“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I whisper to myself, the last vestige of the fire burning out before me.
A small piece of ash—the final evidence of warmth—floats down from the sky, its silvery reflection lit by the faint light shining through the window behind me. My eyes watch its path, the tears wrestling loose and sliding down my cheek, racing it to the earth until both the ash and my sorrow land at my feet.
The vision of my feet against the cold cement drifts in and out of focus. I concentrate on my black slipper shoes and the perfect line against the paleness of my ankle. Then I notice the haphazard swirls of beads interrupting everything.
Cass made me this ankle bracelet, using the beads from our mother’s store to thank me for coming here. She gave it to me the day we packed up our belongings and drove with our parents across the country to McConnell. She handed it to me in the back seat, a small note wrapped around it expressing her thanks. She didn’t want my mother seeing, because it wasn’t about getting credit for the gesture. It was about her love for me—despite my flaws.
With one thumb rubbing the largest bead, I pull my phone forward to rest in my other hand, my legs now folded up in front of me.
By morning, everyone will see Chandra for who she is. The story will spread slowly to start, but near the end, it will be rapid. Her coach will know. The athletic director will know. The college president will know.
Everyone. Will. Know.
I hit SEND.
These friends that I’ve made—the ones passed out in the house behind me, the same people who love me because Chandra told them to—they’ll know I’m the one who did it.
And my life will shift.
This will change everything.
Chapter 1
Paige
I’m only half listening to Chandra bark orders over the phone.
“We’re going to need more food. The homecoming parties are always crowded. Sigma is coming, and they’ll easily push us over five hundred. And get more shrimp. You didn’t get enough shrimp…”
Somewhere along the way, she hung up. I must have said goodbye. I’m sure I said goodbye.
I hate her.
I hate her for what she did to my sister. I hate her for this invisible power she has over me because she’s the president of our sorority. I hate her because her boyfriend is friends with my boyfriend.
I hate her because part of me wants to be like her, and I hate her because the weaker part of me doesn’t.
And I hate the person I am when I’m around her. When I sent that photo, I hadn’t counted on the weekend. My wits were with me enough to do the right thing—for once in my goddamned life—but not with me enough to think about timing. The anxiety of everything unraveling is killing me, and every time Chandra calls, I expect it to be about that—about the photo.
The one I sent.
“Seventeen!” My number is called. Great…it’s the same guy working the deli counter today. He was the one who took my order for the party last week. Carson was with me. He was drunk…and an asshole. This guy, he knew Carson was drunk—and he judged me for it. Or at least, it felt like he did.
“I’m seventeen,” I say, stepping up to the glass case and handing over my number.
“I don’t really need the number,” he smirks. Maybe he doesn’t remember me. “Adding to your order?”
Shit. He remembers me.
“Yeah. Party just got a little bigger,” I say, smiling. I can’t help but smile at him—he has one of those faces. It’s like a forced reflection, and I want to mimic whatever he does.
“Okay, hang on. I’ll get the file from the back,” he says, patting the counter once and winking.
Houston.
I noticed his nametag the last time, too. I like the name. That’s why I noticed—not because he’s tall, broad shouldered, with dark hair that flops over the top of his visor and green eyes practically glowing under the shadow.
I like the name. That’s it.
“Okay, let’s see…Paige. Right…I’ve got you here,” he says, pulling the pen from behind his ear and clicking it to take more notes. “What are you adding?”
“You better not have ordered yet!” Carson’s voice bellows from behind me. “Did she order yet? Get mine in on this ticket. I don’t have a lot of time.”
“I haven’t gotten lunch yet. This was just the party order, relax,” I say, turning to face him, dreading turning back around to Houston, the guy with the cute name. I turn anyway because I have no choice, and Houston is wearing that same look—the judgmental one.