Page 7 of Wicked Surrender

No. I wasn’t going fucking anywhere.

It wasn’t just being cocky that had me so convinced I couldn’t be ousted from this position as the lord of the party, the infamous frat president who never shied away from wreaking havoc.

The college couldn’t get rid of me. Not when my parents could bail me out each time. Mr. and Mrs. Reeves wouldn’t bat an eyelid at paying off the university for whatever grievance Dean Chen or any of the other elite assholes could cry about.

My parents wouldn’t give a shit if I were expelled, but they’d realized it was way easier to hand over a check and look the other way. It hadn’t taken me long to understand that they only cared about not having to be present in my life.

It started with nannies.

Then babysitters.

Even tutors.

Mr. and Mrs. Reeves had never been the hands-on parents to give a damn about my “success”. So long as they could continue being used to living their lives in the city and doing as they saw fit with their lives as if they’d never had kids, I could carry on just like this.

I tipped back my cup, draining another beer. Already, my buzz was erasing the worst hits of pain in my headache from shitty sleep, dehydration, and not eating much before this party.

Fuck them, I swore again when an errant thought about that envelope hit me again.

No matter what the college wanted to summon me for, it wouldn’t be a legitimate threat to my doing exactly what I wanted on campus.

Nothing would ever stop me from getting revenge, either.

3

LAURA

On the Monday after the family dinner, I met with Kristin in the food court. I used the time between classes to study and check my schedule while she finished a paper, and I enjoyed the free time to make sure this busy week would go off without a hitch like I wanted it to.

Kristin and I met during freshman year when we were in math, biology, and English classes together. Like me, she was a go-getter, enrolling in college with a year and a half of college credits already. The advanced placement courses we completed at our respective high schools had put us over others here, but she wasn’t in pre-med like I was. Still, we stayed as close as we could with our heavy courseloads.

I wasn’t sure what she was finishing a paper for—maybe a lit class—but I was grateful I didn’t have anything pending to turn in. After a week of exams, I was in the clear to organize.

The material laid out in front of me and showing on my laptop all pertained to the medical industry’s symposium that was coming up. I was already stressed about it, and no amount of reviewing the dates and material gave me more confidence.

I had a record to maintain. Everyone in my family had presented at this, and it was a given that I’d be expected to wow the judges as well.

Presenting wasn’t an issue. Despite my introverted nature and preference to watch and observe instead of being the center of attention, I knew I could perform and speak publicly.

My hesitation about the symposium had only to do with my secret wish that I could go into something else. My passion and interest weren’t in line with my family’s background. Coming from a family of medical geniuses—with the exception of my mom, whom my dad told to stay home when Mai and I were born to be a stay-at-home-parent so he could continue working—I knew Ihadto go to medical school. It was a given, something out of my control.

Ever since the end of my freshman year, though, when I took a summer class in biochemistry, I’d become more and more intrigued about the field of bioengineering instead. Over my sophomore year, I added a biochem class on top of my usual ones expected to be completed in the pre-med program. And this year, I added even more electives on top of it all.

Still, I knew better than to suggest to my parents that I could tweak my major this close to graduation.

Or at all.

As I previewed the research articles about a promising new drug for cancer treatments, I sighed and wished I could present about something like this. Something new. Something innovative. Something different…

“What’s all that sighing for over there?” Kristin asked without looking up from her laptop, her fingers typing rapidly without pause.

“Sorry.” I smiled, a little embarrassed that I was breathing like a drama queen over here. But that was how much I wondered about changing from pre-med to bioengineering.

“Well, what’s bugging you?” Now she glanced up, closing her laptop.

“Hey, no. I’ll be quiet.”

She shrugged. “I’m done. I just sent it in.”

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