When Angela returned from lunch, Elora was arranging her books in the bookcase. Thank God her new roommate was alone. Sitting on the tan carpet, Elora turned toward Angela, a smile pasted on her lips. Angela’s smile was real when she offered Elora a foam box.
“I brought you some dessert.” When Elora didn’t take the box right away, Angela sank down onto the floor with her, resting her back against her bed. “I wish you would have gone with us, but I know my family can be a little much.” She offered the box again, and this time Elora accepted it. “It’s a piece of blueberry cheesecake.”
“Thank you.” Elora popped open the box. The creamy wedge swirled with purple rested in a puddle of dark blueberry sauce. Elora had never had blueberry cheesecake, or cheesecake of any kind.
Should she eat it with her fingers? Wouldn’t that be rude? But if she didn’t, it wouldn’t be any good later. There wasn’t a refrigerator in the room, although there was plenty of space for one in her closet. Elora looked up at Angela. “I don’t have a fork.” Her stomach rumbled, a reminder her that she hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before.
Angela laughed. “Oh, my God. I totally forgot!” Reaching over her head, she pulled her purse down and rummaged through it. It took a few seconds, but she produced a plastic-wrapped plastic spork and handed it to Elora. “Enjoy.”
Elora tucked into the dessert, and she thought it might be the best thing she’d ever eaten. As the flavor from the sauce burst over her tongue, it brought back memories. When she was a little girl, her parents had taken her to a blueberry patch. But there was a ditch between her and the bushes; it seemed like a canyon to her four-year-old eyes. They had each held one of her hands, lifting her over the ditch before setting her loose to pick blueberries. She hadn’t thought of that day in a very long time. Angela’s voice brought her back to the dorm.
“What’s this?” Angela held something small and stiff in her hand. “Is this you and your sister?” She turned a black and white photograph to face Elora.
Elora and Sophia had been happy that afternoon, laughing at some goofy joke. There was nothing in the photo’s background to provide any context. Nothing showed of the carnival photo booth. The lighting and the lack of color didn’t show that Sophia’s skin was darker than the very pale Elora. It wasn’t obvious how much darker or thicker Sophia’s black hair was than Elora’s chestnut brown. Both girls had oval faces, but you couldn’t tell from the picture that Sophia’s eyes were brown and Elora’s hazel. At a casual glance, they looked similar enough to mistake them for sisters.
“God, you look so young! How old were you? What were you two laughing about?” Angela smiled herself. “You look so happy.”
Happy. Yes. They had been happy. It had been a great day. Lots of fun. And Sophia was dead before it ended.
Dropping the cheesecake box to the floor, Elora snatched the picture from Angela. “It’s none of your business.”
Embarrassed at her reaction, overwhelmed by memories, Elora all but ran from the room. She didn’t know where she could go to be alone; all she knew was that she couldn’t be around people just then. Nice, sane, normal people.
There were even more people around than when Elora had first arrived, and all were in her way. She wanted to shout at them to go away, but of course, she couldn’t risk that. Instead, she slipped past them on the edges, avoiding any kind of contact.
She burst through the first ground-floor door she came to that led to the outside. Elora found herself in a bubble of quiet. Her building and three others formed a courtyard. The buildings muffled the sounds of traffic from the streets beyond.
Brick paths led from doors in each of the four buildings to a metal fire pit in the center of a concrete circle. Four concrete benches surrounded the fire pit. Concrete sidewalks led between the buildings back to the outside world. Inside the courtyard, leaves rustled on gnarled and ancient trees. The lazy buzz of insects, the occasional burst of birdsong turned it into a place out of sync with the rest of the world.
It was the perfect place for Elora, exactly the kind of solitude she craved. The photograph still clutched in her hand, she followed the brick path to the nearest bench. Its surface was still warm, although the sun had moved on, leaving the bench in shadow. Elora slumped down onto the hard surface and stared at the picture, at Sophia. It must have slipped from one of her books when she’d set them on the shelves. She hadn’t noticed it falling.
“You have very pretty eyes, you know.”
Her fingers tightened and her brain went still. She could have sworn she was alone out here. Even so, she turned toward the lanky young man with the legs of a runner who sat on the other end of her bench. When he had gotten there, she had no clue. His eyes behind those heavy glasses were even more beautiful than she’d realized. When she’d last seen him, she’d wanted him to stay, but now, she only wanted him to leave.
“Thank you, but I kind of want to be alone.”
Those golden brown eyes narrowed. “A lot of people want a lot of things.” He swung a leg over the bench to straddle it, facing Elora. “Doesn’t mean they need them. Take you, for instance.” He grinned, showing even white teeth. “I bet you need some company, m’lady Pretty Eyes.”
Elora narrowed her pretty eyes, glaring at him. “My name is Elora.”
He shrugged but didn’t lose the grin. “Eh. Names are overrated. That’s why I never use mine.” He leaned back and brought both legs up to fold them like a pretzel in front of him. “But you can call me Ripley.” His grin softened, turned into more of a lopsided smile. “All my friends do.”
“If that’s not your name, why do all your friends call you that?” She could have kicked herself for taking the bait as that sweet, lopsided smile morphed into a smirk.
“Because, m’lady Pretty Eyes, all it takes is one conversation with me. You’re going to like me so much you won’t know whether to – wait for it –” He paused, widening his eyes. “– believe it or not.”
A groan escaped Elora, and her eyes rolled almost of their own volition. “God.”
“Pretty good, huh?” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and Elora couldn’t help but laugh.
“I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”
He gave a short huff of laughter. If he recognized her sort-of quote from the Princess Bride, it might be possible he was more than just a pretty face.
“So, you all moved in?”
She glanced down at the photograph, Ripley’s gaze following. Looking back up at him, she slid the photo into her back pocket. He raised one eloquent eyebrow, but didn’t ask her anything about it, for which she was grateful.
“I didn’t have much to put away, so yeah. I guess I’m all moved in.”
A door opened from one of the other buildings on the courtyard, and a young woman in a pink top and white capris came out. Someone still inside called out, and she stopped, turned back.
“What?” A pause. “Oh, for crying out loud. Do I have to do everything?”
Ripley’s back was to the building and to the woman. He tensed at the sound of her voice, his jaw tightening and fingers clenching. A sharp cracking sound to Elora’s right drew her attention. When she turned back toward Ripley, he was gone.
Her eyes narrowed as she looked for him.
That was odd.
Chapter 3
On Sunday afternoon, Elora went with Angela, who had a car, to the campus bookstore. But Jackson’s was more than a bookstore, selling books, groceries, tools, and appliances. Even so, everyone called it the campus bookstore. The ground floor was books, magazines, classroom and art room supplies; the rest of it was on the second floor.
After Elora had stormed out the afternoon before, she and Angela hadn’t talked much. While the atmosphere was a little cool between them, there was no hint of hostility. Elora felt none, and she wasn’t sure Angela was capable of it, from what she’d seen so far. The box with her half-eaten cheesecake was on top of the bookcase next to her bed when she got
back. She’d finished it when Angela left to get dinner.
On the ride to the store, they talked about their classes for the semester and the things they needed to buy. They both had their syllabi with them as shopping lists.
“It might be nice to get a small refrigerator.”
Angela, both hands on the wheel, glanced over at Elora before returning her gaze to the road. “Do you think we have room?”
“Sure. We could put it in my closet.” It only held a couple of dresses and nice blouses along with her coat. “We could even get one that’s full size, if you want.” They might have to take out the rod, but she could figure out something else to do with her clothes. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d been folded up in drawers.
“Depending on the size, if we did that, we could get a little microwave, too.” There was excitement in Angela’s voice. Elora wondered where all the money for that would come from. Her scholarship would pay for her books and supplies; a refrigerator would come out of her own pocket.
They parked in the garage beneath the store, and once inside they parted ways, syllabi in hand. It took Elora half an hour to find all the text books and other supplies she needed. Once she paid for them, she carried the box to the cafe in the far corner of the store. She’d wait there for Angela to finish her shopping. While she waited, she splurged on a caramel latte. Angela spotted her and came skipping to her table when Elora got up to throw away the empty cup.
“Come look! I found the perfect fridge for us.” Angela reached for Elora’s hand, all set to drag her to wherever, but then her hand dropped back to her side.
Elora gestured toward her box. “What about my stuff?” Hauling the books to the car was one thing, but all around the store and back again was too much.
Angela stared at the box on the floor, her lips pursed, but then she picked it up and walked with purpose to the counter.
“Hey!”
Elora jumped up to follow.
No one else stood anywhere near the counter, so Angela thumped the box down. “Hi! Would you mind watching my friend’s stuff for her while we go upstairs? It’ll only be a few minutes.” The nonplussed barista shook his head as though to clear it and nodded. According to the tag on his apron, his name was Greg.
“Uh, sure.” With a shrug, Greg pulled the box off the counter and set it on the floor off to the side.
Forty-five minutes later, the two left the store with two boxes and a delivery receipt. A compact refrigerator-freezer and matching microwave oven would arrive at their dorm Tuesday. They were two parts of a three-piece set; the third part, the coffee maker, they took with them. Elora was pretty sure they left the store with a boyfriend for Angela, too. Greg helped them carry everything out to the car in exchange for the redhead’s phone number.
Chapter 4
Classes began at eight o’clock sharp Monday morning, and Elora was ready. It was a stroke of genius, taking the coffee maker with them rather than waiting until Tuesday. Almost as soon as she threw off the covers, she set her cup to brew while she dressed in jeans and a blue and white blouse. While Elora pulled her hair back, Angela’s alarm went off. She disappeared into their tiny bathroom, and a moment later Elora heard the shower.
History was Elora’s first class of the day, then English Literature followed by lunch. Her Russian language class was right after lunch. Westerly required freshmen to take a foreign language. Elora chose Russian because it was so very different from English. Go big or go home, right? Fencing, which fulfilled the physical education requirement, finished off the day.
She didn’t share any of her classes with Angela, who was on a pre-med track. Her roommate wanted to be a pediatrician. Elora didn’t know what she wanted to be, but she hoped she might figure it out by taking her humanities classes first. She looked for Ripley to reappear that first day, but he wasn’t in any of her classes either. She suspected he was a couple of years older, so if that was true, the chances of her sharing a class with him were slim.
Monday night Elora spent memorizing the Cyrillic alphabet. Angela had gone out on a date with Barista Greg, leaving Elora on her own. Her dinner consisted of a grilled cheese sandwich and some potato chips. It wasn’t exactly health food, but it was tasty and cheap, and she could eat it and read at the same time.
Angela came home while Elora was getting ready for bed. “Hi,” she said, dropping her book bag on the floor and kicking off her shoes.
Elora looked up from her notebook. “How was your date?”
A smile came to Angela’s face, but she played it cool and gave a flippant shrug. “Fine,” she said, flatly, but the redness in her cheeks spoke to something greater.
Elora dropped it and Angela’s phone rang soon after. Elora closed her book and climbed into bed. The sound of her roommate’s half of the conversation with her family lulled reminded her that she didn’t have anyone to call or share her day with. Sighing, she closed her eyes and found herself thinking about Ripley.
She smiled as sleep took over, and something told her that she would see him again.
Chapter 5
That first day of classes began a routine that didn’t vary much in the big strokes, only in the details. The days passed into weeks. Summer passed into fall with warm days and cool nights. The leaves turned from green to a myriad of shades of gold and yellow, red and orange, brown and purple. The ivy on the side of their dorm building turned a deep ruby red, the leaves so shiny and rich they didn’t look real.
By day, Elora went to her classes. She found that she enjoyed college in a way she never had high school. Rather than biding their time until they were free from parents and teachers alike, the students at Westerly wanted to be there. They wanted to learn. The professors treated them like adults, not as kids in need of babysitting for an exorbitant fee.
She’d always liked History, but it was Elora’s favorite class that first semester. Professor Hugh Goggins had a story for every event, major or minor, making it sound like he’d been there in person. He encouraged his students to interrupt his lectures if they had questions. Those interruptions led to interesting discussions of ancient Greece and Rome. Not the things everyone on the planet had heard about, but the people who lived there. Elora’s favorite was about the graffiti in the tunnels under the Colosseum.
Every Thursday night, Goggins held what he called a coffee klatch in the back of Shelley’s Diner. That, too, became part of Elora’s routine. She’d sit in a corner and listen to the discussions, rarely interacting with the group but enjoying it, all the same. Questions from class did come up, especially before tests, but that wasn’t why they met. Rather, they talked about video games or movies or Game of Thrones. They’d eat and laugh, tease each other and give bad advice. Elora soaked it up like a sponge, wishing she could bring herself to join in.
Other than Thursday nights, the rest of Elora’s evenings were spent studying or reading. Angela tried a few times to get her to go out with her and her new friends, but it was usually shopping or going out to a bar. Not all Angela’s friends were underage. Elora preferred the coffee klatches to clubbing.
Elora’s mother had said she’d find herself at Westerly. Maybe that was true. She didn’t seem to be finding anyone else. After a few weeks, Angela stopped trying to involve her in conversation. Elora had rebuffed her too many times. She regretted that, but she didn’t know how to fix it. The coffee klatch group didn’t seem to know she was alive, which was how she’d wanted it to be, at least at first. And then there was Ripley.
Ripley was the one connection Elora felt she’d made since coming to Westerly. Theirs was a connection she’d made in spite of herself, aided by his unspoken willingness not to push. But she hadn’t seen him since that first day, not even walking across campus. Elora didn’t know if she’d ever see him again, but she wanted to.
There was something wrong with her, and it had manifested after her parents died. The memories she had of Mallory Snow were of a loving woman. She had laughed a lot with her father,
who she recalled as a bit of a goof. He always made funny faces and teased Elora and her mother.
Elora was nothing like either of them.
After the fire, when she went into foster care, she’d always felt a little bit off from everyone around her. Sophie had paid the price for that, and it was something Elora never wanted to happen again. As it was, she wasn’t sure she could ever forgive herself.
Chapter 6
Elora headed home during her lunch period. She’d worn a short-sleeved shirt to class, but the weather had turned colder. She wanted to grab her mother’s cardigan. It was the warmest sweater she had, and she didn’t want to ramp up to a coat yet. When she went through the front door, a middle-aged black man was sorting mail into the rack of boxes off the foyer. Elora shot him a smile as she started down the hallway to the stairs, but his voice stopped her.
“If you want it, miss, I’ve got your mail here.” She turned back to see him leaning out of the mail room. “All I need is your name and your room number.” He smiled, dimples forming at the corners of his mouth.
“Sure.” She walked the few steps back to the room. “Snow, room 303.”
“Ah. I’ve already put that one in.” He separated a circular key with a red fob from the rest of the keys on his ring. “You want the stuff for Eklund, too?”
“I might as well.” He handed her a stack of envelopes and magazines and a small box wrapped in brown paper. Even as she was thinking that it must be for Angela – most of the mail they received was for her – she read her name in blue marker. There was no address other than “c/o Westerly College.” There was no return address, either, nor did she recognize the writing, not that there was much of it to go on. Who could want to send her a package?
“Everything okay, Miss Snow?”