomorrow to catch up? Or do we just want to do one more session before the final?”
My eyes peruse his homework. “Everything else here looks alright. You’re getting better.”
“No meeting tomorrow, then?” He pulls the notebook closer and closes it. “You ready for the weekend?”
I shrug and glance at my phone. It only makes the tension in my stomach worse.
“My frat’s throwing a big blowout Friday night for finals.” He grabs his backpack from the far side of the table and shoves his things inside.
“I guess we should call it a night.” I pile together my notes and books inside my own bag. “We’ll want our pre-finals session to be in-depth. We have to go through everything since midterms.”
He continues as if I haven’t spoken. “It’s the biggest party of the year. Blacklights and beer pong and dancing.” He slings his bag over his shoulder. “We hired the Finnick twins to organize it this year.”
I frown. “Why would you have a party before knowing whether you pass your classes?”
Zane laughs. “To relax before studying like mad. Besides, everyone leaves campus once they finish their finals.”
“I don’t see the point.” I stand up, push in the chair, and head for the stairs.
He runs to catch up. “You have friends, right?”
“Something like that.” I take the stairs two at a time, but he straggles. “What makes you ask?”
“You could come to the party and find out. Bring your friends, hang out, see if you like it. What d’you think?”
I pause on the landing halfway down to the ground level. “Why?”
He smiles, but the laughter dies in his throat. “It’d be nice to get to know someone I’m spending this much time with, away from the textbooks and classwork. We spent an hour and a half together—and this was a short session—and I know nothing about you. Besides, based on this morning, I’d say you could use a relaxing evening.”
I grip my backpack straps. “Friday is tomorrow. I have plans.” Another step down the stairs. “Maybe you should’ve asked sooner.”
I still would’ve said no. An evening in a sea of drunken morons would hardly be relaxing.
Zane catches up. “Really? Because you don’t strike me as particularly social. I’ve never met someone who gives me quite as much cold shoulder. Are you always this tightly wound?”
“Are you always this invasive?”
He huffs. “Is it that strange for someone to want to know you? What do you do in your spare time?”
“I study and I do this. I doubt you’d be interested.”
At the bottom of the stairs, we head for the exit. With a furrowed brow and a frown, Zane pushes open the double doors to the courtyard outside and holds the door. “You’re making an assumption based on nothing—because you haven’t tried to know me.”
“Aren’t you doing the same thing about me?” I pause on the steps outside, and he stands a few feet away. “I said no, leave it at that.”
“Fine. When do you want to study for the final?”
I sigh. “The final’s Wednesday at eight a.m. How’s Tuesday night?”
Zane nods, but there’s a sour look on his face. “Yeah, sure. I’ll text you.”
We turn our separate ways. He heads for the upperclassmen housing, and I cross the green space behind the library to reach Finchley Avenue.
I’m supposed to head for my father’s house now. His email said it’s on Cherry, a couple streets over, but I’m unfamiliar with the area beyond Bradford. The only places I’ve visited off-campus are the local Walmart and Xander’s favorite coffee shop downtown. Jimmy has made it his job to force me to socialize, even if my only interactions are with his asshole roommate.
My uneasy stomach wells with nausea, and I pause in the middle of the sidewalk.
The streetlights barely illuminate the walkway.
I swallow down the lump in my throat, trying to calm my quaking stomach. This is a terrible idea. Too soon. I don’t belong in that house. I shouldn’t go there.
I take a step toward Cherry, then look down Finchley. The back of Lincoln barely sticks out from behind Arthur Hall. It looks particularly inviting right now.
Jimmy’s door is open when I return to Lincoln Hall, and I poke my head inside, not bothering to drop my bag off in my own room. Inside, Jimmy lies on his bed and taps away at his keyboard. A smile spreads across his cheeks when he spots me. “Hey, come in.”
Otherwise, the room is empty.
“You done tutoring already?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Thankfully, I never had the time to tell him about my dad’s offer—let alone my acceptance of it. If he doesn’t know, he can’t be disappointed I chickened out.
“Where’s Xander?” I sit at the foot of Jimmy’s bed. “It’s Wednesday night. He’s usually playing some stupid game.” I incline my head toward the gaming systems.
Jimmy returns to his laptop. “He’s on another date with Val—or whatever you want to call it. Are you going to write your final essay on Whitman or Dickinson or…who are the other options?”
“Thoreau, Frederick Douglass, Louisa May Alcott,” I list off. “I’m leaning toward Thoreau.”
“I started outlining mine on Whitman, but it all sounds stupid. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
I shrug. “Mo continually tells me writing English papers is all about bullshitting. That must be why she’s so good at them.”
Over the glow of the laptop, Jimmy smiles. “She’ll do well in college. I’m pretty sure most papers are all about bullshitting.”
I laugh and scoot back.
“Can we study for our American Lit final? I know it’s a week away, but we have the test and the essay. If I put it off, I’ll forget.”
“I’m way ahead of you. I’ve been studying for the last week. Let me grab my note cards. I’ll be right back.”
In my room, I drop off my calculus book and grab my notes, Norton Anthology, and flashcards for American Lit, only to pause at the door. The calc book sits on the edge of my bed, a solid reminder of my own incompetence. I should at least let him know I’m not coming. It’s after seven now.
When I join Jimmy on the bed again, his laptop is away, and he has his notes and Norton book in front of him.
“You ready?”
I pull out my phone. “Gimme a sec.” I pull up the email from when he sent his address this afternoon and hit ‘Reply.’
Sorry I can’t make it tonight. Not feeling well. Can we reschedule? Best wishes.
I’m not sure I can manage more than that.
When I put my phone away, Jimmy’s watching me curiously. “That looked serious.”
I frown.
“To be fair, ‘serious’ is a pretty normal look for you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I twist to face him. “Let’s get to work.”
“How much of Emerson do you think it’ll cover? We read ‘Self-Reliance’ and ‘The Divinity School Address’ and…others.”
I laugh and flip through my book. “I imagine the test will be like the midterm. We need to know author, title, publication year, and a general synopsis of all the pieces we discussed in depth.”
“Right…”
Jimmy continues, but I pause at the sight of Xander’s empty bed.
“What did you mean?”
Jimmy stops mid-sentence. “Huh?”
“You said they’re on another date—Xander and Val—or ‘whatever you want to call it.’ What did you mean?”
He adjusts his position, mouth twisted uncertainly. “He doesn’t seem that into her.”
I quirk an eyebrow.
“This is their third date, but Xander doesn’t stay excited about anyone for long. He has no problem sleeping with them, mind you—or telling me all about it afterward—but he doesn’t stay emotionally attached.”
I snort. It’s hardly surprising. “Why would he when he can fuck them and move on to his next mark?”
But Jimmy shakes his head. “If that were true, he wouldn’t try so hard to feel something in the first place.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Let’s move on. I don’t know why I asked.”
“Morbid curiosity.” He sends me a devious smile before looking back down at his Norton Anthology. “Anyway, back to Emerson…”
