Automatically, my shoulders relax. “I met a girl who knows my advisor.”

“A good thing?” Daniel questions, and I shrug.

“We’ll see on Monday.”

Corinne shoots a look between us, and then finally heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Come on, let’s play beer pong.”

For someone whom I’m pretty sure never had a drink before tonight, she doesn’t show any hesitation as she drags me off to one of the adjoining rooms where several people are taking turns playing on a makeshift table—an old door lying across what looks like two dressers. I’ve never been very good at beer pong because my aim sucks. Last year all I wanted to do was get right to the drinking, but I make an effort when Corinne and I play against Daniel and his roommate Elliot. By the time our second rotation to play rolls around, and Corinne starts to slur, I decide to call it a night.

“I’ve got to get up at seven to call my dad,” I lie, prying away her beer and tossing it in the nearest trashcan. “Walk back with me?”

“You go ahead, I’ll walk back with Daniel, and—”

“I’m leaving, too.” He yawns, and I glance over my shoulder and shoot him an appreciative smile. He winks at me before telling her, “I’ll walk you both back.”

The ten blocks back to our dorm is traveled in awkward silence, besides Corinne who returns a call she missed while we were at the party. She immediately darts in our room the moment we reach our hall, but Daniel stops me at our door, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“What?” As I turn around, I maneuver away from his touch. “Do you—”

“You’re not really tired, are you?” He gives me a smile that’s meant to impress. “Because I’ve got a movie that—”

Oh, hell no.

“Can Corinne come?” I interrupt. He blinks a few times, and then I add, “Because, you know, you just spent most of the night talking to her. Plus, the only time you and I’ve really said anything was when your ass was parked on my bed.”

Smiling sheepishly, he runs his palm over his face and shrugs. “Guess she’s just not my type.”

And you’re definitely not mine, I add silently. Giving him a little wave, I open my door. “Goodnight, Daniel.” Before he can protest, I’m already in our room with the door securely closed and locked behind me.

I stop short when I see Corinne lying on her bed with her forearm resting over her eyes. “Are you alright?” I ask, and she comes to a slight sitting position and nods.

“Tired.”

And drunk. Very, very drunk. Grabbing two bottles of water from the mini-fridge, I start to toss one to her, but then I think better of it. The last thing I need to complete this epic suck of a day is to knock her in the head with a full bottle of water. I cross the room and place it beside her.

When she gives me a quizzical look, I open my own and take a drink. “Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

She scoots all the way up and rests her back against the plain wood headboard as she takes slow sips. “So ...”

I lift an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Do you miss the school you went to last year?”

Instead of getting exasperated that we’re back on this subject, I think of Kendra. I haven’t checked my messages in the last hour or so, but I can almost guarantee she’s sent me another word of encouragement.

Turning my back to Corinne, I slide off my shoes and kick them under my bed. “I miss some things,” I say as I start rummaging through my top dresser drawer for my shower supplies. “But mostly it doesn’t bother me being somewhere new.”

As drunk as she is, the slight shake in my voice must give me away. “That bad, huh? I might talk a lot but I’m a really good listener, too.” She releases a hiccup. “If you ever want to talk, that is.”

Clutching my towel close to my chest, I shake my head. “Like I said, I screwed up last year. Time to make things right. But before all that, you should get some rest.” I dip my head to the nearly full bottle of water she’s nursing. “Try to drink that so you don’t feel like crap tomorrow morning.”

When I return from my shower twenty minutes later, I’m grateful Corinne is already asleep.

***

Aside from exploring Richmond with our suitemates, Hannah and Lara, who are both from Charlottesville, the rest of my weekend is, thankfully, uneventful. Of course, that’s also a bit of a curse. It gives me plenty of time to go to battle with myself about the Rhys Delane situation.

And this is one of those situations where there are only two actual solutions. Either I can go directly to Professor Cameron—who’s already let me know she doesn’t think I deserve to be in her program—and tell her I’m unable to work with her trusted assistant. Or I can suck up all my apprehension about Rhys, try my hardest to overlook our mutual connection, and get the hell through this semester.

Both solutions royally suck.

After spending most of Sunday driving Corinne to the nearest Ikea and helping her put together a small bookshelf, and then getting all my stuff prepared for the upcoming week—printing out my schedule and tracking down a book that I didn’t order along with the rest of my course materials—I’ve almost convinced myself to take the more difficult road.

Almost.

Then again, that may be the exhaustion screwing with me. It’s nearly eleven-thirty. Corinne’s been asleep for almost an hour, and Facebook has sucked me in for the last twenty minutes. I’d stupidly reactivated the account I cancelled last spring, only to get an eyeful of all the dumb crap my ex-boyfriend James is doing already on his first weekend back to school. The sentimental fool in me wants to feel some type of emotion—anger or longing or even a desire to send him a message. I can see that he’s logged on, and despite the rocky way our relationship had ended, I know he’ll respond quickly if I contact him—but I don’t feel any of that.

As I scroll past a picture of James giving a thumbs up as he and one of his frat brothers hoist up a skinny girl for a keg stand, my phone rings. Startled, I nearly drop my laptop in my effort to grab it before the noise wakes up Corinne. Once it’s silenced, I flip it over to see my mother’s name.  Mom’s old school—she holds fast to the belief that after nine, you don’t call people unless it’s an absolute emergency.

I quickly accept the call.

“Mom? Are you okay?” I breathe into the receiver.

The voice that greets me, however, doesn’t belong to my mother but to my father. Shit. Yesterday morning I’d sent him a message to let him know that I’d call him soon to catch up, but I never heard back from him. I assumed he was pleased that I even responded.

"A call would’ve been nice," he tells me in a tight voice. “But I’m glad to hear you’re alive and kicking.”

The exact wording he uses sends a jolt through my body but I shake it off as I quietly come to my feet and tiptoe out my bedroom. My suitemate, Hannah, is coming out of our shared bathroom as I head inside to talk, and she gives me a sleepy smile, murmuring, “’Night, Evie.”

When I tell her the same, Dad releases a breath. “Oh no, not yet you’re not.”

"Sorry, I was talking to one of the girls who lives in my suite,” I explain as I sit down on the bench seat right outside the standup shower. It’s wet, and I shift uncomfortably in my now damp pajama pants. “I’ve been busy with settling in, and—.” Something hits me, and I bring my knees up to my chest, wrapping my free arm around them. Dad’s calling me from Mom’s phone. “Wait. Are you back at home?”

"Evelyn,” he groans. I purse my lips, expecting him to start with the evasive maneuvers at any moment. Unfortunately, that particular habit is something we have in common. "I know you have some ... issues with me right now, but at some point you’re going to have to let your mom and I work out our own lives. This has nothing to do with you."