The Perfect First (Fulton U, #1)(6)

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I dragged my fingers through my hair and squeezed the back of my neck.

“This is valuable time. Records are being broken left and right and you’ll be left in the dust if you keep putting things off.”

Maybe I didn’t want to be the youngest graduate from Harvard’s to ever win a Field’s Medal.

Maybe I didn’t want the math equivalent of a Nobel Prize.

Maybe I just wanted to be normal for a little bit, but those discussions always led to even more uncomfortable and painful conversations.

“I’ve bought your ticket for Thanksgiving already. Your mother is anxious to see you.” Not him. Never him.

“Can I talk to her? I wanted to ask her about something.” A little motherly advice about how to make friends, a pep talk like the ones she used to give me when taking me to the playground in our neighborhood before Dad overruled mixing with those children. You know, normal kids who ran around, scraped their knees, and made mud pies. Apparently, it didn’t provide me with any additional intellectual benefits, so it wasn’t allowed. It isn’t like playing is something kids like to do. It was almost as if he’d never been a child himself. Maybe he’d sprung from the womb as he was now, fully grown and icy cold.

I would stare out the window at the neighborhood kids riding their bikes, playing tag, or just chasing each other with sticks on their lawns while I was learning the quadratic formula. What six-year-old wouldn’t love that?

“She’s making dinner and I’d rather not disturb her. You know how quickly she can get sidetracked. She burned the potatoes last week…”

As if a call from her daughter couldn’t possibly be worth getting dinner on the table a little later than exactly on the hour. I bit back the words. “Of course. I’ll try again some other time.”

“We have meetings set up for you when you’re here over the break. Be prepared.”

My fingers tightened around the phone. “I’m looking forward to it.” No matter how many times I said no, it was like my words were merely suggestions, or worse, annoyances.

“Goodbye, Persephone.”

“Goodbye, Dad.” I ended the call and placed my phone down on the counter even though I felt like rocketing it across the room.

“So you’re not just an android with strangers? It’s with your family too.” Alexa’s smirk was just like those girls’ in the movies, the bitchy ones who ruled the school with an iron fist. Maybe that was why her friends had all run to other countries the second they got the chance. Oh to be so lucky.

I let out a deep breath with my teeth clenched together. “Hi, Alexa.” Turning, I kept my face neutral. Weren’t college roommates supposed to be friends you had for the rest of your life? The people you’d call up to be in your wedding, or a godparent to your kids?

She flopped down on the couch, nearly knocking my violin to the floor.

I dove for the instrument and grabbed my bow, which was halfway stuck under her ass.

“Dan is coming over in a bit, so why don’t you scamper off to your room and lock up tight? Wouldn’t want you exposed to any of my bad habits.” She flicked her fingers at me, not even looking up from her phone. I’d been dismissed.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. College was supposed to be the greatest time of my life, a chance to make lifelong friends. Turned out the people left over in the housing lottery for a last-minute addition probably weren’t best friend material.

“I don’t mind. He seems really nice.”

She snorted, glanced up, and rolled her eyes. “He’s not interested.” Her laugh was like nails on a chalkboard, her gaze trained on her phone.

I stood there with violin and bow tucked under my arm, my hands clasping and unclasping in front of me before I gave up, packed up my instrument, and went to my room. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t I just say something to her? Alexa, you’re a real bitch and it wouldn’t hurt if you could be a bit nicer. Why don’t you go to your room when you have a guy over?

Her boyfriend was a constant around the apartment, and their sexual escapades had become my sleep soundtrack over the past couple of months. The ugly green-eyed monster reared its head more than once during those moments. It was so easy for her, for them—hell, for everyone to make connections.

The little potted plant on my windowsill was the only color in the whole room, violets I’d picked up from where they’d been discarded under a bench on campus. They’d given them out to celebrate new student orientation. The lone plant, half knocked over with soil spilled out on the ground, was the only thing I’d gotten to personalize my room. It was the first new thing I’d added to my room other than books.

I stared at the stark place. Blank white walls, white comforter thrown over my bed, everything neatly arranged on my desk, nothing out of place. Picking up a stack of color-coded notecards, I threw them up in the air. There was a rainbow shower around me as they fluttered to the ground.

Squeezing my hands together, I resisted the urge to pick them up. The next day, I would buy something colorful. I didn’t care what it was, but there was a new ban on anything white, gray, beige, or black. No more neutral. It was time for color. It was time to be bold.

I sat in front of my laptop and logged into the student portal. Navigating to the discussion forum, I checked out the different subject lines. Tutors Needed. Study Groups. Lost Items. Then there was the more personal section. Sometimes people would post about someone they’d seen on the quad and wanted to find again.