“Come on, Ealson. Say you’ll come.”
I turn around and smile. “And here I thought you were the type of guy who’d tell me when I can come.” I shrug as his jaw drops to the pavement. “Oh well. Catch you later, Gentry.”
Chapter Seven
EMORY
Whap. Whap.
Lindsay’s fist pounds against my door. “Four hours and counting. Finish up that studying, because you’re going with us whether you like it or not.” She’s been relentless all day.
I rub my hand across my forehead and lean back in my chair, my eyes going blurry from all the words I’ve read and highlighted and then rewritten in my notebook . . . because that’s the kind of studier I am. I can’t simply read it and highlight. I have to rewrite it, sometimes twice, for it to become engrained in my head. I go through notebooks like crazy from all the rewriting, but it’s the only way I know how to learn.
And typing doesn’t work. I have to physically write it in order for it to absorb.
It’s why my hand has a cramp right now.
I’ve been studying since nine this morning. After we stumbled out of the dining hall fresh from breakfast, I locked myself in my room and cracked open my books. I took a small break when Dottie—the good friend she is—brought me some cheddar broccoli soup for lunch. Now that it’s five, my stomach is grumbling, and I’m ready to take another break.
Since I haven’t showered yet—yeah, it’s been one of those days—I’ve allotted my study time to stop sharply at seven, but now I might be rethinking that. My mind is mush.
I need a mindless second.
Cue goat videos . . .
I pop open my computer and log in to the school chat system. Too lazy to grab my phone from my bed, I send Dottie a quick message before I open YouTube.
Emory: Dinner, what’s on the menu?
Because she’s always glued to her computer when studying, she answers right away.
Dottie: Pizza is coming. Daddy dearest called earlier. Spent an hour on the phone with him. He told me all about this pizza he wants us to try so he’s having it delivered.
Emory: Remind me to send him a thank-you card.
Dottie: You know he already knows you’re thankful.
Emory: Still. It’s nice to say thank you. Let me know when it arrives. I’ll study some more until then. P.S. Please tell me he ordered grape soda to go with it.
Dottie: He isn’t the best father in the world for no reason. Of course he got grape soda. Don’t doubt the man.
Emory: Never will again. Knock on my door when it’s here.
I go to shut my chat box, pizza and grape soda waiting for me just around the corner, when a new chat screen pops up.
I catch the name right before I am about to exit out and pause.
Knox Gentry.
What is he doing messaging me?
Because the school wants students to experience what it’s like to live and breathe in a community atmosphere, they allow any student to contact another through the chat system, but the chat has to be accepted first.
Since I’ve never messaged with Knox before, I only have the choice to accept his chat or not. No preview to what he’s said. Damn it.
I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating what I should do. More studying, or finding out what he wants.
Hell, I already know what he wants: me to show up at his party for some odd reason. I’m curious to see what other tactics he has to get me to come.
Not that he needs to, as I’m already going, thanks to Lindsay and Dottie, but he doesn’t need to know that. I’ve watched a lot of goat videos recently, so maybe I should take a small break and have a little fun.
I earned it.
I click to accept his message as I place one of my feet on my chair. Time to get comfortable. I push my blue-light blocking glasses back on my nose and read what poetic diatribe I’ve received. From our past interactions and arguments, I’m sure it will be good.
Knox: Yo.
Oh wow . . . how prolific.
I chuckle, wondering what I was thinking, as if he was going to open with recited poetry or something. He is a “horny college student” after all—his words, not mine.
Shaking my head, I type back.
Emory: You have one chance to make a good first impression in student chat and you open with yo? I expected more from you.
Knox: I wasn’t going to waste a good opening on the possibility of you not accepting my chat.
Emory: Does that mean you have a secondary opening?
Knox: Obviously.
Emory: Do I get to read it?
Knox: I don’t know. I’m trying to decide if you’re worthy or not.
Emory: You’re the one who messaged me. I can sign out anytime I want.
Knox: You’re fucking brutal. Fine . . . *ahem*, here it goes; What’s up?
I laugh out loud, hating that he so easily entertains me. What a doofus.
Emory: Wow, I think you just blew my socks off.
Knox: See why I saved it? Can’t waste that shit on just anyone.
Emory: I hope you keep that opening a secret. Can you imagine the number of socks that would be flying off feet all over campus? It’s dangerous.
Knox: Lethal.
Emory: I’m glad you saved it for me. I’m indebted to you.
Knox: Really? ((Rubs hands together)) Should I cash in now?
Emory: I’m clearly kidding.
Knox: Nope, I have it in writing ^^^ right up there. You’re indebted to me. So I’m cashing in.
Emory: “Cash in” all you want, still doesn’t mean I’m going to do whatever you ask.
Knox: Stubborn woman.
Emory: ^^That’s winning you friends.
Knox: Come to the party tonight.
Emory: Just jumping right into it, are you?
Knox: There is no theme. It’s just to have fun. We have beer and some mixed drinks, and I can even offer you some pretzels.
Emory: Wow, you paint a beautiful evening. The pretzels are a real winning attribute.
Knox: I was going to save this as a last-ditch effort but since I think I might have you hooked with the pretzels, I’m going to bring my offer home and let you in on a little secret; just bought a fresh packet of Oreos. So if you play your cards right, you could be separating Oreos with me tonight.
Emory: Seriously? Oreos, how RARE! Well, then I must go because . . . Oreos.
Knox: Really? You’re coming?
Emory: No. Have a good night, Knox.
I shut the computer before he can respond and smile to myself as I look over to my closet, debating what I should wear tonight.
Oddly, I kind of want to blow him away, which means, I’ll put more thought into what I wear. And maybe, I’ll spend the rest of my time filling my stomach so I don’t get stupid drunk. I did study all day. I deserve this.
And how could I really turn down Oreos?
Chapter Eight
KNOX
“Why does she have to be so goddamn difficult?” I ask Carson as I lean against the window next to the fire escape, surveying the party that I have zero interest in being at. “I mean, I’ve seen the way she looks at me, there’s interest there.”
“Didn’t you say she had an ex-boyfriend that did her wrong?”
“Something like that.” I lift my hat then settle it on my head, backward. I just got my hair cut so it falls smoothly over my head. I would have done my hair if I knew she was coming tonight, but I put zero effort into what I look like, not interested in being near anyone besides Carson. He’s only sticking around because he hasn’t found a girl he’s interested in yet, but the minute he does, I’ll make my way back to my room and lock the door.