“Where exactly was your room again?”, I asked, pulling Bayla into the shade of an oak tree, out of sight of Nash and the others.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t in the letter.” 

“It’s always in the letter,” I laughed incredulously. 

A seven was written there on my letter. This room had to be somewhere in the attached apartment complex, because rooms one to twenty were King Rooms. Normally these rooms were reserved for master students with special achievements, and I had wondered how I could have ended up there. But then again, why not?

“But there was nothing written there, okay?” Bay said a little more impatiently, digging out a piece of paper and heaving it close to my nose, so closely I couldn’t make anything out.

I took it from her hand and examined the lines. 

Somewhere there had to be...

A literal shock ran through me when I got to the names of her roommates.

“There must be some mistake,” I stammered, puzzled, looking again to make sure I hadn’t misread. 

But it was true.

“Oh really? I knew that before.”

I stared at the note, shaking my head.

Something wasn’t right here. Normally, Vanderwood didn’t make mistakes, and certainly not mistakes like this one. But the letter before my eyes said otherwise:

Emely Copeland and Julie Blair were in the same room.

Chapter 11

Mady

Dissatisfied, I smoothed out the folds of the summer dress. Black and emerald green, an elegant floral pattern that matched the hairband and a playful hemline that reached just above my knees.

Through the mirror, I looked into my mother’s eyes, her beautiful smile...until the second I could hear her laughing in my memories. That was the moment when I pushed my memories aside and reached for the pill that was already ready on the dresser next to the mirror.

They were just pills that made me function, that allowed me to leave this house emotionally stable and somehow make it through the day.

I swallowed them, took a sip of my coffee with them, and looked critically in the mirror once again.

The pictures I had taped to the frame showed me and my older brother, Ezra. The two of us at Lola’s Diner, taking selfies. Pictures of us in the snow, him pulling my beanie in my face and sticking his tongue out.

I wish there weren’t two years between those pictures and now. Because Ezra wasn’t taking selfies anymore. And I didn’t laugh with him anymore. 

How could I when we barely ran into each other?

Unlike me, he had stopped taking the pills.

“Someday, it won’t hurt so much.”

Ezra meant our parents. 

My eyes wandered to the next picture.

Nash’s smile, his deep blond strands, his forehead, and my kiss on his skin... I closed my eyes to remember him, that moment with him, all that I hadn’t forgotten yet.

The familiar ache rippled through my belly.

He was the reason I was still taking the pills. Not my parents.

“Madelin?”

Ezra’s voice brought me back to the present, and I was tempted to remove the photo from the mirror. Mia would have torn it off by now, but I just couldn’t.

“Mady, please, we have to go.”

With reluctance, I tore myself away from the mirror and reached for the thermos. I would not make it through this day without coffee. 

Then I grabbed the backpack and hurried down the stairs.

“There you are, finally,” my brother snorted, also carrying his shouldered backpack.

Ezra’s skin was golden brown, not like mine, which resembled that of a walking corpse. He worked a lot. Usually, just at Lola’s Diner or the Vanderwood campus bar. This summer, the flower shop job had been added to the mix. Another reason I should feel bad, but Ezra smiled encouragingly in my direction.

“Let me take your suitcase.” He started to rush up the stairs, but I braced a hand against his chest.

Ezra looked at me through his emerald eyes in confusion. The only thing we seemed to share. His hair was cocoa brown, like my father’s. 

“Where is it?”

That was typical of him. He actually resembled our father. Helpful and kind-hearted, liked to help, felt responsible for everything.... 

And so, it had come about that instead of pills, he had found another way to deal with his problems:  Jobs, more jobs, and even more jobs. And when he wasn’t working, he was studying for his medical degree as an aspiring doctor. 

He was like Dad. At least, that’s what he wanted to be.

“I don’t have a suitcase,” I murmured, pushing past him.

“You should move to campus.” He said seriously from the stairs, and I turned to him. He eyed my floral dress.

“So, you can have your peace from me?”

His eyes met mine again.

“All right, stay here.” He shrugged. “But then please get a job, too.”

I sighed. The guilty conscience set in, and I turned away ashamed, not wanting him to realize how convinced I was of the truth that lay behind his words. 

“Good morning to you, too, Ezra,” I teased and left the house without turning back to my sighing brother.