Page 24 of Creed

“Yes,” she cuts me off like I had cut her off. “But that doesn’t mean your cooch can’t have fun.” She takes my shower bag and tosses it onto my bed, then pulls me to sit down, turning serious. “Soph, you know you can’t be all work and no play, right? It’s okay for you to have some fun while achieving your goals.”

Ollie is a sophomore, and even though I know she’s speaking from experience, and this isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, I still resist. I’m a queen introvert, and college parties aren’t my scene, especially not when my family relies on me. But I’ve said all this to Ollie before. She hasn’t stopped trying to change my ways, but thankfully, she’s eased up on the intensity.

“Getting drunk or high at a frat party isn’t my idea of fun,” I say.

“Don’t have to tell me that, girl.” She snorts. “Even though you seem to have an ‘in’ for the best frat parties with Zac Watkins.”

I roll my eyes, hiding my secret friendship with Zac. “He’s in two of my classes. That’s not an ‘in’.”

“Please,” Ollie drawls. “Quarterback. All-star jock, going places. He doesn’t just study with anyone. Fuck, I’m not even sure why he studies. He’ll get drafted, for sure.”

I get up off the bed, very much over this conversation.

Suddenly, she shoots to her feet. “Was it Zac’s pole you climbed last night?”

I wince at her vulgarity, and she laughs at my innocence. However, thinking back to last night, plus this morning’s wake up blowjob for Creed, I’m not exactly as innocent as everyone thinks.

“No. I did not sleep with Zac last night or ever. We’re partners for a group assignment, plus we’ll sometimes study for accounting. That’s it.”

Zac and I don’t exactly run in the same circles. On the outside, he’s a man-whore and douche canoe with a capital D. However, I know the real person he hides from the world. And I’ll keep his secret because it isn’t mine to tell.

Before Ollie can push me for more information, my phone saves me. When I see who is calling, I bite my lip.

Ollie sees my call display flashingTio Antonioand gives me an understanding look. “You can’t avoid him forever, Soph.”

I sigh and answer Antonio's call. “Hey.” I leave our dorm room and move into the hallway, hurrying to the stairwell.

“Hey?” Antonio grounds out. “Hey, Sophie Camilia Demeanus? That’s all you have to say?”

I jog down the three flights of stairs toward the lobby to find a place with some privacy. I’ve been a little shit to Antonio and our grandparents over the past few months—not on purpose. I was in a bad head space and needed to work through that on my own.

“You don’t return our calls or texts for weeks, Soph. And when you finally answer, all you have to say is ‘hey’?”

Outside, I find a bench across the walkway to the campus quad. “I’ve been busy getting an education, bettering my life for my family.”

My words comes out sharper than I intended, and there’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

“You know that’s not your responsibility, right, firefly?”

Tears burn behind my eyes. It’s been a while since Antonio has called me firefly. It’s a stupid nickname, but he told me he always thought of me whenever he needed a light in the dark.

“You should do what you want to do,” he says softly. “If school isn’t it, or it isn’t right for you now, then that’s fine.AbuelaandAbuelohave no expectations except that you’re happy, Soph. There’s no big grand plan for you to get a higher education to support your family. They don’t need that.”

I feel the weight of my guilt. After my mom died, I felt like a drain on my grandparents' resources and energy.Mamánever allowed my father to have anything to do with me. She’d never accept his money—blood money from his employer, the Garcia Cartel.

My guilt is compounded by what I had done after my mom died, and I had a severe moment of deranged weakness. I felt alone, even though I was the furthest thing from that, because Antonio, my grandparents, and all my young cousins rallied around andloved me. But losing my mom made me spiral and not think straight. Stupidly, I craved a connection with my estranged father, reasoning he was my only living parent, and I sought him out. I let myself believe in a fantasy that he wasn’t as bad as everyone had warned me about, that he loved me.

But he was more awful than whatMamáhad warned. I still shudder every time I think about what had happened, and a sheen of sweat breaks out on my skin. I never told anyone, and in the months since, I withdrew, feeling so disappointed in myself for not heeding my mom’s warnings and guilty for going against my grandparents’ wishes. That’s why I have been avoiding my family these past months.

I swallow my guilt. “I want to give back to them what they’ve given me.”

“Mi dulce chica… My sweet girl, you have a heart of gold.” Antonio sighs. “Supporting our family isn’t your weight to carry. AndAbuelaandAbueloare fine.”

“You’re one to talk,” I scoff. “You send money home every week.”

“I’m older. Settled and successful.”

Antonio is over ten years older than me and a music executive in New York. Some of his biggest clients and closest friends are Lok Bello—an internationally famous EDM DJ—and Severyn Andrews, a songwriter-musician who had blasted on the scene and rocketed to fame working with A-list bands and musicians.

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