small action so clearly causing her pain. “You know I always hate this time of the month—when it’s so close to the first.”
“We’ll be okay, Gran. You know I won’t let anything happen to us.”
There was so much emotion in her eyes, but she would never let it fall. “I hate that this is on you.”
“I don’t.”
“You should be having a ball at your age, not having a care in the world rather than drowning in all these bills.”
“Gran,” I said, walking over to the couch, “the life we share together is the only thing that matters to me.” I leaned down and kissed her cheek. “And what we have is perfect.”
“My beautiful Pearl.” Her voice was so soft, but each word was emphasized, and I felt the meaning behind every one. “Now, go eat before your food turns cold.”
I gave her a smile and went into my room.
The space had once been a small den, but she had converted it once I moved in with her. She’d had a handyman build a partition that served as a door, and she’d hung shelves above the desk that she had bought me at a garage sale. Those shelves housed the books she had given to me over the years—To Kill a Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, Jane Eyre, Little Women, Anna Karenina. Since we didn’t live in a neighborhood where it was safe enough to play outside, I’d spent my younger years reading those classics, memorizing the lines. Gran would sew me a costume, and I’d pretend the couch was my stage and the rest of our apartment an audience. I’d act out each of the scenes, and she’d applaud at the end of every act.
I hadn’t taken private acting lessons, like most of the other students in my major, but they couldn’t recite Ophelia’s monologue by heart and convince an entire theater of how much she loved Hamlet.
I could.
I kicked off my shoes and crawled on top of my twin-size bed, taking out the textbook for Sexuality and Social Life. While I soaked a piece of bread into the tin-flavored sauce, I began to read the chapter.
But each time I skimmed a new sentence, something lodged deeper into my mind.
A set of eyes.
Ones that were the color of the sky that I would see out my window in the morning.
Three
Before
Ashe
“Let’s go get wasted,” Dylan said from the couch, his feet crossed over the coffee table, a plate of pizza resting on his chest.
“Now?” Sitting at the table on the other side of the room, I bit into my slice of pepperoni. “It’s only Tuesday.”
“So?”
I flipped the page of my Epidemiology textbook. “So … I have an exam in the morning that I’m really not ready for.”
He took the last bite of the crust. “And you think the next couple of hours are going to make a difference? You either know that shit or you don’t. And you do—you’ve been studying nonstop. Besides, you can wake up in the morning and cram for a few hours before the exam.”
I finished mine as well and grabbed one more from the box. “You mean, when I’m hungover as hell and running on no sleep?”
He took a swig of his beer and smirked. “Isn’t that how we do most of our studying?”
I shook my head and bit off the tip, a pool of pepperoni grease falling onto my tongue. “How about we negotiate and agree to only have a few drinks and make it home before midnight?”
He got up from the couch, briefly pretending my shoulder was a punching bag before he got himself another slice. “You can aim for a couple drinks and an early night.” He sat in the seat next to mine. “But we both know that’s not going to happen. Moderation isn’t something either of us is good at.”
He was right.
Hell, tonight would turn into full-on debauchery, like most of the evenings we went out. I’d wake with a raging headache and barrel my way to class, trying to keep down the greasy breakfast I’d inhaled. That was what college was supposed to be about. That was, unless you were a premed major with a course load that was kicking your ass, like me.
“Have I sold you on tomorrow’s hangover, or are you going to be a little pussy tonight?”
I took a drink of my beer and picked up the rest of the slice. “If I fail this exam, you’re fucking dead.”
He got up from his seat, chuckling. “We’re leaving in