The Singles (61 page)

“Hey, Evie?” she whispers tearfully. “We can help each other, okay?”

Nodding, I stumble to my feet, brushing my palms over my black skirt to dust off any dirt. But as I go back inside and take my spot beside my parents, letting a song about not saying goodbye blaze through my brain, I can’t help but wonder what Owen Delane’s brother would have said if he’d been able to finish speaking.

Now

––––––––

“R
hys Delane is my academic advisor’s assistant,” I gasp into the phone the second Kendra returns my call. The moment I broke free of Professor Cameron’s office five minutes ago, I made a hasty beeline to the exit to avoid coming in contact with Rhys again. I’d dialed Kendra’s number as I raced out of the building. The call went straight to her voicemail, but she quickly called back as I was leaving her a message.

“Kendra,” I hiss frantically, “Rhys Delane is at this college!”

“Um—” she starts, but I rush on.

“Professor Cameron wants him to give me extra lessons this semester, but I can’t.” Taking in a shallow breath, I stop in the courtyard and sink down on the short brick wall surrounding it. “I don’t know if I can be around him after everything that happened.”

“Wait—back up just a little and calm down, okay?” she sighs. “
Who
are we talking about?”

Taking her advice, I give myself a few seconds to catch my breath. “Rhys Delane, Owen Delane’s brother. The guy who ... the reason why Lily’s gone.”

She’s quiet for a long pause until she finally asks, “Are you sure it’s him?”

“Yes.” I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.

“Oh, Evie,” she whispers. Now, it’s her turn to drag in a few breaths. “I’m so sorry. Did you ... did you tell him who you are? Or did he figure it out, or—?”

“No. I didn’t tell him. He didn’t figure it out. I mean, Miller’s such a common last name.” Not like Delane, a surname name that I’ve only heard twice—once with Owen and now with his brother. My hand trembles when I switch the phone to my other ear, nearly dropping it on the hard ground below because my palms are sweaty.

“What do I
do
?” I ask.

Kendra is momentarily silent, as if she’s going over all the possible solutions in her head. Finally, she evenly tells me, “Go back to your advisor and tell her you don’t think private lessons with him are going to work out. Just be honest. Trust me, it’s better that you are.” She sucks in a breath. “Unless you think you can handle being around him. And if that’s something you want to do, you need to come right out and tell him who you are. Again, it’s—”

“Better that I do,” I interrupt. Leave it to Kendra to always be the voice of reason and all that’s good when I’m freaking out. Squeezing my eyes together, I lower my face until I’m staring at concrete. “And no, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to work with Rhys. Every time I look at him I’ll just think of her.”

I don’t blame Rhys for Lily’s death—I’m not that naïve—but I also won’t be able to focus on anything other than my sister’s passing when he’s around.

“Being around him might break me,” I whisper.

“I understand. You know what you have to do then.” After this, she expertly nudges the conversation away from the Delane brothers and our shared history. While we talk, I start my trek back to my dorm room, being careful not to run into anyone else today. That’s the last thing I need—to bump into another person from my past and be faced with more horrible memories.

Kendra’s telling me about her new roommate, a girl I met a couple of times during my days partying at James’ fraternity last year, when I walk into my suite to find the door to my room wide open. There’s a guy lounging on my bed, chatting with Corinne.

“Shit,” I curse under my breath. Ugh. This is just what I need right now. A new roommate with no understanding of boundaries. “Let me call you back in a few, okay?”

“Got it,” Kendra says.

“And Kendra?” I stop her before she can end the call, and she greets my question with a hmm. “Thank you. For listening.”

“Oh god, anytime. Make sure you call and tell me what happens with the advisor. Just remember—be honest.”

Hanging up, I toss my phone into my purse as I walk into my bedroom. Corinne is sitting with her legs crossed on her own bed, laughing at something the blond guy is saying. Now that I’m closer, I decide he looks like he walked straight out of the pages of a Hollister catalog.

Clearing my throat, I rest my back against the doorframe, lifting my brows. “Don’t mind me, I’m totally cool with your ass being all over my bedspreads,” I say in the most even voice I can manage, which at the moment, is tinged with irritation.

Corinne stops mid-sentence, her bright green eyes flashing over to me. The guy, realizing that I’m pissed about his placement on my bed, springs to his feet. I was right, he has Hollister written all over him. Slightly taller than my five-foot-eight, he has those classic good looks: brown eyes, curly blond hair, and an athletic body clothed in gym shorts and a college baseball tee.

“Damn, I didn’t think that—”

“What? I’d mind?” I question. “Because I do.”

“Ohhh, I’m so sorry Evie,” Corinne murmurs, worrying her glossy pink lips together. “Daniel came over to introduce himself, and we really didn’t think you’d care—”

Holding up my hand, I jerk my head from side to side. “You know what? It’s fine this time. Really.” I step around Daniel and toss my bag on the foot of my bed before grabbing a bottle of water from the mini fridge in the middle of the room. In the short amount of time I was gone to meet with Professor Cameron, Corinne’s already decorated her side of the room in a vibrant, tropical splash of teal and pink, complete with photos and inspirational posters. 

“For reference, though, there’s a chair right there.” I jab my finger at the rolling chair that’s slid partially under my desk. “You know, in case you visit again.”

Wincing, he gives me a sheepish look. “Sorry again, Evie.” To Corinne, he grins as he backs up to our door. “Text me about tonight?”

She says something that’s a little garbled, staring after him as he exits the suite we share with two other girls. Crossing her short legs at the ankle, she skims her teeth over her bottom lip nervously.

“We’re really getting off on the wrong foot today, huh?” she asks softly.

Sadly, she’s right. During orientation early this afternoon my mind was still on my dream from last night, so I heard very little of what Corinne was saying as we followed around the poor resident advisor tasked with introducing our hall to the campus. When my roommate had to say my name several times to get my attention, she finally threw back her brown and henna red corkscrew curls and asked me if I was ADHD.

She’d known me all of an hour and she was already calling me out for being distracted. It had reminded me of my parents, who spent the summer pointing out that my lack of focus was the reason why I failed so horribly last semester. I hadn’t liked it one bit then, and I hated it just as much coming from Corinne.

I’d immediately glared her down and snapped, “Having a filter and knowing when to use it will take you pretty far in life, I promise. But, no, I’m
not
ADHD. Are
you
?” She had visibly recoiled at my words, and although I apologized soon after, it probably left a bad taste in her mouth.

Now, I try my best to smooth out any wrinkles in our new relationship. While I doubt I’ll ever be “besties” with Corinne—or anyone else at this university, for that matter—I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot. Especially when my present foul mood has little to do with her and everything to do with Rhys Delane.

“Look, in the future just ask me before you let someone lay on my bed, alright?” I pull the comforter off my bed and readjust it. “See? Now I won’t be putting my face near where Hollister’s ass was.”

“Hollister?”

I manage a small smile. “He reminds me of a Hollister model.”

“He’s hot, isn’t he?” she proclaims excitedly. “Totally different from the guys back home.” This is the second time since noon she’s said this—the first time about the “hot” juniors who helped her move her stuff in.

Shrugging, I sit down at my computer desk and take a sip of my water. “I guess, if that’s your thing.” An image of stunning blue-green eyes flash in my mind, and I swallow hard. Forcing the thoughts of Rhys out of my head, I focus my attention on what Corinne is telling me.

“And if you’re not busy—and I totally get it if you are—he invited us to a party at Baseball House tonight.” At the silence that greets her, she drops her gaze to her plain teal comforter and fusses with the edge of it. “I’m going.”

“Daniel invited us?” I ask because I missed the first part of what she was saying and she bobs her head eagerly.

Maybe it’s because I’m still so flustered due to Rhys or because I know the crap that happens at these parties, and Corinne is so new to all this—so much younger than I am—that I nod my head distractedly. “Whatever, I’ll go for a little while.”

A broad grin stretches across her face. “I think I’m already in love with you.” The corners of her green eyes crease, and for the briefest moment, her expression reminds me so much of Lily that all my senses go numb.

But then, that resemblance is gone, and I’m left looking at the girl who will be living with me for the next year, not the one who should be.

***

“T
his is it?” Corinne questions disbelievingly as she clomps over to where I’m standing beneath the soft glow of a street lamp. Muttering something about her shoes—lace-up cork wedges she swore up and down she absolutely had to wear tonight because they make her look leggy—she leans against the pole, adjusting her boobs in her low-cut tank top, before she looks up at me and continues.

“You didn’t put in the wrong address, did you?”

The bitch in me wants to point out that she’s breathing like a chain smoker after walking only ten blocks from the main campus gate. Instead, I hold my tongue. Keeping my expression neutral, I hold my phone closer to my face and study the walking GPS app on the screen. The flashing blue arrow says we’ve reached our destination, and the app has never failed me. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I shove my phone into my front pocket.

“No, I didn’t. This is definitely it.”

It being the Baseball House—a white, three-story Victorian situated at the end of one of the streets surrounding main campus. Other than a couple of girls who are smoking on the front porch, the place looks completely lifeless. Nothing questionable—like empty beer cans or prank toilets—litters the front lawn, and the exterior looks well maintained. After all the parties I’ve been to, and I’m ashamed to say there’ve been more than I can remember, even I’m a little doubtful as Corinne and I pad up the concrete walkway to the front stoop.

Finally, when we reach the bottom step, I hear the sound of One Republic from inside and the busy hum of voices. When the door flings open, an Axe-scented guy breezes past us, talking on his phone about the upcoming baseball conditioning that was scheduled for next week. Giving Corinne a grin, I gesture for her to go up the four steps first.

“See? We’re fine,” I say.

“Just wanted to make sure, I didn’t want to—” She stops short, nearly tilting over in her outrageously high shoes, when the big guy standing in the doorway bars us from entering. “Um, excuse me?”

“You got your ID?” he asks.

Corinne blinks a few times. “What?”

“Have to see it before I let you in,” he drawls.

“I’m not—” She takes a step back, a bold flush creeping across her round cheeks, as she shoots me a flustered look. “I don’t have it. Daniel Hanson asked us to come, and—”

“He’s just screwing with you.” I point to the red Sharpie in his left hand. “It’s some bullshit accountability thing they like to do in case they’re busted by the cops. They check your license; stamp your hand if you’re under twenty-one. Trust me, it means absolutely—”

The stamper shushes me loudly, but his shoulders are shaking from muted laughter. He motions me to him with a jerk of his head. “Goddamn, girl, you’re giving away all our secrets.” Curling my lips into a frown, I stretch my arm out, and he pulls my fingers into his roughly. When he’s done writing, I roll my eyes at the words he wrote on the back of my hand.

Do Not Water the Freshman
.

On Corinne, he settles for the simple but effective:
Under 21.

Flashing us a wide grin, he steps aside so we can move through. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”

“Gotta love the dicks,” I mutter as soon as we’re out of earshot.

Corinne giggles nervously. “You’re good at this stuff.” She gestures around us, nearly hitting a couple coming from the opposite direction. After she gives them a quick apology and earns a nasty look from the girl, she continues, “Did you go to a lot of the parties in ...”

All evening and even throughout dinner a few hours ago, my new roommate had probed me for more details about my life. Even though I haven’t directly asked, I now know everything there is to know about Corinne Mayer. She’s seventeen, she graduated a year early, she’s taking a break from her boyfriend because they both want to be able to fully enjoy the college experience, and she’s a communications major but is
seriously
considering education because her entire family teaches. 

Up until now, I’ve successfully evaded talking much about myself but as we come up to a table full of drinks, I finally let my guard down just a little.

“Bristol. I grew up in Bristol, on the Virginia side. And no, I didn’t really go to a lot of parties—well, at least none there.” I look back and forth between a giant bowl of jungle juice that reeks of 151 and a half-empty case of cheap beer, making it seem like choosing one or the other is a night-altering decision. “I went to a different college last year.”

Corinne starts to make a comment, but I quickly add, “I’m repeating half of my freshman year because I screwed up. A lot.”

“Oh,” she says.

To my relief, instead of asking me more questions, she grabs a can of beer and pops the tab. I study her pinched expression as she takes the first sip, and I cringe along with her. She must notice, because she quickly downs another drink, keeping her face completely void of emotion this time. “It’s good. Really good.”