Page 14 of Deck of Scarlets

Checking the time, he gave me a quick smile. “I know you’ll do great.”

For once, my returning smile was genuine.

“And don’t forget that family weekend is in two weeks. I can’t wait to meet your new friends,” my mom reminded me. Her eyes were just as much a warning as her tone.

It took every ounce of strength not to tell her to fuck off.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I remained silent for the rest of the way there. I didn’t have enough energy to argue with my parents, and it would end up nowhere regardless of how hard I pressed them to leave me alone about certain things. Thankfully, the traffic getting into the school was a mess, and I convinced my parents to let the driver drop me off at 113th Street inside the campus compound. The view ahead was of a beautiful, old stone church, like a cookie cutout of a fairy tale story and dropped by a helicopter at Columbia University.

After a few hugs and kisses goodbye, I dragged my luggage down Amsterdam Avenue to the college walkway. The streets were flooded with incoming and returning students for the fall semester. I pulled out my campus map from the back pocket of my jean shorts and followed the path that led to my dorm building. Hopefully, I could avoid human interaction until then. I knew my roommate Heather Price would be bouncing off the walls with excitement to see me, especially since she sent me a text the night before, gushing over our first meeting today.

Note to self, never fill out an about me card again, or be subject to the roommate’s annoyance forever.

The late summer heat trickled into September and appeared on my neck, and I was grateful I stuck with a white tank top and jean shorts so I wouldn’t arrive with sweat-stained patches all over my body. As I made my way through the crowd, trying not to step on anyone’s feet even though there were a couple of moments I wanted to elbow a few girls in the head who wouldn’t move out of my way, I made it through a joyous crowd of teenagers. While I walked by unnoticed, I passed the “adult section,” where juniors and seniors nonchalantly hung out around tables that displayed their clubs and whatnot. At one point, a group of guys—just by the look of their clothes and cocky attitude, my assumption was a fraternity crew—whistled at me, but my quick hand gesture shut them up before any of them opened their obnoxious mouths.

I didn’t have time for frat boys who bought trucks bigger than their—

“Come to our open house tonight!” A tall blonde shoved a vibrant pink flier in my face. I declined, shooing her away like an annoying housefly, and continued on my merry way.

“You’ll regret it!” she shouted back at me.

I gave a dirty look over my shoulder. “Fuck off.” The sound of her gasp had me snickering. Good. Leave me the hell alone.

Entering 116th Street, I realized with complete horror that I stood directly in sight of a group of girls sitting at a table for their sorority Kappa Alpha Theta. I almost gagged when they called me over. They waved me down like fans at a boy band concert, and I never wanted to run the other way so badly in my life.

“Hi! Here’s a flier for our mixer! We would love for you to come by this weekend and check it out and see if the Kappa Alpha Theta sisters are a good fit for you!” said a pretty brunette.

“Thanks,” I muttered. I was retreating before they harassed me any longer. Completely out of view from their table, I found the nearest dumpster, crumbled up the flier, and tossed it.

This was a total nightmare.

Finally, after some unnecessary detours, I made it to the famous college path, with my dorm building just a few feet up ahead.

Carman Hall. It had a charming feel to it, and I almost—almost—saw myself enjoying living there.

In front of my dorm building were two young girls with dark hair. One was shorter than the other, but they smiled at me as if I were their favorite person.

Shit, this might be another sorority group.

“Hi, I’m Georgia! Can I have your name to sign in?” she asked pleasantly.

I was relieved she didn’t coax me into joining her all-girl cult group.

“Remi Watson.”

The short girl skimmed down a list on her clipboard, then checked something off with her pencil. The other girl reached behind to look inside a box of files, separated in alphabetical order, I assumed, where she pulled out a thick packet with my name on the front.

“Here, we have your brochures of all the local restaurants and shops, the key to your dorm room, campus map, and I.D. to scan in and out of the buildings on campus. Your class schedule for this semester and the menu for September for our dining hall are in there too. After that, the menu will be online on the campus website. We’re your RAs. I’m Sam, and this is Georgia. We’re both located on the second floor of Carman Hall. I’m in room 204, and Georgia is in room 230. If you have any questions—”

“Oh! Your dorm number and floor are on the back of your I.D.,” interrupted Georgia.

“Girl, I was getting to that.” Sam laughed.

“Sorry,” she apologized sheepishly.

“Thanks,” I said with a forced smile. At least they didn’t offer to escort me to my room.

“Enjoy your first day!” they said in unison. Their cheeriness made me cringe as I walked to Carman Hall.

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