Page 53 of The Late Hit
“Fucking Truth or Dare,” Quinton responds, and I let out a laugh.
And for the next twenty minutes, I fill the table in on everything. From how Bryce and Asher were in an accident to the high school tribute, the bullshit gala, and Truth or Dare—leaving out what happened at the house. To say the table was silent is an understatement. No one moved the entire time I talked and cried. Yeah, seeing me cry was a shock to everyone at the table. I’m Brinley Wilder, the girl who never shows emotion. The girl who lives fast and parties harder.
But these people at this table are my family, and they deserved to know the truth. The whole truth. The good, the bad, and the very ugly.
Maybe they’ll understand me a little better.
Mondays are my weird day of the week. All of my classes are in the afternoon, which is the opposite of almost every one of my friends and roommates. Instead of going to campus early and stopping at the Student Union for lunch, I head down to the kitchen to make myself a bowl of cereal, because, you know, cereal fixes everything. This giant bowl of Frosted Flakes is going to solve all my problems. In the words of Tony the Tiger, “You’re GRRReat,” or something like that.
It’s kind of nice to go through the day without having to beon. I don’t have to look for my friends and make small talk. I can put my headphones in and wander around campus, just going from class to class, living in my own little world. It might sound like I’m being fake with my friends, but I’m not. There are just some days where I want to be left alone with my thoughts and be up in my feels.
As much as I love being the wild, carefree girl, I’ve got inner demons I’m constantly in a fight with. There’s a voice in my head that’s always telling me that I’m not enough. As Brooke Davis told Peyton Sawyer inOne Tree Hill, “your‘I love yous’ send people to the grave.” And I’m wondering if that’s the same about me. Will me accepting my feelings and falling for Quinton only result in him being hurt or, even worse, dead?
I mean, how sick and twisted are these thoughts? But that’s what’s on repeat in my head. I’m scared. I’m scared to love. I’m scared to feel. I’m scared to get close to anyone.
Even though Quinton and I are in a state of limbo, last night I went to bed happy and carefree. Only to be brought back into my head this morning. But for a few hours, I got to be relaxed.
Finally, the weight of my past is off my shoulders. My friends know about my darkest secret and, before they left, each one of the guys hugged me, reminding me that they were there for me. It felt freeing. This morning I woke up with a slew of text messages. Quinton and Cody were checking on me. JP sent a text apologizing for ambushing the table with Quinton’smoral support. Which made me laugh out loud.
When I left Chicago for Texas, I thought I’d be Brinley Wilder against the world. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I’d find my family. We might be dysfunctional, but we are dysfunctional in the best way. Each of us carries our own baggage, but we have each other to share the load.
The alarm on my phone blares in my pocket, snapping me out of my thoughts and reminding me it’s time to head to class.
Parking is a bitch when I pull in. The only problem with having afternoon classes is that the parking lot is always full. Driving up and down the rows of cars, I spot one pulling out.
It is my lucky day.
Once the car is gone, I whip into the spot before anyone has a chance to steal it from me. There’s no rule that the spot is yours until you’re parked in it. Turn signals don’t stake a claim. It’s a dog-eat-dog world in the campus parking lot.
Climbing out of the car, I pop my headphones in and turn on myIn My Feelsplaylist. Hopefully, the headphones let everyone know that I’m not in the mood to talk. Walking across the brick pavement, my Monday begins.
It’s a beautiful fall day in Central Texas. Exiting Rogers Hall, I walk over to a bench in the quad to sit while I wait for my next class. I slide my phone out of my backpack, opening Instagram. Scrolling through my feed, a thought pops into my head. Closing out of the app, I swipe over to my camera app, positioning it toward the quad, I take a creative photo of the trees with a few leaves gathered around the trunk. Snapping the pictures, I do a quick edit because duh, everything needs to be edited before posting. Quickly thumbing out a caption, I post the picture. The caption readsI’m fall-ing for you,and all I can hope is that the one person I want to see the photo sees it.
My last class of the day is a quick one. We have an exam this week, so the professor gave us a brief review of what we can expect to be tested on. Making my way out of the hall, I’m stopped by someone yelling my name.
“Brynn?” a girl asks, out of breath. Huffing and puffing, she starts talking. “Sorry, I raced to catch up to you.Clearly, I need to add more cardio to my workouts. A bunch of us are studying tomorrow night and didn’t know if you wanted to join us.”
This girl talking to me looks familiar, but I can’t put a name to her face.
I really need to do a better job at getting people’s names.
She’s average height with killer curves. Her blonde hair is a natural balayage and her makeup is on point. She’s dressed in a pink and white floral dress with brown booties. A puzzled look must be written on my face because, before I have a chance to answer, she speaks up again.
“Oh my gosh, you have no idea who I am. I must look like a total stalker. Which I’mtotallynot,” she rushes out, and I interrupt her before she can continue.
“I’m sorry, I recognize your face, but I can’t remember your name.”
A smile breaks across her face.
“I’m Savannah Holycross. We’ve partied together. I'm a Delta Zeta.”
“Hey, nice to put a name to a face,” I say, returning her warm smile. The football team parties with the DZs all the time. I should’ve known her name, but again, I live in my own world. “Where y’all studying?”
“We’ve got a room in the library,” she starts, handing me her cell phone. “Here, put your number in. I’ll text you all the deets.”
Grabbing her phone, I put my number in, sending myself a text so I have hers too.
“Sounds good. I should be able to make anything work. Thanks.”
