Page 14 of Did They Break You

My stepdad is wealthy, too. I’m not ugly. But where Cortland has an easy smile and polite, Southern manners, able to converse with everyone from the principal to the janitor, I don’t know how to socialize well.

I’ve always been this way.

My stammering words and standoffishness don’t endear me to anyone. Silas. Chase. Maya.

I nod once in Maya’s direction. If I get kicked off the team, I’ll be home more and my comfortable social status as someone just above rat in these hallways will slip. I don’t wanna do that to Sloane. She could be so much better than my friend. Do so much better.But I love her.

“I’ll be there,” I say, shifting my gaze from Maya to Cortland.

He’s smiling at me, a dimple flashing in his cheek. “See ya, Remi.”

“See ya.” I turn around, feeling Cortland’s eyes on me.

Then I hear Chase snicker. “I wouldn’t mind fucking her once to see if she’d actually moan.”

My ears grow warm and I’m glad I’m walking away from them. Maya makes a disgusted noise. “She looks like she hasn’t washed her hair in weeks,” she hisses. “Wonder if she’s got any running water in that big house.”

Pressure builds behind my eyes. I didn’t shower this morning. Or yesterday because I’d already cleaned the bathrooms and didn’t want to risk them seeming anything but spotless.

I’m about to turn down the hall when Cortland speaks, his voice soft and low.

“She’s still hot as hell.”

And despite the humiliation burning through me, a smile graces my lips.

Sloane whirlsaround as I walk into our dorm, dropping my backpack to the floor. I inhale, trying to steady myself, catching the strawberry scent that seems to drift around her, infecting every space she occupies.It’s comforting, and right now, I need the comfort.

“Finally,” she says with a smile, a hairbrush in her hand.

I swallow, forcing myself to meet her gaze as I glance at her side of the room. I moved in yesterday, loading up all the things I’d kept at her house over the summer into my little blue Corolla. I wanted a night away from her.

Not because ofher,because of me.

She’s got her purple bedspread made up, her lofted bed mirroring mine, against the wall. Our desks are beside our beds, adjacent to each other.

There’re dresses draped over her purple desk chair, a couple of boxes labeled BATHROOM on her bed, but otherwise, it looks like she’s mostly done unpacking.

“You get my text? About the party tomorrow night?”

I take a step into our little room, then another. I force myself to sink into my own black desk chair, pulling my knees to my chest, my Chucks on the seat.

“Yeah,” I tell her, my throat dry. “I?—”

“And before you say no,” she scolds me, hopping up on her bed, her legs dangling off as she keeps brushing her bright blonde hair, “Van is gonna be there too.”

At that, I’m able to blink away the memory of Cortland’s thumb stroking my breast.

I look up at her, shoving my hands into the pocket of my hoodie as I take in her beige crop top and high-waisted jeans. Her green eyes meet mine, accentuated by lash extensions. She tried to convince me to get them, too, but it’s all I can do to put on eyeliner. I couldn’t handle the upkeep.

“You talked to Van?” I ask, dipping my chin.

Van Cross is, technically, my cousin, but not by blood. He’s the son of my stepdad’s stepsister, whom he never speaks to. They don’t get along—what a surprise—and aside from a few odd holidays growing up, we weren’t close. He has no idea what Silas is like. But we coincidentally reconnected in an art history class last year, and when he offered me a joint as soon as we walked out together, our connection was instant. He’s attractive as far as distant cousins go, with buzzed hair, tanned white skin and deep blue eyes, plus those tattoos all up and down his arms. But our relationship is strictly platonic, and not just because we’re vaguely related by marriage. He’s not into me. It’s another reason he’s my friend. He feels safe.

And besides that…

“He wouldn’t come,” I continue, frowning at Sloane. “Van is asocial.”

She laughs, rolling her eyes, tossing her brush down onto her bed. “You could just say antisocial like the rest of us,” she jokes.

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