“Yommie told us you’re on your way to becoming an animal advocate. If you ever need funding for any of your endeavors, make me your first call. And Yommie…”
I didn’t realize Artyom was standing behind me until she looked over my shoulder to address him. “Don’t mess this up. She’s perfect.”
A strange mix of emotions swirled through me. After years of struggling through fancy private schools and having to get accommodations just to make it through college, “perfect” was not usually a word used to describe me.
I didn’t try to correct her this time, though. None of what they were saying was true, but for some reason, it was starting to feel strange to keep pointing that out.
So, I just waved goodbye as they all piled into the black SUV that had come to pick them up.
Then Artyom closed the door.
And suddenly, we were alone. Without an ailing dog or a colorful family to act as a buffer.
Fear clogged my throat, but I had to give Artyom his due. “Thanks so much for everything. I couldn’t have asked for a happier ending for P.M.”
Long. Silent. Look. Then: “You are welcome so much for everything.”
It was a technically nice answer but delivered with a sneer that hit me like a cold wind. Could his family truly not see how much he disliked me?
“So… I guess since you were nice enough to get my car, I should, um, get my stuff and go,” I said, heading toward the guest bedroom.
But then he caught me by the wrist and said, “Remember your promise. Anything.”
Yes, I had promised that, hadn’t I? And as terrible a bully as he’d been over the last few weeks, he’d more than delivered on his side of the bargain.
So, with a huge gulp, I turned back around to ask, “What do you want from me?”
Merry
After a cold nightinside my car and a McDonald’s breakfast that I really couldn’t afford, I arrived at the lecture hall for the Animal Behavior Seminar that Lydia had complained about having to take so early in the morning—only to find out she wasn’t there.
My heart sank, and I glanced down at the beautiful, heirloom analog watch I needed to send back to Germany as soon as my bank account came out of the negative.
It was only 7:40, so maybe she just hadn’t shown up yet? But just in case I’d gotten her schedule wrong, I walked over to the one person I recognized in the hall, Dennika, the only other Black bio-chem major in my graduating class. Myformergraduating class, if I couldn’t correct the huge mistake I made last August. She was sitting on the edge of one of the upper rows, her laptop open to an online game of Viking Shifters.
“Hey, Dennika!” I said, tapping her on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Merry?” Dennika paused the game just as her large, red-haired Viking warrior was about to dodge a dragon’s fireball. “I thought you abandoned me to do a year abroad in Munich.”
“Mannheim,” I corrected before wearily informing her, “but that’s off. I decided to come back early and finish my degree here.” Like I should have from the start.
To say my impulsive decision to delay my senior year in order to extend my summer semester in Germany was a mistake would be an understatement.
Worst, most life-destroying choice ever? Getting closer.
“Oooh, did you see the Mannheim Steamrollers while you were there?” another student asked from the row below Dennika’s. She had the upturned nose and large engagement ring of an MRS major who didn’t actually plan to use whatever degree she’d signed up for at UMG. “They’re my mom’s favorite.”
“Funny story. That group’s not actually from Germany.” The memory of how I’d made the same mistake ached in my chest. “Most people in Mannheim have never heard of them.”
“What?” The MRS major blinked at me like a kid who’d just been told there’s no Santa Claus. “Then where are they from?”
I looked at my watch again. I didn’t have time for this. I’d parked the car I’d been living in since my mom kicked me out in the student lot without an official tag. I had maybe ten, twenty minutes tops, before I got ticketed by security—or, even worse, towed.
I so couldn’t afford to get my car taken away on top of everything else.
I rubbed at my temple, and instead of explaining that Mannheim Steamroller was actually an American ensemble founded by two guys from Ohio and Pennsylvania, I asked them, “Lydia Carrington’s for sure in this class, right?”
“You mean Restraining Order?” The MRS major crinkled her nose like someone had just farted. “Yeah, she’s in this class.”
