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“I want you to talk to me,” I say instead. “Tell me about college. Do you like your classes? Do you have a roommate? Are you happy there?”
“Yes, yes, and…” She hesitates, frowns again. “I guess so.”
“You don’t sound so sure about that last one.”
She shakes her head and glances at her sneakers. Her shoulders lift. “I thought I’d be happier getting away from here.”
“Something new like that. It’s a big adjustment.”
“I never realized how much I like my…space.” She sighs. “I kinda hate the whole communal bathroom thing and the dining hall.”
“Yeah? Too crowded?”
“Sometimes.” She finally shifts her gaze to me again. Her defensive posture relaxes. “I like Denise—my roommate—but we don’t have a lot in common. And all the other girls on my floor…it’s like it’s the first time they’ve been away from home, so they kinda act like children? They can stay up and be loud all night because Mom and Dad aren’t around to scold them?”
“And you passed that stage of life a long time ago,” I say gently. “Living with your brother and his lax rules?”
She chuckles. “Yeah, I guess. Does that make me sound like a cranky old lady or something?”
“Not at all.” I almost add, that’s how I felt living in the house with all the other fighters, but I don’t think she’s ready to hear any of my reality show complaints, yet. She’s talking to me and that’s huge. Don’t want to do anything to ruin this moment. Or remind her of all the reasons why she should hate me.
“I like coming home on the weekends, because all they want to do in the dorms is get drunk or high,” she continues, “or hook up with random guys.”
My stomach clenches but I try to keep my face neutral. “You like your parties to be a little more high-octane?” I tease. “Racing cars with a side of fried dough?”
She grins. “Yeah, that’s a lot more fun to me.”
I don’t dare ask if she also comes home to visit Torch. I really don’t want to know.
Her phone buzzes again. Annoyed and frustrated by the intrusion, I wait while she checks the screen, then flicks it off without replying.
I just know it’s that orange-haired fucker.
“Torch come visit you at school?” I blurt out.
Stupid. Fuck. Why’d I ask?
“What?” Her eyes widen and she slides the phone in her back pocket. “Uh, yeah. He came out with Remy when I moved in.”
He’s been in her dorm room. He’s seen her bed. Touched her stuff.
Wait, Remy was there. Nothing happened. Probably.
“Eraser and Ella came too,” she adds.
Even better.
“How much stuff did you have to move in?” I was aiming for a teasing tone but sounds more like I’m hacking on every word.
She gestures to the bulging bag of laundry and the corners of her mouth turn up in a shy smile. “All my clothes.”
“You’re not just rolling into class in sweats every day?” I can’t stop picturing her strolling around campus in those loose green sweatpants and my hoodie.
She laughs a little more. “Well, yeah.” She shrugs. “But sometimes I like to look nice.”
For who?
No. Do not say that. Molly’s always liked putting together cute outfits. Just because I enjoy the hell out of them doesn’t mean she was doing it for my—or anyone else’s—benefit.
