Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 114337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“Please have your students cease all chapter activities immediately,” the councilwoman said to Tiffany and Charlie. “And I’d suggest they start looking for alternate housing right away.”
Everything was moving too fast. My legs felt weak and unreliable. Even if Davidson University wasn’t experiencing a housing shortage—which it was—it was also fucking April. Where the hell was I going to live?
My gaze drifted across the sea of people staring up at me as I searched for answers I wouldn’t find. Instead, my focus landed on the other person who looked just as fucked as I felt.
I’d never hated someone before.
But as I stared at the girl who’d gotten me kicked out of my frat—the one who was responsible for the fact I was about to be homeless—an acidic taste filled my mouth. That was the moment I knew I hated Madison Perry with every cell in my body.
FOUR
Madison
I had to be moved out of the house by five p.m. on Friday because on Tuesday the school had approved the sanctions. I was no longer a Lambda, but Tiffany had graciously given me until the end of the week to figure out where to go.
I’d come back to my room after the meeting on Monday night and cried myself to sleep. It wasn’t the first time my whole life had changed in an instant, so maybe having one experience under my belt would help me through this one, I told myself. But it was still hard and overwhelming, and I allowed myself one night to wallow in self-pity.
The next two days, I spent every spare minute looking at options, of which there were few.
There would be no refund on what I’d paid for board through the end of the semester. I had absolutely no money for housing, so there was no way I could put down a deposit, plus first and last month’s rent on a place—even if I found one available. No one was looking for roommates in April, not when there was only a month left in the spring semester.
It wasn’t like I could move back in with my parents. They lived five hours away in St. Louis.
And I certainly couldn’t ask them for money.
By Thursday morning, I was in a total panic. I had twenty-nine hours to find a place or end up sitting with my stuff on the front curb of the sorority. I had enough money in my bank account I could stay at a hotel for a few days, but it’d be tough to afford to eat too, and what was I going to do after the money was gone?
Some of the girls tried to help. Danielle’s aunt and uncle lived close to campus and had a spare bedroom. She’d said she was going to talk to them about letting me stay there, and at this point, all my eggs were in the Danielle basket.
Jenn stood by my closet, pulling sweaters down off hangers and packing them neatly in a box. She’d offered to help me get ready for the move because she could tell I was struggling to do it, plus I didn’t really have the time if I was going to keep searching.
I was seated at my desk in front of my laptop, scouring the internet for any new postings about people looking for roommates. I was forcing myself to reconsider some listings I’d ruled out earlier for being too sketchy.
Today I was too desperate to have standards or worry about getting murdered.
“What’s this?” Jenn asked.
I turned to watch as she pulled out a hanger that was covered in a plastic garment bag.
A pang of sadness ricocheted through me. “It’s a dress I bought for our formal, back when I was with Jack.”
I’d found it by accident during the summer on a clearance rack and had been thrilled it was in my size. I’d fallen in love with the rose gold dress. It had a plunging neckline and was embellished with tiny lines of sequins that trailed down onto the skirt, which was layers of sheer fabric. I loved the dress so much, I’d hung on to it after the breakup, thinking I’d find someone to go to the dance with. But now? I wasn’t going to Lambda Theta Chi’s formal . . . because I wasn’t a Lambda.
“Do you think I can sell it?” I asked. “It still has the tags.”
Jenn lifted the plastic and looked at the dress, issuing a soft, wistful sound. “Pretty. Is it designer?” She went to check the label, and when she saw it wasn’t, she shimmied the plastic back down around it. “Maybe.”
I appreciated her attempt to sound upbeat when I knew the answer was no.
She resumed her packing, and I was struck with guilt. “You don’t have to help me if you don’t want to,” I said softly. “I’m not your big sister anymore.”