Page 16 of Deck of Scarlets

I swallowed. “I looked that bad?”

“What scared you, Rem?”

My heart skipped a bit at my nickname. Nobody called me that but my closest friends. I wondered if Nickie had used it in front of him.

Josh waited for my response, his hands placed on his knees, a perturbed expression contorting his angelic face. Even in daylight, he was a breathless sight to see.

I need to stop analyzing everything about him. For fuck’s sake, he’s with my best friend.

He sat there patiently, his eyes never leaving mine. It became unnerving, and I had to look away.

“I’m the last person to judge,” he added.

But would he believe me? Hard to tell, especially with him; a mere acquaintance no matter the status he held with my best friend.

Shrugging, I conjured up a party girl response, because not even a pretty boy like him could get me to admit the wild imagination my mind seemed to run with. “I got too drunk and felt too high from making out with your bandmate.”

Josh slung his backpack over his shoulder, shaking his head with laughter. “Ah, yes, the infamous Kal.”

“How did you—” Nickie.

Josh registered rather quickly that I figured out who spilled the tea. “I didn’t mean…”

I waved his attempted apology away. “No, it’s fine.” She just had a big-ass mouth, that’s all. “I should probably get myself settled.” Josh helped me to my feet. His hand supported under my arm, and his calloused fingers brushed against my too-hot skin. I wanted to melt in a puddle where I stood.

What the is wrong with me?

“I’ll see you around campus. I gotta help some freshmen out.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks again.” I shook the water bottle at him.

“No worries. Sorry I almost killed you,” Josh joked before waving goodbye. I watched him walk across campus to the other dorms, staring at his back, trying to understand his weird behavior toward my well-being.

Nickie never mentioned Josh attended the same school. I mean, she could have, but that night we were too busy screaming at one another to even get that far about him, or anything for that matter.

I let the dizziness subside before I got back on track to my dorm room. At least nobody had to call 9-1-1 for an ambulance on my first day. That would’ve been embarrassing, but it wasn’t the first time. During my freshman year of high school, I tripped, fell down two flights of stairs, and broke my right leg because some kids wanted to be first in line for lunch.

After six months in recovery, I made it known I would hunt them down and kick them both in the balls. They never came near me again.

The doors to Carman Hall were a little tough to open, or I just lacked upper-body strength, but after another good tug, I finally managed to make my way inside. Blue carpeted floors greeted me, with a big, round, red table surrounded by matching chairs to the left side of the room. A live ivy plant scaling the wall between the staircase had me thinking what a peculiar idea to have a plant growing inside. I’d been so used to concrete walls and the smell of gasoline outside my window that a plant would be the last thing I would expect in a place like this.

At the front desk inside the hall, a guy with curly dark hair, big square glasses, and stubble on his chin held up a scanner to students’ IDs to access the building. Each one thanked him before they ascended the staircase to the second floor. I followed suit and let him scan mine, offering the same monotone thank you in return, then joined the train ride of students until I broke free to find my room.

The hallways were semi-narrow, and nothing pissed me off more than a crowd of girls trying to walk side by side, forcing me to push up against the wall to pass them while they laughed and flipped their overly sprayed hair.

My biggest fear was not finding my room, but lo and behold, in gold, elegant font, number 201 was nailed to the door, which stood ajar. Inside, Heather Price and some older lady were fixing a flowery bedspread on a twin-size mattress. Her long, curly red hair hung down her back like a curtain, with her slender figure all of five feet. Any shorter, and I’d have been convinced she was an elf.

She noticed me under the threshold and jumped for joy like a kid in a candy store. “Remi! You’re finally here!”

I forced a half-smile. “Surprise.”

The older woman peeked around Heather’s frame. “Hello, Remi. I’m Heather’s mom, Cindy.”

I should’ve known since she boasted a striking resemblance to her daughter, with the same vibrant red hair, diminutive height, and arresting green eyes.

“Hi.”

Our room was set up exactly like the pictures from the website—a crappy twin mattress on either side with a matching light brown closet and desk. At least our things covered most of the underwhelming furniture with matching colors and patterns, but it didn’t soften the dread of being there.

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