CHAPTER 25 (2)

The jerks at Harvard on track to their corner offices or lining up for eighteen-hour-a-day internships on Wall Street—in thirty years, they’ll look up from their fake wood desks to the fake gold clock on the fake stone mantle and think, ‘What if?’” The words are still ringing in my head when I leave. My phone buzzes on my way back through the halls, heading for the stairwell that afternoon. I answer, dread filling my stomach. “Hey. What’s up?” Dad says, “There you are. I was starting to think I’d have to get on a plane to talk to you.” I feel the blood drain from my face before he continues. “How are your classes?” “Good.” I tell him about sociology and English, which I can be truthful about. “I’m still waiting on one that I have tomorrow.” My intensive professor, whom I haven’t had the chance to meet, is supposed to see me then. I reach for the stairwell door, both to avoid the traffic in the elevators and because the reception’s probably better. “I know you were disappointed when I said you couldn’t go to performing arts school.” His gruff voice has my stomach twisting with guilt. “But I wanted to say… you’re the first one in our family to get a real college degree. And Columbia’s nothing to shit on.” Lying to my dad sucks, but I have to do it for a while. After all the music classes I took, I deserve to be here. Dad telling me he’d pay for any degree except performing arts was bullshit. He even said he’d pay for me to travel for a year if that’s what I wanted. But there was only one place I wanted to go. New York. Last winter, after I finished a local theater production of Avenue Q and before the start of Oakwood’s spring musical, I decided I didn’t need permission. I’m following my dreams. When he sees me succeed, he’ll understand. I know he will. I just need a little time to figure out how to show him I’m right. “How’s Sophia?” I ask as I reach the sixth floor, panting, and make my way down the hall to my room. “And Haley?” “Sophia’s a monster. Haley’s not much better.” “Heard that.” I smile at the sound of my stepmom’s voice as I stop in front of my closed door. “House is quiet without you,” he says after a minute. “You’re not even in the house. I thought you were lobbying in Washington this week.” “We are. But it’ll be quiet when we get home. What do you need? Money? Clothes?” “I’m fine, Dad Thanks.” I slide my key into the lock and turn the handle. “Okay. Guess I’ll let you go. Oh, and don’t forget about that awards dinner.” “What awards dinner?” “We talked about it months ago. The flight’s booked. I sent you an email about it this morning.” Shit. I almost forgot my dad was being honored at this big thing in LA Friday night and having a smaller friends and family thing at home Saturday. “Right. I’m sorry. I really want to come, but school’s just started. It’s hard to leave.” “Emily. It’s two days. You won’t miss any classes. The band’s planning to come down, plus Lita and Nina if they’re around.” I squeeze my eyes shut at the thought of all his crew, basically my adopted family. “All right. Sure.” “Good. We love you, kid.” “Love you too, Dad. And tell Sophia I miss her.” My throat works as I hang up. Before I can push my door in, the door next to mine opens. “That sounded strained.” Andie leans against the doorjamb, nodding at my phone. “Your parents?” “My Dad,” I admit. “I need a way to show him coming to Vanier was the right decision.” As I say the words, a lightbulb goes off. There’s no sign of Rica as I go to my computer and print something off. “Fall showcase?” Andie scoffs when I stick the poster over my bed. “I’m going to get in. No,” I decide, “I’m going to close.” Her brows hit her hairline. “You have any idea how you’re going to execute this coup?” “Not yet,” I admit. “But I’ll figure it out. I didn’t come all this way for nothing.” I glance at Rica’s bed, the shelf over the headboard. “Wait, weren’t there more of those dolls?” Andie crosses the room, inspecting the shelf. “You’re right. There was one with hair just like yours. She asked to borrow my scissors too…” I stare her down. “Okay, you’re shitting me.” With the exception of Leo’s last night, when Rica disappeared and was still gone when Andie and I returned to the dorms, I’ve barely seen her. “I don’t think she’s planning to voodoo you in your sleep.” “Ugh. I’m not so sure.” I drop onto my bed and clutch the stuffed Flounder Haley got me after The Little Mermaid. It’s a bittersweet reminder of home. Andie’s face appears over mine. “You’ve never had someone not like you before?” “Yes, but…” I’d always figured it was because I was Eddie Carlton’s daughter and I didn’t meet what they expected of me. “Not someone who shares my towel rack.” Andie laughs, dropping down onto the bed next to me. “What’s so funny?” I demand. “You think people liking you or not is about you? It’s about them. Let me guess—you have a lot of damage.” “A lifetime’s worth in eighteen years,” I confirm. She nods. “Now imagine everyone in this entire place is walking around with the same damage.” My brows shoot up, but she holds up a hand. “For every scar you’ve got, every mean girl story, every ‘daddy hates me’ and ‘I’m not enough’ and ‘it should’ve been different’”—my chest tightens at how scarily accurate she is—“they have one too. So does Rica. I promise you.” I turn that over. “You seem reasonably unscathed.” Andie smiles, pointing to her face. “It’s the brows. You keep your eyebrow game on point, the world thinks you have your shit together.” I huff out a breath as I stroke Flounder’s blue-and-yellow fur, thinking of Oakwood. “I’m not the best at making new friends.” “Because you’re into voodoo too?” I throw the fish at her head, and she catches it, laughing. She looks between the stuffed fish and the goldfish bowl on the corner of my desk. “I’ve heard of a foot fetish. A fish fetish is new. I might have to use that.” “That’s Heath.” “Heath,” she echoes. “Heathcliff. As in Wuthering Heights.” My chest warms a little as I watch him blow his introspective little bubbles. “He’s from my friend Avery. She’s at Columbia.” “Ahh. So, you do have friends.” I roll my eyes. “Some.” “Well, I’ve got your back. Rica can do what she wants.” A smile tugs at my lips. “Thanks.” My gaze settles on the trunk at the foot of Rica’s bed, which I’ve yet to see her open. “Is it wrong to want a hint of her damage?” We look at the trunk, then each other. Andie runs her hand over the surface of the trunk, landing on the lock at the front. “Until last night when you stripped off all your clothes to get on stage, I had you pegged as a good girl.” “I was. I grew up.” She lifts a brow. “Doesn’t that mean the end of childish ways?” “No. It means accepting that we all do bad things for good reasons.”