“One with an awful GPA,” Orion comments.
My cheeks burn, and tears sting my eyes. I knew it was stupid to care about something like that last semester, but that didn’t stop me from trying my hardest, and now, after everything, I’m doing poorly? My eyes run over last semester’s classes, which were all A’s until each one was marked “dropped.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” I ask.
“You’re paid in full,” Lex says. “You don’t have to do anything at all if you don’t want to. They won’t kick you out until those four years pass.”
“There isn’t an academic minimum to maintain enrollment?” I ask with a slight tinge of disgust, but they both roll their eyes at me like I should already know this is the nepotism capital of the world. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say or do anything you don’t want to,” Lex answers like this discovery means nothing, but we both know it does.
“Where are you sleeping tonight?” Orion asks, like it was what he’s been thinking about the whole time.
“I don’t have specific plans yet, if you’re inviting me over.”
“I more so think he was digging into your whereabouts,” Lex says.
“Don’t be a dick. You can be invited too,” Orion quips.
“Yeah, we can get together later, but I’ve got to do a few things first,” I agree. All this independence is uncharted territory, but they know I’m a lot safer now that I’m not the Offering and that this deal can’t be the same as the last one. If they want me to believe they trust me, they need to act like it too.
“Where can I meet you and what time?” Orion asks.
“I’ll be at your room by six.” I kiss them both. “But I have some things to do right now.”
I exit the room, leaving them bewildered. Me being my own person is going to be an adjustment for everyone, but if they’re going to have a real relationship with me, I can’t just be their twenty-four-seven fuck toy. I pull out my phone and type out a text.
Me: I’m staying with your brother and Lex tonight. I know you’re not ready, but I would really like you to be there too.
Soren: I’ll miss you.
The rejection stings, but I understand that it’s not about me. I know the college well enough now that I can find the administrative offices. It takes me a little time in front of an informational sign to figure out which one of the many offices in this wing is registration. The sign on the door states the last day to cancel or transfer is two days from now, and while I consider myself lucky that I might still be able to register for something, I seriously doubt there’s anything worth taking. This happened to me once at my old college, and that semester sucked.
I step inside and find the usual Bellthorn regalia, black and white everywhere, the school crest. The people inside are dressed the same, but there’s a less impressive feeling to this office than in places like the cafeteria and the lecture hall. No one notices me at first. Everyone inside is behind their own desk or in an office. I wait quietly, sure that they must have heard the door. People at Bellthorn don’t like to act like anyone is important other than them.
Eventually, a student employee walks up to the front and says, “Can I—you’re Sable Briarwick.” Her voice shifts to a squeak on the last syllable. With blond hair a few shades darkerthan mine and green eyes, I definitely don’t recognize her. That’s the problem with my last name. It speaks for itself.
“Yeah, I am. I do need help,” I say, prompting her to continue whatever greeting she was starting with.
“With what?” Her mouth and eyes both hang open, and I doubt she’s usually this bad at her job. I’m just such an oddity that this is my effect on people. What a lovely reputation I have.
“I would like to register for classes.”
Her eyebrows push together, but she seems to remember some of her professionalism. “Most everything is full. I’m not sure what you’re looking to take, but you might be disappointed.”
“Can we sit down and go over the options?” I wave to the desk she stood from.
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” she answers, but I’m still the one who leads our way over there.
We sit down together and she asks me what my major is. It was fashion design, but I don’t have one here at Bellthorn. “I guess liberal arts or general studies or something? It’s not like I have a lot of options for this semester, right?”
“Uh, no, you don’t,” she answers. Everything about her energy is so tense that I start to wonder if there’s something else happening here other than the standard,she’s a whore, Briarwick cursestuff. She types a few more things in and finally turns the screen to me, showing that the number of classes remaining is less than twenty. I quickly pick four that I actually think will be interesting for me.
“Uh, it might not be worth it to take some of these. They won’t add up to a degree or anything. Like Fundamentals of Coaching, Pattern Making 211, and Introduction to Medical Biologydon’t really make any sense together.”
“Are there any music classes available?” I ask. “What about legal?”
“Nothing,” she answers. “But this is a really full course load anyway.”“Okay, that’s all then. I have a lot of catching up to do if you could just print the schedule for me.”
