The Perfect First (Fulton U, #1)(5)

I put my shoes back with the small collection I’d accumulated over the past few years. I wasn’t walking into or out of a game with anyone thinking I was less than they were because of shitty shoes ever again.

I swapped for an old pair that was perfect for party mishaps and jogged back downstairs. Hands slipped around my waist and into my back pocket. Someone slammed a red plastic cup into my hand. It was good to be on top.





2





Seph





“You approved me coming here.” My violin sat on the couch, teetering on the edge of the cushion. I paced in the living room. Talking to him in my room felt like I was being buried in a coffin. The walls started to close in and I could barely breathe. Our apartment was a study in opposites. My coffee mug was tucked beside the coffeemaker I’d bought, Be Happy scrawled across the front in a loopy script.

“I said yes because Dr. Huntsman was teaching there and you said he agreed to look over your studies. Now, Dr. Mickelson is back at Harvard.”

Other than a couple of fuzzy pink picture frames with pictures of Alexa my roommate there wasn’t much personality in the place. We’d been stuck together for the past seventy-three days, not that I was counting. Her other friends were all studying abroad for the semester, a fact she’d told me at least thirty times since we’d moved in together as a reminder that there was no way in hell she’d have chosen me as a roommate otherwise.

“I’ve made a commitment to study here. You’ve always taught me to follow through with my commitments.” Not that I’d ever had a choice.

Alexa’s dishes were trying to crawl their way out of the sink as we spoke. I swore one of these mornings I’d wake up and something from the depths of caked-on crap would loop its slimy tentacles around my neck and try to drag me down the drain.

I picked up a pair of her underwear using the tips of two fingers and flung it over on top of the growing pile on the far end of the couch. Her clothes were draped over nearly every surface in the apartment. Nail polish streaks ran across the arm of the couch that had come with the apartment, but losing my security deposit was the least of my worries right then.

“You’re being unreasonable, Persephone.”

I cringed. My shoulders practically jammed into my ears. No one called me Persephone except my parents, my professors, and tutors…which meant everyone called me Persephone. I could say my friends called me Seph, but then I’d need some friends, wouldn’t I?

“I’ll barely have two years here. I hardly think it’s going to throw my future off track.”

“Mickelson is the top of his field. He could have given everyone notice that he’d be coming back to Harvard early.”

I was sure that had been at the top of his list when returning from his leave of absence after his wife died.

“This is still a great program. I will finish my degree and then we can talk about studying more. There’s time.”

“Not if you want to be exceptional.” The popping sound his jaw made when he was exceptionally angry sent a shiver down my spine.

I massaged my shoulder with my free hand. “It’s an Ivy League school, Dad.”

“Do you know which school has had the highest percentage of Fields Medal winners in the last decade?”

“Harvard,” I mouthed at the same time he said it. The coveted math prize was all he’d talked about for as long as I could remember, since I was five years old.

“Yes, I know.” I sat perched on the edge of the chair like he was there hovering over me. Though he was lecturing me from a few hundred miles away, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that his pristinely shined shoes were being pressed harder into the center of my chest.

“You will be the youngest winner.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to do it, if you just let me graduate from Fulton first.”

“I’m glad you said that. I’ve been speaking with your advisors.”

Wasn’t that not allowed? I was eighteen now; he shouldn’t have been able to speak to them about me at all. “They didn’t have a full record of all the college courses and exams you’ve taken already.” There was a slice of censure in his voice. “So it looks like you’ll be able to graduate a year earlier than we expected.”

The blood drained from my face. It was October. I’d only been in Philly for two months, had barely made a dent in living on my own, and he was already trying to get me back to Boston in less than seven months. The room swam in front of me and I leaned against the arm of the chair.

“Please, Dad.”

His disgruntled scoff came through loud and clear. “We didn’t dedicate our lives, sacrificing everything so that you could throw away your future. You will be the youngest Field’s Medal winner.” There was a finality to his words, the same one there’d been when he’d told me in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t be attending public school. Or when he’d said no, I couldn’t have a sleepover with a girl in the neighborhood I’d managed to befriend during the short time I’d been allowed to play on our block. Or the time he’d told me violin no longer mattered and I wasn’t to play anymore.

Maybe my parents should have checked with me first about what I wanted to do. The door to the apartment opened and Alexa breezed in. She was a bouncing ball of redheaded energy. Green accents in everything she wore brought out her eyes. Today, it was an emerald beret that held back her curls. She looked like a walking cartoon princess. Too bad she’d been cast as my oh-so-real villain.