1

Sandra

"She's not dead. She's just asleep."

Laughter broke over me as I raised my head. My book lay open, a pillow I'd faceplanted into. Sitting in back meant every face in my Victorian Literature class was turned toward me. Smirking.

I didn't belong here. I was a business major. I was the girl who'd fallen asleep while people discussed the tragic deaths of the Bronte siblings, the girl who was currently checking page 178 for drool.

It was January, the second week of spring semester. Not too late to drop the class.

But I had my reasons.

"Nope!" I said brightly. "Not dead. Not asleep now, either. Sorry," I added to Professor Ben.

He shook his head, amusement crinkling his eyes. "All right, Sandra. Back to Patrick Bronte. Chris, you had a remark to make…"

Patrick. The name flipped my stomach.

I hadn't seen Patrick in months.

If I was smart, I wouldn't try. I still had the note he'd written me. Stupid.

As the discussion continued and I paged though my book, all I saw were letters on paper.Pale blue eyes watched me fumble, amused. The seminar room was overheated on this wintry Friday afternoon, but I shivered.

After class, I knotted my scarf around my neck and approached Professor Ben.

"Sorry again about earlier," I said breathlessly. "Seriously, I never fall asleep in class. I appreciate you making an exception to let me into this seminar. It won't happen again."

"Don't feel too bad about it, Sandra," he chuckled. "The discussion was getting pretty heavy. I'd say your little snooze lightened it up."

"Okay. Great. Happy to help with that."

I turned to leave and caught Chris Jackson's eye. My skin prickled as he fell into step beside me. His long legs matched my stride.

"How's it shaking, Sandra?" he asked heartily as we descended the stairs. "How's cheerleading?"

"I quit. "

"You? No," he gasped. "You're to the cheerleading tradition born."

"Have you ever been to a game?"

"Don't need to. You infected our dorm with school spirit. I got a dose for all four years."

I exited the building and zipped up my parka against the cold, but he caught up to me. The January air was clear and sharp. Sunlight sparkled on the powder that had fallen the night before.

I forced a smile. "Can I help you with something?"

Chris Motioned with his head toward a secluded area between two buildings. I sighed and followed him, my boots crunching on the snow.

"You owe me," he said in a low voice.

"I know!" I brightened up my smile and put a hand on his arm for extra reassurance. "I said I'll pay you."

"Lady Sandra." He leaned his lanky frame against the building, pulled a hand-rolled cigarette out of his woven bag, and lit it. I turned my face away from the smoke, coughing. "That's the story you've been telling me for the past weeks. Ever since we came back from winter break. I have bills. I have commitments."

"So do I," I muttered.

"Look at this." He flapped his wallet in the air. "Empty. I'm depending on you."

Just my luck that my dealer had landed in one of my classes this semester. After freshman year, when we lived in the same hall, I'd avoided running into Chris Except when I needed to. We were juniors now. There were other people I could buy from. But even though I didn't like Chris, I trusted him.

He must have trusted me too, because he let me buy Adderall on credit in December.

"Listen," I said quickly. "Give me one more week. I promise this won't happen again."

"Isn't that what you said to Professor Ben?" He blew a smoke ring at me. The chilly wind snatched it. "What's going on? Miss Perfect losing her shit?"

"No!" I took a breath. Nothing to see here. "I just had some unexpected issues come up. Let me have one week, and I'll — I'll pay you interest."

Chris Doubled over laughing, his hands braced on his knees, managing to keep hold of his cigarette.

"What do I look like? Tomorrow. You pay me tomorrow."

"Or what?"

"Or I won't sell to you again."

"Fine. There are lots of other people I can buy from. I've been helping you out. Adding a touch of class to your clientele."

He gave me a sour, unimpressed look. "I'll tell them not to sell to you either, because you can't pay. I know everybody."

I pulled my hat down over my forehead. "You wouldn't."

"Sure I would. What'll you do then? Nothing personal, Lady Sandra, but I kinda do want to see you lose your shit."

"Not going to happen!" I chirped. "I'll pay you tomorrow."

"Good."

He took a final drag on his cig and dropped the glowing ember in the snow.

*****

As I escaped to the clear paths of the quad, I stomped ice crystals from my boots and tried to shake off the conversation with Chris. I'd bought Adderall occasionally since freshman year, but the past few months, I'd visited him more frequently.

I was already on a downward spiral: broke, shit grades, barely able to focus. Being cut off from my supply — the thought stabbed at my chest.

I checked my phone. Nothing. I'd been trying to reach my best friend Glorious since I stumbled out of bed this morning and charged my dead phone at the library. We need to talk. Something's come up. You there?

Her silence didn't make sense. Glorious and her phone were surgically attached.

I dialed her number.

"Girl!" she squealed when she picked up. "Did you hear about Julianne and Kent? He claims he doesn't remember anything, but last night…"

Crossing the quad, I made myself smile and gossip along with her.

My stomach cramped — I'd skipped lunch. I didn't dare open the fridge and check whether my food had spoiled since the power went off yesterday. All I'd eaten were the gummy bears stashed in my purse. I was jittery, on edge.

As Glorious finished up the Julianne and Kent story, I forced a laugh.

When I glanced up, I locked onto a pair of icy eyes — a glacial blue that almost seemed like no color. Their owner stood a few feet from me, leaning against a lamppost.

I froze. Heat bloomed inside my cold skin. My gaze darted to his height, his black wool coat — expensive, well-cut, fitted over bulky shoulders and a broad chest. I looked up at his face, the fake laughter catching in my throat.

His light brown hair was still super short, catching the glitter of winter sun. It would be so soft under my hands — the only soft thing about him. His pale skin was the type you'd expect to flush in the cold, but his cheeks weren't rosy.

Patrick.

We'd met once.

I'd fantasized about him countless times.

The slight smile on his face made it clear: he remembered me too.

Quickly, I looked away and sat down on a nearby bench.

"Sandra, I neeeed you to come back to cheerleading," Glorious was saying. "There's been a huge hole on the squad since you left. You know we had to recruit Theresa Allen literally the day before Thanksgiving, and ugh, I do not feel supported by her. You're a much better base. Can you just come back? I never thought you were the type to quit."

Funny, my mom had said the same thing.

We're not quitters, Sandra. Your sister never quit anything in her life.I thought we passed those values on to you! You better replace cheerleading with another activity. Remember you take after the women on Dad's side, all hips and butt and thighs. If you don't work out, you'll start spreading like dough. I'm just telling it like it is, because I know it matters to you…

"I didn't have time," I lied to Glorious. "I couldn't take waking up at five-thirty to do endless drills. That's not what college is about! It's for being irresponsible and sleeping it off. Come ON. We're twenty years old. Let's make the most of it. We'll be getting up early the rest of our lives."

I glanced over my shoulder at Patrick. He was still leaning against the lamppost. Still watching me. His phone rested in his huge hand, ignored. The gold fraternity ring on his finger caught the light.

He raised an eyebrow, and his expression made me shiver. Like he knew how hard I'd tried this year to stop aiming for success, to stop caving to my family's expectations. I'd managed to play, eat, and party my way through fall semester, letting my savings and time bleed away.

Yesterday, when I'd tried to withdraw from my checking account, the numbers on the screen stopped me cold: seven dollars and forty-one cents.

"Sure." Glorious sounded unconvinced. "But balance is good. For you, at least. Maybe you can find a balance."

Glorious was one to talk about balance. She was the girl I could hang out with at IHOP at two in the morning, laughing at nothing while we tied cherry stems into knots with our tongues. She was also the girl who fell down a flight of stairs into a parking lot, drunk off her ass, at the biggest bash of the year last spring. Her stitches were long gone, but people still told the story.

Glorious partied hard; I stayed a step behind to take care of her. That had been our dynamic until this year.

Beneath the surface, something wasn't right between us. I'd started feeling it before Thanksgiving. But it would blow over. It had to.

"Balance is good," I said brightly. "Listen, I have something crazy to tell you."

"Ooh, more gossip? Don't tell me, Kent's ex-girlfriend found out, and—"

"No, Glo." I glanced at the lamppost, caught the chill of two blue eyes, and looked away. I should pick up and move, but my body refused to budge. I Benred my voice. "I honestly can't believe this happened, but I kind of…got behind on paying my bills. So did Amelia." Glorious snorted when I mentioned my roommate from hell. "So…the electricity in my apartment got turned off yesterday. The gas too. And you know what Amelia did? She texted that she was staying with her boyfriend and I could tell her when the utilities were back on. She left her cat behind, though."

"Sucks. How'd you even get behind on the bills? Are you going to make her pay you back?"

Glorious never paid a bill in her life. She was used to being taken care of. In fact, she owed me money, because she was always borrowing. Sixty dollars? Eighty? I'd stopped keeping track. When I brought it up, she brushed me off, or got hurt.

My hair swung forward, ice flecking the dark strands, as I stared at my boots in the snow.

I couldn't bring myself to check if Patrick was still there.

"It's not that simple." I tried to sound breezy, but my voice faltered. "It's insane, but…somehow…I blew through everything last semester. I don't even know how it happened. I— I don't really have any money right now. None. I spent last night under my covers, wearing pretty much every piece of clothing I own, fucking shivering. I mean, it gets cold in those off-campus apartments in January. They need to work on the insulation."

I was laughing like it was a huge joke, but I pulled my coat close around me and tightened my scarf. The night had been awful. "Mmmm."

I tried to swallow my pride, but it stuck in my throat in a misshapen lump. I hated asking for things. "Can I crash on your couch? Just for tonight? I'm looking for a campus job, but it could be two weeks before I get a paycheck."

"So what are you asking? To crash for tonight, or to crash for two weeks?"

Jesus, Glorious was supposed to be my best friend. I'd let her crash on my busted couch if she needed to. "I'll figure something out." My voice rose, and I fought for control. "But if I could sleep over at least for tonight…"

"Sorry, babe." She didn't sound that sorry. "Maria's boy is visiting while he, like, figures out his life, and Ashley's sister is here this week and she's got the living room couch."

"I can sleep on the floor." I gritted my teeth. I hated, hated, hated begging like this.

"You know, there are so many fricking people in our apartment already, I just don't think so. It takes forever to get the shower, and I cannot get any privacy…"

I rubbed my forehead, then turned involuntarily. Patrick still stood at the lamppost, flipping his phone back and forth in his mammoth hand. His expression had changed. No longer amused, but alive, curious.

My lips were parted. My eyes were wide. They were glued to the face of this almost-stranger, pleading with him to help me in a way I'd never do with anyone I actually knew.

He looked right back at me with a slight smile. A flare of cold rolled over my shoulders and turned into heat between my legs. Suddenly, I could feel his lips on my neck. That smile. His huge hands were tangling in my hair. Unzipping my coat, slipping under my sweater…

Poor little girl, a deep voice murmured in my head. You're in such a mess, and you've only got yourself to blame.

Pulling myself together, I gave him some serious side-eye. He looked down at his phone.

"Okay. I get it," I chirped to Glorious. "No big deal."

"Ask your parents, girl. They'll help you."

"Mm-hm."

Glorious didn't understand my relationship with my parents. When she needed something, she phoned Daddy. I call him Dada, she'd say. It's his downfall.

If I called my parents, it would be a totally different conversation.

Sandra, we are beyond disappointed in you. How could you let this happen? This isn't how we act in the Ramirez family. The agreement is that we pay rent and you pay utilities. You need to handle this on your own so you can learn some responsibility. Has your sister ever screwed up like this? No. Gwen would never, ever…

"Maybe you can find someone to keep you warm tonight," Glorious said helpfully. "Collins misses you. When I run into him, all he talks about is Sandra, all the time. Except when he talks about his band. Why'd you dump him, anyway? You know how many girls would kill for that? Everyone wants him when they hear him sing."

My stomach knotted. My ex-boyfriend couldn't understand either why I'd dumped him during December finals. He'd sent incessant texts over winter break — that he was so worried about me, that I wasn't myself, that I was drinking more and pushing away the people who cared the most.

"They can have him," I said airily. "He's a good guy, but not such hot stuff in the bedroom, you know? He'd finish in, like, two minutes, and I never finished at all. Besides, I'd never hook up with someone just for a warm bed to sleep in."

"You're a better woman than I am. See you, babes."

I stared at the phone after she disconnected.

My throat was tight. My eyes prickled. I didn't dare look up to see if Patrick was still there. One glance at those eyes, and I'd make some kind of terrible decision.

Instead, I got to my feet, stumbled around the corner of the nearest building, leaned my forehead against the frozen stone, and cried.

The tears were hot on my cold cheeks. I hated crying. I hadn't done it in years, and never in front of other people. I buried my face in the puffy sleeve of my coat as my nose ran and hoped no one was watching. I felt horribly alone.

Finally, I stopped choking and my vision cleared. As I looked for a tissue in my purse, a piece of paper in the snow caught my eye.

A frat party invitation. Tonight, at Kappa Sigma. I recognized it, because I had an identical invitation at home from my friend James. Someone must have dropped it. Maybe Kappa Sig was desperate enough for guests to throw exclusivity to the wind.

I stooped to pick up the invitation. A tiny inscription at the bottom, in inhumanly neat handwriting, stopped me short.

Meet me 11 pm

That was all it said. The party started at ten.

I knew that handwriting. I'd only seen it once, but it was burned on my brain.

This invitation hadn't fallen in the snow by accident.

Stuffing the paper in my tote bag, I hurried into the closest building to clean up. I blew my nose in the ladies' room and splashed my swollen eyes with water.

Maybe you can find someone else to keep you warm tonight.

Leaning close to the mirror, I dabbed powder on my reddened cheeks. When I wasn't falling apart, I was cute. Pretty, on a good day. Not spectacular. Few people truly were, just a lucky few. I was reminded of that every time I looked at a family photo.

I pulled my long dark hair into a ponytail and applied lip gloss. Smoothing my white sweater, I adjusted my tight jeans.

I could deal with my problems. I wouldn't beg for favors. If I was a failure, a fuckup, and a fraud, it was my own fault, and if I fussed with my appearance enough, maybe something good would happen.