Page 5 of Limbo

“Just tell me if you’re coming.” She tosses the end of her braid over her shoulder. “They’re going to have live music, and I hear the band is the best.”

I provide the eye roll she deserves. The best party, the best band. Everything in her life lands in the best category. “Well, I can’t turn down a chance to see thebestband.”

She squeals and bounces around on the bench. My ass, already jaded at eighteen, envies the level of enthusiasm she shows over a party. But then again, her emotional responses always outweigh mine. Hell, I can count the number of times I’ve cried over the past six years—almost the last ten—on one hand, but it requires both hands to show how many times she smiles in any twenty-minute period.

“So,” I say, running a brush through my hair, “what’s the name of thebestband?”

And I need a third hand because she smiles again. “Beta Void.”

“Huh. Cool band name.”

She stares at me, her expression holding.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she coos. “I’m just glad you’re coming.”

“Okay, weirdo.” I throw my stuff in my shower bag and leave her sitting there to hang out in the bathroom alone.

When I walk into our dorm suite, Jess glances up from her studying. A hand runs through her honey-brown hair, pushing it back. “Cam and I are watching a movie later if you want a vote.”

“Cam?” I stop in my tracks. “As in my roommate, Cam?”

The blonde beauty—who is in fact my roommate, Cam—steps out of our room on the other side of the suite. Holy shit, welcome to the apocalypse.

“Did I hear my name?” she asks.

My eyebrows shoot up, and I extend my hand. “Oh my God. Hi. I’m your roommate, Callie.”

“Ha,” she says, pushing past me. “Maybe your shitty jokes are why I never stay here.” She climbs over Jess, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, and sprawls out on the cushions. “Sawyer’s at some work thing the next few days. I’m not staying at the apartment alone with her creepy roommate.”

Well, at least I rate less creepy than someone. Since we moved in, she’s maybe spent one night a week in our room, the rest at her girlfriend’s apartment off-campus. I never complain, thoroughly enjoying the cramped room to myself.

In the middle of the floor of my—our room, I dodge her overnight bag and discard my towel in the laundry basket. From the way it tumbles off the top of the heap, seven days will hold as my new record for not washing clothes. Not my proudest accomplishment.

Dressed in the first pair of jeans and sweater I stumbled upon, I settle in on the bed with my books to study. If I time everything right, I can knock out a few assignments and a load of laundry before we leave for the party.

The calendar from my brother, Connor, hangs on the wall next to me. Out of habit more than anything else, I scratch the tip of the pen over the day’s date, crossing out the number. One line, two, then a third, pressing harder, and another.

“You never answered.” Jess startles me from the doorway, and I drop the pen onto my open book.

“About what?” I ask.

“Movie tonight?”

“Sorry. Frat party with Gibson.”

Words I will soon regret.

Mid-dry cycle, Felicia drags me out of the laundry room. I try to fend her off, but the girl has the grip of a gorilla and the patience of whatever can’t wait another thirty damn minutes. After she strong-arms me up the stairs, I admit defeat and text Jess to save my clothes before some coed casts them aside or claims them as their own.

As Felicia drives, she returns to her new favorite topic—Jordan Waters. She’s working her way toward a pillow over the face if she keeps it up. By the time we’re walking up the street to the party, I think she might explode.

“Are you sure you don’t want to know anything about him?” She gallops sideways to guarantee she sees my response.

For the millionth time, I shake my head.

“You are torturing me,” she whines.

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