Page 2 of Fallen Angel

“No, no, no,” Hannah reassured Amelia. “I’ve never met him. Just the name.”

“What’s wrong with the name Bryce?”

“I don’t know.” Hannah leaned back against the headboard of her bed. “If Bellcliff had fraternities, I’m sure there’d be a bunch of Bryce’s rushing. All with the overarching goal be to become the frat president.”

“And what’s so bad about that? If Bellcliff had sororities, I’d probably go for it. And I bet you would too,” Amelia said. She pointed her brush at Hannah and shuffled her toes against the white shag rug that bordered her bed. “Then we could be sisters.” Her voice reached a piercing note on the word “sisters.”

Hannah winced. While she vowed to have a fresh start, she was definitely not the sorority type. She had her small group of friends, and that was all she needed. That was before she pushed them all away. But as far as roommates went, she could have been paired with someone far worse than Amelia.

“Well, then maybe you’re perfect for each other.” Hannah offered a smile and readjusted herself against her pillows.

Amelia slid a flowing floral top over her head. Her whole demeanor was breezy and effortless. Hannah wondered why she couldn’t be like that. Maybe she could, one day. She could care about boys and makeup and parties. Life could be simple.

“Come on, get dressed. We should go soon.” Amelia gazed at her reflection in the magnifying mirror that sat on her desk and applied a pale pink lip gloss.

“What’s wrong with this?” Hannah asked. She pinched the plain navy-knit sweater she wore.

Amelia eyed it suspiciously, her gaze then falling to Hannah’s jeans and black Chelsea boots. “Nothing, it’s just not very…chic.”

“Not sure if I brought anything…chic.”

“Let me see.” Amelia barged over to Hannah’s cramped armoire and perused its contents. Blazers, button-up shirts, turtlenecks, jeans, sweaters, and the rest were just gym clothes. “So, you’re either a professor here, or you’re on some type of athletic scholarship.” Amelia pulled out a blazer and a pair of track pants. “This one has elbow patches, and this has snap-buttons all the way down the leg,” Amelia exclaimed.

Hannah shrugged. She liked what she liked.

“What about something in these?” Amelia pointed to an unpacked box.

“More of the same.”

“Then you can borrow something of mine.” Amelia opened her own wardrobe and flipped through her clothes.

“Do you think any of your clothes will fit me?” she asked. She’d never experienced the sharing of clothes or makeup or anything else, for that matter. Hannah was an only child. “You’re a lot taller.”

Amelia ignored Hannah and pulled out a light blue shirt with off-the-shoulder long sleeves. “Wear this. It will bring out your eyes.”

“It looks tiny.” Hannah protested, holding up the shirt. “It’ll be a crop top on me.”

“You can pull it off,” Amelia said. “I know you have a slim frame under that oversized pullover.”

Hannah imagined sharing clothes with your college roommate was part of the whole normal college experience, so she didn’t fight it. Hannah slid off her bed and changed out her sweater for Amelia’s shirt. It smelled like hyacinth.

She approached the long mirror that hung on the side of her wardrobe and didn’t totally hate what she saw. Amelia was right. The shirt made her light blue eyes appear brighter than usual.

You have your mother’s eyes,her father used to say. The more Hannah stared at her reflection, the more her mother appeared. Bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks contrasted her coarse brown hair. Perhaps it was her mother’s voice she had heard earlier.

“See!” Amelia said. “You love it.”

Hannah looked away from the mirror and forced a smile. Maybe if she could fool everyone else that she was happy, then she’d start to believe it too.

“Now, about your hair—”

Hannah cut her off. “It’s a lost cause. Trust me.”

As soon asHannah and Amelia arrived at the party across campus, a boy who smelled of weed handed them each a red solo cup. Hannah sniffed the unidentified dark liquid; it reeked of cinnamon, vanilla, and something resembling wood varnish. Her stomach reeled. If it tasted as awful as it smelled, she was guaranteed a hangover tomorrow. She held it, however, so that no one else would offer her a drink.

The room was filled with both eager and awkward college freshmen. One boy couldn’t decide what to do with his hands while flirting with a girl, while another continuously propped up his overly-gelled hair when he didn’t think anyone was looking. There were already two girls crying, and one who had clearly drank too much, swaying and babbling to no one in particular. Others were slowly testing the waters, taking small sips while observing their fellow classmates. Hannah wondered if any of them were doing the same thing as her—pretending.

Overplayed pop music streamed from the speakers and was accompanied by the smell of various perfumes and colognes. Between that and the stench of the fuel-like alcohol, Hannah’s nose stung.

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