Someone to Love(3)

“Kendall,” I say to the two of them.

“Lauren Ashby.” The brunette gives a brief nod. Her hair cascades around her shoulders in waves, and I admire it for a moment. My own hair hangs long and for the most part, straight—dark as soot. Most of the time it just looks like a bad Halloween wig. “We see you’ve met Cruise.” She tips her head back and laughs, revealing a pair of light-up Christmas tree earrings hidden beneath her dark tresses.

“Is he a graduation requirement?” I ask. Not that I’m anywhere near graduation. I’m a sophomore who recently upgraded her undeclared status to Liberal Arts with no real intention of doing anything productive with it.

Lauren laughs so hard she spills her drink over her bright red heels. “No, but God, wouldn’t that be great? Actually, he’s a mess. Stay away from him. He had a rough time last summer, and now he’s nothing but a ball of testosterone on fire.”

“He was shit on.” Ally nods as if to testify to this.

“He was shat on.” Lauren spears her with a look. “Get your grammar straight.”

Pennington struts by with his collar turned up like a preppy and a pair of sunglasses firmly planted over his face, which cements any pending douchebag status I may have afforded him. I’ve seen enough pictures to know it’s him, plus we Skyped twice last week to finalize my arrangements. He was supposed to pick me up from the airport, but he said he had a last-minute “emergency,” so I blew through half the twenties in my wallet just transporting myself to this hotbed of immorality. Something tells me the crisis had to do with malt-grained liquor.

“There’s my future husband,” I say sarcastically, mostly to myself since they’re both locked in a heated argument over semantics.

“Pennington?” Ally’s mouth squares out and the two of them break out in cackles.

I speed over and yank him aside.

“Hey! How’s it going? It’s me, Kendall!” I pony up all the mock enthusiasm I can muster. “The party was fun and all, but I sort of just want to get settled in my room. Can I have the key?”

Pennington secured me a dorm on campus, which is really hard to do since they’re usually booked by August, and here it is December, so I guess it’s sort of my Christmas miracle.

His lips crimp. “About that…”

Or not.

“What happened?” I don’t need to be Nancy Drew to know this isn’t going to end well.

“Nothing happened.” He sloshes his drink over the floor as if trying to wave off the absurdity. Pennington is tall and decent in the looks department, not in the caustic jump-in-my-bed sort of way that Cruise is—Pen is more your stoner boy next door. I’m sure every female within a twenty-mile radius would love nothing more than to drag Cruise off to the nearest bushes, and Pennington—well, he’s the reason girls carry mace in their purse.

He nods into me. “You’re going to have to crash here a few nights, just until I get everything squared away with the housing department. Turns out I didn’t get your name in on time.” He rolls his eyes as if little details like that were annoyingly unimportant. “But you’re on a waiting list—put you there myself.”

“What?” A thread of panic spikes through me. “I’m homeless?” It comes out more of a whimper than a question.

“No.” He begins to sway because clearly, he’s wasted out of his irresponsible mind. “When school opens up again, we’ll get this whole stupid thing straightened out.”

“This whole stupid thing?” I’m so ticked I’m ready to douse him with the contents of his bright red Solo. “School doesn’t open for another three weeks,” I squawk. “I was supposed to get settled, not arrested for trespassing. I can’t stay here.” I fan my arms out at the debauchery just as a dark-haired boy pukes in the center of the room.

“Suit yourself.” He starts walking away. “Hey, my mom invited you to dinner Christmas eve.” He gives a thumbs up before melting into the crowd. Pennington Thurston Alexander the Third is an ass of the highest order. And with a name like that, who could really blame him?

What to do?

What to freaking do!

I guess there’s always Aunt Jackie. She’s not my real aunt and I’ve yet to see or speak to her. All I know is that she and my mother were besties growing up and kept in touch over the years. They both went to Garrison and now her unreliable spawn and I are following in their footsteps. I guess I could shake Pennington down for her number. I’m sure she wouldn’t want me seeking shelter on park benches or vomit-riddled frat rooms. Although, I’m not too enthused with the idea of shacking up with the elders, either. I’ve been dreaming of having the full collegiate experience ever since I received my acceptance letter back in May. Having to wait until winter seemed bad enough already.