Little Lies(59)

“Are you okay?” Lovey asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“That was seriously badass,” Lacey says from the back seat.

“Thanks.” I blow out a long breath, trying to find some calm. My cells feel like they’re vibrating on a high frequency.

“Kodiak looked like he was going to shit a brick,” Lovey says.

“Good for him.” I didn’t tell either of them what happened last night. Or about the conversation I had with my mom before I met up with them, or what River admitted to me about blocking Kodiak’s number. I still don’t know exactly what to think about all of that, other than it shifts my perspective on everything. Kodiak can be very rigid. He’s always been that way, unless it’s me. I’d been the exception to his rule.

He had a hierarchy, and hockey had always been at the top of that list, followed by his mom, schoolwork, me, and then Maverick—until everything fell apart. And as the pieces of this puzzle fall into place, his behavior begins to make a lot more sense. But it sure doesn’t excuse him for acting like a complete asshole the past two years.

We arrive at Hartford House, a seven-story building of apartment-style dorms. I pull into an empty space in the short-term parking, and we each grab a box.

A guy who is most definitely a student sits behind the desk. Based on the way his head is bowed, he’s messing around with his phone. It takes so long for him to lift his head that Lovey clears her throat. When he finally looks up, his sour expression turns into wide-eyed surprise. His gaze bounces from Lovey to Lacey and then to me. He fumbles with his phone and drops it on the desk, faceup. He’s watching some kind of drunk-fail video. Classy. He quickly flips it over and adopts a casual pose. He’s wearing a school branded T-shirt. “Hey. Hi. Hello. I’m Mitchell.” He taps his name badge. “How can I help you?”

It takes me about three seconds to find my voice, which doesn’t sound long, but when someone is waiting for an answer it seems like an eternity. “I-I—”

“There’s a room available here for Lavender Waters. The housing department said she could move in today,” Lovey rushes to fill the silence.

I half appreciate it and half hate it. If she’d given me another second, I would’ve been able to get the words out.

“Oh wow, that’s great.” He nods a bunch of times, like Lovey has just told him he’s won an award of excellence.

I raise my hand. “I’m Lavender.”

“Right. Cool name. Let me check on that.” He flashes a wide grin and shifts so he’s facing the computer. After tapping a few buttons, his grin drops and his expression turns into more of a grimace. “Uh, okay. I found it. You’re in a double.” He smiles stiffly. “Your roommate is Beth Gull. She’s a sophomore.”

“Okay. Great. Thanks.”

He makes a brief phone call and sets me up with my keys. Two minutes later, a girl named Sydney introduces herself as the RA on my floor and gives me a quick rundown of all the rules. I introduce her to Lovey and Lacey and tell her they’re helping me move my stuff in.

“You have to register guests with the front desk. Sometimes people try to sneak them in.” Her expression turns disapproving. “But you can get written up for that.”

I exchange a look with Lovey and Lacey. “Okay, register guests.” Geez, this sounds a lot like a less-fun version of summer camp. Not that I’ve ever been to summer camp, but my brothers used to go. River loved it until he got into a huge fight with another kid and got sent home for breaking his nose. At least that was the story we got.

The hallways are bland, the doors the same, although some of them are decorated with nameplates, and a few have those whiteboard things fixed to them where people can leave messages. When we get to room 414, Sydney mutters something under her breath and swipes her hand across the whiteboard, erasing whatever was written there.

She knocks and waits a good fifteen seconds before she tries again. More muttering follows and Lovey elbows me, giving me her wide, what-the-hell eyes. I shrug. I don’t know if this RA is a weirdo, or we interrupted her Vampire Diaries marathon or what, but she’s definitely in a mood.

She opens the door and peeks inside, shoulders sagging as she blows out what seems like a relieved breath. “Beth must be out.” She motions to the space in front of us. “This is your common room. You have a TV, a couch, chair, coffee table, bar fridge, microwave, and coffee maker. You’re not allowed to have a hotplate because it’s against code. Also, no smoking.”

“No smoking and no hotplate, got it,” I echo.

The common space is a sty. There are empty food boxes littering pretty much every surface, and used tissues all over the floor. I also think there might be a few condom wrappers under the coffee table, but I’m afraid to look too closely.

“And we routinely do room checks for alcohol. You can get kicked out for that too,” Sydney says.

“Right. No booze.” I nod my agreement. We’re all still holding our boxes, and there’s no spot to put them down.

“That’s Beth’s room.” Sydney motions to the door with the KEEP OUT BITCHES sign stuck to it. “And that’s yours.”

“Cool.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“Not that I can think of.”