Page 12 of Built to Fall
It’s not a good look for me, either. By the time Grant steps inside, I’m already leaning against the back wall, wearing black leggings and my raincoat with white tennis shoes.
There’s not a doubt in my mind that I look like I’ve stepped straight out of a zombie apocalypse movie, with my hair thrown in a messy bun and the bags under my eyes that I’ve become completely immune to.
I read once that sleep deprivation can make your brain mistake synapses for waste. Basically, your brain starts eating itself, like a self-inflicting zombie. Maybe that’s what’s happening to me.
My eyes droop. My brain turns to mush. I need sleep like a druggie needs a pill, but my body is fighting it like an addict turning down a fix.
“Hey,” Grant says, leaning against the side wall, right next to the elevator button panel. He hits the button for the floor I’ve already pressed—entirely unnecessary.
Before answering, my eyes involuntarily scan down his body to examine his navy, form-fitting button-down under the straps of his backpack. He’s even wearing lightly colored slacks. It makes me wonder why he’s dressed so nicely.
When I scan back up to his face, I notice the way his jaw works with the gum he’s chewing. He must do it a lot, because there’s a prominent muscle there.
“Hi,” I then say before looking back up at the ceiling.
It’s not that I have anything against talking to Grant, but my social battery is already at an all-time low after walking through the busy campus while coming straight from my two hundred person lecture. And on top of that, I know I’ll be having lunch with Eden and Kara when I get back to the apartment.
Safe to say, I was really looking forward to the few minutes of peace I would have in this elevator ride.
“Where are you coming from?” he questions casually.
“Class.”
“Nice. Do you go to school around here?”
I feel my brows pull together at the question. I thought it was quite obvious that we all went to the same school. “Yeah. I go to Yale.” My tone is purposefully stale.
Grant must notice it, because his eyes flicker back toward me, a look of shock passing over him. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah.” My fists clench at my side, a poisonous feeling coursing through me. “I go to the same school as the rest of you.”
“No, no.” He holds out a hand, stopping me. “That’s not what I was implying. I just wouldn’t expect someone so pretty to go to Yale, that’s all.”
Maybe it’s the way he says it, so casually. Like I’m supposed to be flattered. Like I should smile and blush in the way another girl would. One who trusts men more and questions their motives less than I do.
Compliments with strings attached.I know the type. “Why? Is there a rule that girls can’t be smartandpretty?”
I internally wince at my outburst because I immediately know it was too harsh of a reaction. But I’ve also never been the most level when it comes to navigating my emotions. It’s the one thing I’m not logical about, but that’s because emotions aren’t logical.
For some reason, regardless of how he meant it, my brain automatically responded defensively.
He looks shocked at my reply, as if he’s never had anyone turn down his advances. Thankfully, the elevator door opens on the fourth floor. I step out quickly before he can, continuing down the hall. I know Braxton and Grant live in the corner unit at the end of the hall, though, so it doesn’t shock me when he follows after me.
“Lina, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” I say, approaching my door and quickly unlocking it before stepping inside. “Have a nice day, Grant.” Iactuallywince when I slam the door behind me.
Eden flinches from where she stands in the doorway of the kitchen. “Jeez.” She lets out a relieved noise when she sees that it's me standing behind her. “Bad day?”
“It was fine until I got trapped in the elevator withcampus’s most popular playboy.” Dropping my backpack on the ground, I make a spectacle out of sitting on the barstool.
Eden whips around from where she was checking on whatever she has baking in the oven.
She’s not the most fond of baking, but it’s a hobby she’s taken up because she likes feeling useful. And she’s good at it.
“Grant?”
“He’s an asshole.” I want to be mad.I am mad. But not at him.
