Page 4 of Before You
Marley
“DO YOU THINK this is fine?” I ask Bria, my best friend and roommate. We’ve grown up together our entire lives as her parents are best friends with mine.
She’s lounging on my bed as I turn around to face her in our two-bedroom apartment. She’s a sophomore, whereas I transferred for my junior and senior year here instead of Columbia. I liked Columbia, but everyone there knew me, and I wanted an opportunity to figure out who I am outside of New York City where paparazzi wouldn’t follow me to class or offer to pay people in my dorms to get pictures of me rolling out of bed. Bria loved it here so much last year, so I filled out an application to transfer.
Bria looks up from her phone, her face scrunching up. “I thought we were just going to Trent’s house to meet his roommates? I’m literally wearing this,” she says, motioning to her Beaumont Track & Field hoodie and athletic shorts.
Bria is the definition of a tomboy, and despises wearing any type of dressy clothing, not that it matters what she wears. She inherited her striking features from both her parents. Bria’s stormy grey eyes stand out against her long dark hair and fair skin, and she has enough confidence to draw everyone’s attention to her when she walks into a room. I guess it’sto be expected with her mother being Tessa Kaplan, famed supermodel, and her father, Grayson Taylor, a hotshot corporate lawyer.
I look down at my blousy shirt and the denim shorts I thought helped dress it down. “I want to make a good impression on his roommates. Is it too much?” I ask, my nerves starting to get the better of me.
“They’re boys, Mar. I don’t think they’re going to care what you’re wearing.”
I chew my nails nervously as I face the mirror again. My hair is in its natural waves, and I put on a little mascara to make my blue eyes I inherited from my father appear brighter. “So you think I should change?”
She tries to smile, but then nods. “I mean, you look nice, but I think you’d be better off ditching the top and wearing a T-shirt?” Bria suggests, and I sigh, deciding to grab my favorite shirt from one of the many boxes I haven’t had the chance to unpack yet.
It’s a Beaumont Lacrosse short sleeve from when my dad went here, except it’s been washed enough times over the years the lettering has faded.
“Perfect, tuck it into your shorts, and you’re golden,” she says, and I realize she’s right.This is better.
“So what exactly do you know about Trent’s roommates?” Bria asks, slipping into her sneakers while I grab my keys.
Honestly, he hasn’t told me much about them. “They’re on the football team with him. I met Luka this summer, and he seemed nice.”
“Awesome, a bunch of jocks,” Bria muses, and I roll my eyes. Her logic is flawed and biased.
“Bria, you’re a jock.”
“No, I’m an athlete. They’re a bunch of jocks.”
“What’s the difference?” I ask, walking down the stairs to the lot where my car is parked.
I deeply regret asking the question after Bria spends the entire five-minute car ride to Trent’s explaining the complex difference. It sounds like the same thing to me, but what do I know?
I danced growing up because I loved it, but music is secretly my true passion. I love writing music, but playing my guitar is my favorite thing to do. It’s my escape from reality when the world becomes too much.
Unfortunately, it’s not something I could ever pursue as a career because my future has been set in stone my entire life: get a degree in biology or chemistry, and then my master’s degree while working for the family company, and once my father retires, take his place.
I knock on the door as Bria finally concludes her rant, taking it upon herself to enter before anyone has a chance to answer. “Bria,” I whisper, irritated because I have no choice but to follow after her. Is she seriously just walking into their house?
“What?” she whispers, looking at me over her shoulder. “He should have been waiting by the door for you to get here, and if they don’t want anyone walking in, maybe they should have locked the door.”
Yeah, or maybe we could have waited more than two seconds?
Trent appears in front of Bria, a smile forming on his face. She shrugs, looking up at him. “Your door was unlocked.”
“Nice to see you too, Bria,” he says, and she steps aside so he can get past her.
“Hi there,” I greet, hoping he doesn’t hold my best friend’s rude behavior against me. Trent leans down, kissing me briefly on the lips. My heart swoons a little at his quintessential all-American football player looks from his short blond hair to his brown eyes and lean build. We met at a charity event both of our families were invited to in April, and he asked for my number.He took me out for drinks the next night, and we were dating by the time he was home for the summer.
“Hi yourself. I’m happy to see you,” he says, kissing me one more time before grabbing my hand to pull me with him. “We got our asses handed to us at practice today.”
“Yikes,” I say, following him to the living room where two guys are sitting on the couch. I recognize Luka from a trip to Trent’s family’s house in the Hamptons this past summer, but aside from him playing with Trent, I don’t know much about him.
The one I don’t know laughs, shaking his head. “You can say that again,” he says, smiling at me. “I’m Asher. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’m Marley, and this is my best friend, Bria,” I reply, motioning to Bria behind me, and his eyes instantly widen.Perfect, I knew bringing her would be the perfect ruse to take attention off me.
