You're the Reason - J. Nathan
CHAPTER ONE
“It was less than a year ago that sorority pledge Sydney Lane plunged four stories to her death just feet from where I stand outside Harris Hall…”
I flinched at the reporter’s words as I pulled another box from the back of my mom’s SUV, trying to stay out of the cameraman’s shot. Having my face flashed across the news, while a reporter rehashed the gruesome details of Sydney Lane’s death, was not my idea of a great first day at a new school.
“Sydney’s family continues to believe their daughter would never take her own life,” the reporter continued, “but the university stands by their investigation with local authorities claiming there was no evidence of foul play.”
Only those living under a rock hadn’t heard the story of Sydney Lane, the homecoming queen from Austin, Texas, who died while pledging the Alpha Phi sorority her freshman year.
“Reporting to you live from Crestwood University,” the reporter said before throwing it back to the news station.
My mother slammed the back of her SUV and lifted one of the boxes. “Let’s go meet your roommate.”
I slung my backpack over my shoulders then lifted two boxes, balancing the lighter one on top of the heavier one.
“You sure you got those?” my mom asked.
“Mom, I’m fine. That was over a year ago.”
She sighed.
I knew she worried about me, but I really was fine.
I followed her toward the propped-open front door of Harris Hall, an old brick dorm in need of some updating. I hadn’t toured Crestwood’s campus before transferring because being closer to home was all that mattered. Put me in a room in Texas, and I’d make it work. I hadn’t even spoken with my new roommate, having reached out but never receiving a reply. I assumed it was an old email address and shrugged it off knowing I’d make that work too.
My knee felt only a little stiff as we climbed three flights of stairs to the third floor and followed the numbers to 320. The door was open and the room had already been decorated, except for the bed with the bare mattress by the left wall and empty desk that I assumed was for me.
I set the boxes on the floor and scanned the small space. My roommate had hung tiny strands of white lights around the room. Her paisley comforter was adorned with small matching throw pillows and a teddy bear with an Alpha Phi shirt on it. The board on the wall above her desk was filled with photos. I moved closer to get a better look. The blonde in every photo with the perfect cheekbones and impeccable curls had to be my roommate. Her friends all looked similar to her, and many wore Alpha Phi shirts.
“Hey, y’all,” a sweet voice greeted us.
I spun on my red Converse and found the living version of the girl in the photos standing in the doorway looking just as beautiful in person. “Hi.”
She had green eyes and a warm smile. “You must be my new roommate,” she said, nodding in the direction of the boxes I had placed on the floor.
I smiled, my blue eyes nowhere near as vibrant as her green and my brown hair nowhere near as perfectly curled as hers. “I’m Sophia.”
“I’m Chantel.”
“I’m Mom,” my mom added.
Chantel chuckled. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Galloway.”
My eyes narrowed. Neither my mom nor I had said our last name. Had she gotten my email and just not replied?
Noticing my confusion, Chantel added, “Our RA just told me your name. That is your last name, isn’t it?” Her eyes jumped curiously between my mom and me.
“Yeah. I just transferred from the University of Maine.”
She dropped down onto her bed. “Didn’t like the snow?”
I laughed. “Hated it.”
“Are you a sophomore, too?” my mother asked her.
“I’m a senior.” Something clouded her sparkly eyes, and a distant look filled them. “It’s a long story.”
Knowing when not to pry, my mom and I made small talk with her about our intended majors—history for me and communications for her—then excused ourselves a short time later to retrieve the remainder of my belongings from the car. When we returned, Chantel wasn’t there.
After helping me make my bed and unpack my clothes, my mom said goodbye. There was something so comforting about knowing she’d only be forty-five minutes away.
I heaved a sigh as recollections of my time in Maine flashed through my mind. The lonely nights. The meals alone. The long FaceTime calls with anyone back home who’d answer. I was a