Page 8 of Virgin Sacrifice

Rap, rap, rap.

It was the sharp, hard tapping of someone knocking insistently at my door.

I reached over for my phone that was charging on the small nightstand next to my twin bed, not sure if I wanted it to be early or late. While I didn’t want to get out of my bed and face whoever was banging on my door, I wanted to fall back asleep even less.

My phone read 8:13 a.m., well before my first class of the day but not so early that I could afford to lounge around in bed much longer if I wanted some time to study before class.

Rap, rap, rap.

“Fine, okay, I’m coming,” I grumbled, heaving myself out of bed and making my way to the door.

Swinging the door open, I found an unfamiliar girl standing there with her hand raised as though she was just about to knock again. At the sight of me though, she dropped it and burst into a radiant smile.

“Oh goodie, you’re awake!” the girl exclaimed, nearly bouncing up and down on her toes with excitement.

She was an adorably plump redhead who seemed to brighten the entire floor with wholesome energy. Her shoulder-length auburn hair looked freshly blown out, the color complementing her fair, freckle-kissed skin and sparkling green eyes. She was rocking a noughties-inspired look, wearing a cute black crop top paired with wide-leg white cargo pants and chunky platform sandals. Silver hoops hung from her ears, matching the stack of silver chains around her neck.

She looked absolutely as cute as a button, and I had no idea what she was doing knocking on my door at eight in the morning.

“Um, hello,” I mumbled, unable to stop myself from yawning.

“Oh no, I woke you up,” she said, her face dropping with such genuine remorse that I found myself feeling guilty in turn.

“It’s fine,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “What’s up?”

She chewed on her lip nervously for a moment before beginning. “Well, you see, we’re like neighbors,” she hedged. “You’re room 406 . . .” She pointed to me. “. . . and I’m room 404.” She pointed to herself with the sort of expectant look that made me feel as though I was missing a social cue. Was I supposed to have a response to that?

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” I tried with as much enthusiasm as I could muster while barely awake.

Her smile returned a bit more. “Well, I hadn’t really seen you around much, and I just thought, I should come over and introduce myself since, you know, we’re going to be, like, living next to each other for the next eight months . . .” she said slowly, chewing her lip.

“Right, of course,” I fumbled.

“I’m Autumn.” She extended a manicured hand. “Autumn Morgan.”

“Luz Torres,” I replied, offering her a quick, if not awkward, handshake. Releasing her grip, I expected that to be the end of it. But instead, she just stood there, seemingly just as unsure of what to say as I was.

“I don’t suppose, you know, since you’re up,” she finally began nervously, wringing her hands. “Would you want to come to grab some breakfast with me?”

The temptation to stick to old habits, to politely decline her offer and hole up in my room until my class, was a strong one.

That she had just woken me up didn’t help.

I never had any real friends growing up. As a child, I was homeschooled by Marianne and rarely allowed to socialize with other children. And when I finally went to live with Mami, we were constantly moving for her work. After the first couple of schools, I quickly learned that I was better off focusing my energy on academics instead of attempting to make new friends every time we had to start over . . .

So, it would have been easy to give Autumn a wan smile and brush her off.

But that wasn’t my life anymore . . .

“I can’t believe you got in trouble with Locke Blackwell!” Autumn shrieked, drawing the attention of at least half of the students seated around us. If it weren’t for my tan skin, I was fairly certain my cheeks would be bright red.

“Shhhhhh!” I hissed at her.

At least this cafeteria was smaller than Fraser Hall, so there were only about a dozen or so students who were privy to my mortification this time.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, mirth still dancing in her eyes. “It’s just, it’s like hearing you got into a fight with a Kennedy or something. The Blackwells are practically royalty around here.”

“Blackwells plural?” I asked, taking a sip of my smoothie. It was delicious. Even if the friendship thing with Autumn didn’t work out, I would be coming back here for breakfast. Not only was it closer to my dorm, but it also had a smoothie station, for goodness’ sake.

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