Today's Reading
She glances over at me as I shove the cape back in my closet. Spitting into the sink, she says, "Did she drown in it?"
"Yep," I answer, heading for my dresser. I pull out my pajamas and start to change.
Ellie snorts. "Of course."
I'll give Ellie one thing—at least she doesn't shy away from the truth of a situation.
TWO
I knew Three for weeks before I got my spot at the 'Torch'—or at least, I knew 'of' him. It was hard not to notice him in my twice-a- week statistics class, where I split my time struggling to pay attention, struggling to understand the lecture, and struggling to ignore what felt like, based on the noise level, half the Tau Delta Pi pledge class.
Three is one of them, which is one more mark against him in my book. When I came to college, there was a single rule that reigned above all others: stay away from frat boys. It's one of the only rules Mom gave me as my parents prepared to send me off, but one I already knew on my own.
I thought it'd be my easiest rule to follow—until I got stuck at the grunt desk with the king of the pledges.
It's unnerving, I think as we leave the classroom and Three falls into the center of his group, how charming he can be. Even now he jokes with the other Tau Delt pledges, shoving each other and laughing. Yet under that smile, I know he's twisted and sadistic. Like one of those serial killers whose friends and coworkers all say, "We never could have guessed. He was so 'nice'."
Three glances back, his smile dipping into a smirk like he can read my exact thoughts.
I stop, and someone bumps into me from behind, nearly knocking me to my knees. My bag slips from my shoulder, falling into the crook of my elbow.
"Whoa! Sorry!" A hand catches my arm, steadying me. "You stopped really fast."
"No, 'I'm' sorry," I say quickly, shouldering my bag again. "I don't know what I&" I trail off when I see who bumped me. "Hey—you're Lincoln, right?"
He adjusts his backpack, peering down at me. "And you're& on Chloe's floor." He chuckles, looking sheepish. "Sorry, I don't remember your name. I'm still trying to learn everyone on my 'own' floor."
I smile. "I'm Wyn."
"Wyn," he repeats, nodding. "Wyn. Wyn. Wyn. Got it."
We briefly met the other RAs in our building during move-in day. It was mostly in passing, but Lincoln is hard to forget. He's the type of tall and broad that's difficult to miss in a crowd—not like an athlete, but like he belongs on a farm. He's wearing a T-shirt even though it's chilly out, and his arms are still summer-tanned and thick with muscle. His brown hair is a little long, but not purposely so—more like he keeps forgetting to get it trimmed.
"You on your way to class?" Lincoln asks.
"I have work. Then newspaper. And then class, late. Thursdays are the worst." "Newspaper? You work for the 'Torch'?"
"Yeah, I work my ass off," I joke. "But only as a grunt. I don't get to do any real reporting yet."
"That's impressive, though. I don't know how it is now, with the 'Two Minute News' takeover, but it used to seem really hard to get a spot there."
I give a flippant hand wave. "'Two Minute News' isn't exactly drawing in the serious reporters. The 'Torch' is cutthroat. I think I'm the only one in the newsroom who wasn't editor-in-chief in high school."
It's a very sore subject, and an old one. When I lost editor-in- chief last year, it was to a friend—or someone I'd thought was one. I didn't even know she was running until the ballots came out with two names—Wyn and Clara. I was outvoted almost unanimously. Apparently the rest of the newspaper staff found me too intense. I was pushing for stories and design that might win us a Pacemaker Award. Everyone else was just happy to have the newspaper on their college applications.
The election was one of many moments throughout my senior year that stuck like tiny barbs. At the time, it was one bad thing—albeit a big bad thing that I cried over for a whole weekend. Yet by the end of the year, I found I'd been pricked all over by a thousand things just like it.
"Hey, don't let imposter syndrome sneak in." Lincoln has a kind, comforting smile; I can tell why they made him an RA. "It's like the first freshman-year souvenir you get, and it's brutal. Trust me, as someone who already did it and dealt with it.
This excerpt is from the ebook edition.
Monday we begin the book THIS RAVENOUS FATE by Hayley Dennings.
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