Not even me.

But in my dreams, whatever worries weighed her down in the real world didn’t exist here. In my dreams, she smiled constantly. I listened to her hum a soft melody, one she probably overheard from my iTunes playlist again and found pretty. Once she’d finished combing my hair, she braided it, and then whispered into my ear about how strong I was. How smart I was. How I would do great things now that I was in college.

God, I miss that.

I tried to hold on to the sound of her voice. Even when I felt myself waking up, I pressed my eyes closed to linger in the dream for just a moment longer. But no matter how desperately I tried, I could never hold on for long enough.

And then came the worst part—the waking up. It was as if my brain had to realize all over again that my mother was dead. On the nights I dreamt of my mom, I always woke in an anxious, cold sweat, terror clawing at my stomach as if she were being freshly murdered each and every time.

And murder is what happened to her—regardless of what anyone else claimed.

I swallowed down my pain, just as I had done every day since, and got out of bed.

I stumbled over to the bathroom, tying my hair into a messy bun that rested on the crown of my head and wobbled with each step. Day three hair always ended up in a bun, but even pulled back, I could tell that with my next shampoo, I’d have to spend time working out the knots before the whole thing became a giant tangle.

I hated when that day came.

Until you’ve lost someone, you can never understand how the small things you lose are the biggest things you miss. And I didn’t care about grooming my hair anymore after Mom died.

I leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on my face as I rubbed my eyes before glancing in the mirror. No amount of makeup could hide the wide, dark rings that outlined my overly-dilated brown eyes. People used to ask me if I was on some sort of drugs after her death because of my giant pupils. But nope, that was just how my eyes looked.

I wish I had been on some drug; maybe then things wouldn’t have hurt as much. Or maybe then, they would have made some sort of sense.

Not that death ever makes sense. Especially when someone dies before their time.

I stepped out of the bathroom and glanced around my dorm. Since it was one of the most elite colleges in Charleston, South Carolina, the dorms at Goldshire were nicer than most. They resembled small, private lofts more so than they did dormitories. I had heard that the dorms at our rival school, Lineage, were even more upscale than they were here, but I’d never seen them for myself. Entry into the rival college was strictly forbidden. Even recreational tours weren’t allowed.

The feud between our schools went far beyond any normal standards. When people think of rivals, they imagine UCLA and USC, or Yale and Harvard. But those are nothing compared to Lineage versus Goldshire. And my hate for Lineage ran even deeper after everything fell apart in my life.

I dressed and covered my face with just enough makeup to hide the fact that I couldn’t sleep anymore. I only had one more year to get through, and the constant hovering by faculty asking me if I was okay was becoming intolerable. I didn’t care about school anymore. I only cared about one thing.

Finding out who killed my mother.

“Hey, Lisette,” one of the girls from my building called cheerily in my direction.

I locked my door and headed down the hallway toward campus, not bothering to answer her. Why should I? Most of the people whispered behind my back as they smiled to my face. None of them were genuine enough to deserve my acknowledgment—or my trust.

No one except, Julian.

We had known each other since we were kids. He graduated last year, but since his parents were high-ranking board members of G.A., they let him continue to live at one of the sleek, unattached, on-campus apartments. I didn’t understand why he’d want to stick around here when he didn’t have to. I sure as hell wouldn’t. But then again, we’d promised each other as kids to always stick together.

I guess he really took that promise to heart.

Julian planned to live on campus and take some master’s classes until I had graduated too. Sometimes he even snuck into a class or two with me, just to keep me from skipping or being bored out of my mind.

As I walked across the sprawling campus, I sucked in a deep breath of the crisp, chilly air. The breeze blew black strands of hair from my bun. They whirled around my face, tickling my nose. It had just turned to autumn, and the canopy of leaves that hung over the outdoor walkway looked like a brilliant dome of fire above my head. A few people passed on my right, but I kept my gaze on the path.

I tried to navigate through my days without drawing attention to myself. The task had grown increasingly difficult. It was bad enough that the tarnished reputation on my family that my father left behind followed me everywhere. But it became worse when they found that I had lost both of my parents. I could stand the questions. The whispers. Even the lies. But it was the pathetic pity people offered that bothered me the most. I would be able to cope much better if they would just say that shit to my face or leave me alone.

I still remembered the time one chick had the audacity to ask me if I had murdered my own mother. Apparently, it was a relatively popular rumor since I was the one to find her. I could still see her when I closed my eyes, even if I didn’t want to. See her lying there in the back of the storage room, suicide note in hand.

A bullshit suicide note.

Julian wanted to punch the girl in the face for being an insensitive asshole, but I just grabbed his arm and burst out laughing.

Of course, my behavior only fueled more ‘insanity’ rumors. But I didn’t care.

It was refreshing to have someone speak to me as if I were ‘normal’ again, instead of some orphaned adult from a fucked-up family whose parents either killed themselves, or ran off. At least my mom’s death wasn’t tainted by accusations of embezzlement.

Or maybe I just hadn’t heard them yet.

I didn't remember much about my dad. I was only four when he left my mom and me. But I did remember the night my mom told me he had died in a car accident. I also remembered that I didn’t care, and neither did she.

I walked right past my morning lecture, ready to veer down the hall and focus on more pressing issues when an arm wrapped around my shoulder and turned me back toward the doorway.

“Julian.” I rolled my eyes at my best friend. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on post-graduate work or hydroponic gardening? Or literally anything else besides being my babysitter?”

“Babysitters get paid,” he said with a big smirk on his face. “I’m doing this out of pure love.”

“Love, huh?”

“You know I love you.”

I snickered. “Me . . . and every other coed within a ten-mile radius.”

“Nope, just you,” he said.

I scoffed. “Mhmm, sure.”

“It’s the truth, Lisette.”

“You know, sometimes you’re just too handsome to argue with,” I teased, but the smile on my face was cut off by Julian’s expression. The intensity in his gaze caused a deep warmth to grow in the pit of my stomach . . . and lower.

“Come on, let’s go.” I quickly grabbed his arm, turning him toward the door and making sure that whatever had just passed between us was over before it ended up ruining our friendship. I’d lost so much already. I couldn’t bear losing Julian.

He followed close behind me as we entered the enormous lecture hall. He ducked his thick, broad shoulders and dipped his head in a futile attempt to make himself appear less obvious. But a guy like Julian was hard to ignore.

“I don’t know how you do that,” I said, once we found seats in the back of the room.

“Do what?”

“Sneak in here like a ninja without getting caught,” I answered.

He shrugged. “Eh, I do get caught. They just don’t care.”

“Helps to have powerful parents, huh?” I said sarcastically.

Julian chuckled, and the lecture started.