Page 141 of Priceless

He chuckled as we reached the foot of the stairs. “I’d consider a deal, Christina,” he said softly. “A bargain, if you’d rather call it that. I’m willing to negotiate.”

My hand went to my phone, silent in my purse, and the fury was smothered by the sharpness of missing Patrick. I refused to be on the losing end of any more bargains.

“No. No deals. No negotiations.” I didn’t lower my voice, and the people in the lobby glanced at us. “I don’t trust you. I never have.”

Dexter blinked, hurt cracking the pretty mask of his face. My mouth opened automatically, like it couldn’t help but apologize. Feel guilt. Then he recovered himself and whistled, long and low.

“And here I thought you were smart. Get ready, Christina. I’m going to destroy you. I’m going to enjoy every second of watching your future die.”

I walked faster, exiting into the sunshine and leaving Dexter behind.

Across the quad, someone was calling my name. A head of red hair flamed in the bright spring afternoon. Megan sprinted toward me, followed by two other cheerleaders in workout clothes.

“Hey, girl! We’re going to the gym. Want to join?”

I wiped my sweaty palms on my shredded jeans. “Sure. Let me just run home and get my stuff.”

She hesitated. “Sydney’s going to be there.”

“Never mind,” I said quickly. “It’s cool. I need to study anyway.”

*****

Tess of the d’Urbervilleslay open on my desk, next to the bowl of chips and salsa that passed for dinner. I was three paragraphs into my final paper for Victorian Lit — a fifteen-pager. Marketing materials were scattered over the bed for my end-of-semester projects.

But I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t think.

Scrabbling at my mouse, I scrolled through screens of pale pink gowns. At Alexis’s request, I’d picked out options for her six bridesmaids and me. My dress had arrived at home over spring break. When I tried on the strapless sheath, my parents wasted no time weighing in.

You’re more in shape than you were at Christmas, but you need to lose five pounds by June if you want to wear that dress.

You better be bringing a shawl to cover up in church.

This wedding is not about you, Christina. It’s about your sister. Don’t wear something that’s going to put all the eyes on you.

At the time, I’d laughed and made a sassy comment about giving Father Gerard something to remember during the wedding Mass. Now, I slumped over my desk, viewing styles that were more subdued and less expensive, with my dress packaged up to return.

Pulling open my middle desk drawer, I rummaged for the heart-shaped box and lifted the lid.

Three thousand dollars, mostly in crisp hundreds. They looked like play money.

I’d saved more this semester than I’d ever managed in my life. With all my previous jobs in high school and college, money had always burned a hole in my purse. But the money in this box wouldn’t cover all of next year’s rent, tuition — independence. The numbers in front of me weren’t enough.

Never enough.

The words echoed louder and louder. I felt blindly for my stash of gummy bears and tossed a handful in my mouth. A flash of white caught my eye — the damn cocktail napkin I’d saved since November.

For months, I’d relied on Patrick for relief. I’d been overwhelmed at the beginning, by nerves, anger, desire, but when life messed with my head, I got it out with him.

I trusted him to tell me the truth.

I trusted him.

The ache of missing him — worrying about him — twisted me up.

Closing my eyes, I massaged my temples. Then I snatched the bottle of pills from my drawer and popped another Adderall. Just for now. Just for tonight. Just for finals.

As I was getting into a groove with my paper, my phone rang.

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