Page 13 of Deck of Scarlets

Jeremy stood inches from our heated bubble, watching our interaction escalate.

Clenching my fists, I gathered my belongings and made my way to the front door, completely over this conversation.

Nickie, on the other hand, wasn’t done and was the CEO of the last word. “Just because you’re going to an Ivy League school doesn’t mean you get to treat the rest of us like shit.”

I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, breathing heavily. A rush of panic went through my whole body, making my legs shake with fear.

Through the door, I could make out Jeremy’s angry words. “Nickie, can you not be a raging bitch for five seconds?”

“She started it!”

On wobbly legs, I removed myself from the area, finding comfort in the quiet elevator. Leaning on the cool, metal walls for support, the chill tamed the heat radiating from my body but not enough to stifle the irritation settling in my nervous system.

I tried to reason with myself, insisting that maybe it was all in my head. Maybe what I saw that night was the effects of Mitch’s party favors, a mere illusion of objects in an alleyway morphing into one of the most hideous nightmares from a horror movie.

Because we didn’t live in a world full of Goosebumps stories.

And I was too petrified to find out.

Chapter Six

At seven in the morning, my alarm clock buzzed like an annoying bee in my ear, yelling at me to get my ass up. It was time, the dreadful move-in day to hell. I’d packed, unpacked, and repacked my remaining crap in my Louis Vuitton suitcase all weekend. I tried to avoid the inevitability of going to college all summer, but the days crept up faster than the imaginary monster under my bed.

Jeremy texted me good luck, but not a peep came from Nickie, and, honestly, it was for the best. I would deal with our argument another time when I had a clearer head.

My mother had a car sent to the apartment around seven-thirty. The rest of my belongings were already in the dorm room I would be sharing with Heather Price. A freshman like myself, her hometown was nothing compared to my city life. Originally from Florida, her favorite color was purple, and she loved The Beatles. Her go-to snack was pretzels dipped in peanut butter, and she loved hiking on the weekends. We had nothing in common with my love of the color black, obsession with underground rock bands, and would rather get dragged by my hair by a tractor than go hiking. I knew all this because they sent a little index card about my roommate. It also explained why I had to fill one out months prior with facts about myself.

It bored me to tears.

I despised talking about myself.

Kissing my dog Tito goodbye on his head, I made my way to the outside world; the smell of fresh-baked bread and outdoor flower shops made me feel all warm inside on this miserable day. In the backseat of the black SUV, my mother and father had me sit in between them as the driver finished loading my belongings in the back. The anxiety of just sitting with my parents made me feel like I was drowning. Sometimes, family wasn’t always good to be around. Not that they didn’t love me enough, but the overbearing feeling of it all made me want to wither away to nothing just to get out of there.

The urge to reach into the trunk for my flask to calm my nerves resulted in picking at the leather on the seat with my fingernails just to relax.

Traffic in New York City, no matter what time of day, was always a fun time. Green could mean go, but if you had to take that right turn and the crosswalk was lit up for pedestrians to cross, then you better brace yourself for a lot of honking at your rear and hoping you could cut through the crowd without killing anyone.

Why would anyone want a car or license while living here baffled me. I learned about the subway system at twelve and never looked back.

The driver effortlessly weaved his way in and out of traffic as if he were playing a round of Mario Kart. A strong indicator that he was a native of the city.

My mother patted my knee, a failed attempt to make me more comfortable about this new transition in life. “I hope you enjoy yourself, Remi.” The undertone of disgust about my Grams’ secretive ploy was not lost on me.

“I’m still in the city, Mom,” I mumbled.

“Yes, and could you at least make new friends? Preferably normal ones,” she sniped.

“Jeremy is normal.”

“You know what I mean.”

I knew who she meant.

She began to text on her phone. “Maybe a club or two would do you some good.”

I wanted to puke all over her Gucci heels.

“Just promise us you’ll try to stay a few weekends?” requested Dad. Fixing the buttons on his freshly tailored suit, he extended his arm to uncover a silver Rolex watch, gifted from my mother last Christmas.

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