“What, so I can’t help you bear it? Whatever you carry, Missy, I’ll help you with.”
I shake my head. “I can’t accept that kind of money from you. From your family.”
“My father is giving me access to my trust fund after my birthday in November,” Keanen’s saying. “He won’t even notice or care that there’s money missing by then.”
“I said no, Keanen.” I narrow my eyes. Then, after a moment, I let out a huffy little laugh. “Besides, your sister already thinks I’m just dating you so I can use you for your money; could you imagine what she’d say if she heard this conversation?”
“I don’t care what Bette thinks.” Keanen scowls.
I sigh, studying him. “Keanen… regardless of how she treats me, Bette is your sister.” I think about Jake. About how devastated I would be if anyone ever came between us. Not that I’d dream of treating any of his girlfriends the way Bette’s treating me right now, but still. I bite my lower lip. “I don’t want to come between you and your family.”
“You’re not, Missy, I promise you.” Keanen reaches up to cup my cheek.
But I roll over, my backside toward him now. “Look, I’m sorry I’ll miss your game tomorrow,” I tell him, my throat tight with unformed emotion. “But this is just how it has to be. Okay?”
I wait a long, long time for his answer. But finally, he settles in beside me again, his hand slipping around my bare waist to flatten against my stomach. “Okay,” he answers quietly.
The next night, I dress alone in my dorm room, listening to the excited hum downstairs as everyone else gets ready for the big Friday night game. My chest tightens every time I think of Keanen on the field, scanning the stands for my face, and not finding me there.
But it can’t be helped. It’s either this or let him go against his whole family just to give me charity money—money I didn’t want to come between us in the first place.
As I’m leaving, I peek through the common room door and spot Yvette, Sara and Leah all ringed around Bette laughing, their hair in cute braids and their cheeks painted in the Tanglewood University colors.
Bette catches me watching, and her smirk widens. As I duck out the door, though, I notice her expression shift subtly, into an almost frown.
Maybe she’s finally starting to feel guilty for alienating her brother’s… well, I don’t know if I’m Keanen’s girlfriend, exactly. We haven’t set definitions for whatever it is we’re doing. But it’s probably becoming clear to Bette by now that I’m not going anywhere, and that must rankle.
I just hope she doesn’t take it out on her brother. I’m fine with her hating me, but I meant what I said. I don’t want to drive a wedge between Bette and Keanen. Family should always come first.
As if the universe wants to rub in extra hard exactly what a fun night I’m missing, that night at the bar is a nightmare. I don’t see any of our regular customers, just a bunch of businessmen who must be in town for some kind of conference. As usual, the more money people have, the worse they tip, and the worse they treat the staff.
Henry and I trade scowls as we pull pint after pint of Guinness for customers who complain how long it takes (because they don’t understand the art of pouring a perfect Guinness, I assume), and who tip pennies on the dollar. By the end of the night, I’m bone-deep tired, and I’ve barely made a dent in what I’ll need to make to pay off next week’s expenses.
I’ve got the whole semester plotted down to dollar amounts, so I know exactly how much to save up each week in order to stay afloat. To keep on top of all my short term bills and set enough aside that my college loans won’t swamp me the second I graduate.
I was making decent headway, but…
“Don’t sweat it,” Henry tells me, watching me recount my measly tips. “There are good nights and bad ones. We’ll have another good one soon, make up for it.” Then he claps me on the shoulder, and I flash him a grateful smile before I duck under the bar, tuck in my apron, and head out.
Before I leave, I make sure to dig around in my purse and pull out the canister of pepper spray Keanen insisted on buying me, after that first night in the alley when he rescued me. So far I haven’t needed it again—the man he chased off seemed to have taken Keanen at his word, when Keanen promised he’d ruin his life if he ever laid eyes on him again.
But it never hurts to be careful.
I walk back to my dorm, my feet throbbing with every step. To judge by the lights on all over campus and the celebratory cheers and deafening music I hear from more than a few apartment blocks I pass on the way back, we must have won the football game. It makes me smile. I wonder how Keanen did.
Maybe once I get back and I’m lying down in bed—oh God, bed sounds incredible right about now—I can look for clips of the game online, see if anyone recorded it.
That’s the main thought going through my head as I step up to my doorway and slot my key into the lock. Then I freeze, because the lock doesn’t turn, which means it’s already unlocked.
My stomach twists uneasily, and I grab the knob, pushing my dorm room door inward. The second it swings open, I gasp, my jaw falling.
The entire room is trashed.
Crushed beer cans litter my carpet. Half-empty beer bottles are strewn across my bed, soaking through the sheets. My closet has been flung open, all my clothes tossed around, and it looks like there’s beer staining them, too. There’s even a whole bottle of Jack in the corner, which looks like it’s been opened and emptied across my laundry basket, then tossed into the wall so hard it cracked in half.
Tears sting at the backs of my eyes.
“Oh, my God,” someone exclaims behind me, in the hallway. And if possible, my mood plummets even lower. “What a disaster!”
I turn to find Bette wearing the phoniest shocked expression I’ve ever seen, her mouth a perfect, lipsticked O.
“Missy, did you throw a rager in here? You know this kind of behavior is unfitting of a Tanglewood student!” She leans around me, and that’s when I realize she has her phone in her hand, the camera extended.
She’s filming this.
This is the final straw. I reach up and make a grab for the phone, but Bette dances backward, out of reach. “Ah, ah, ah. No touching of other students’ personal property is allowed here at Tanglewood.” She actually has the nerve to wink at me.
“Oh really?” I yell. Dorm room doors are starting to open up and down the hallway, but I don’t care who witnesses this. I’m too furious to care. “Then what the hell do you call this, Bette?” I give up trying to grab her phone, and slap my palm against my open dorm room door instead. “You destroyed my entire room.”
“Please. As if I would ever be caught dead touching anything in your room,” Bette replies, still in that faux voice that grates on me like nails on a chalkboard.
“That’s bullshit and every single person here knows it.”
“Do they?” Bette cocks her head to the side, her eyes flashing with a triumph I don’t understand. “Does everyone know that you weren’t here tonight to do this yourself?” She taps at her chin with a forefinger. “Well, I suppose if you could tell everyone—and prove—where you actually were tonight, then maybe you’d have a case to prove you didn’t…” She waves a hand toward my room. “Have an illegal party in your boudoir, instead.”