I nod my head as I prepare myself to be humbled, my heart racing. “Yeah, the only exception is for residents of Wexley-on-the-Sea, and we live in Cannon Beach.”
It all comes down to numbers. A few years ago, I couldn’t remember even looking at a price tag, but now all I see anywhere I look is numbers. And my first semester at Wexley is racking up.
Tuition… covered (Thank fuck.)
Housing… $6,400/semester
Textbooks… $874
Meal Plan… $671/month
Now, with the question on the tip of my tongue, I realize that the hard part won’t be the ask at all. It will be the answer.
“Bennett, will you marry me?”
The pause is the longest of my life. At least ten breaths long. Maybe twenty or even a hundred.
Then… helaughs. The smug motherfucker laughs. Bennett nearly chokes, he’s laughing so hard. He downs his glass of water and Marianne refills it as an excuse to eavesdrop. Her brows raised at me as Bennett chugs his freshly refilled glass, and I give her a short shake of the head.
She refills him once more, and then finally his knuckles wipe the tears from his eyes as he takes in the one hundred percent serious expression on my face.
“If you’re finished, I can explain.”
Marianne returns with his food, and he holds a hand out for me to go on, like I am his own personal entertainment, as he bites into a few fries at once.
“There’s no way I can go to school without living on campus. I live outside of the waiver radius. And even if I were to get a fake address, I share a car with my mom. She needs transportation for work. When my housing fell through, I thought I was cooked. But then I read that newsletter that the housing office sent out last week.” I give him a moment to confirm he knows which one I’m talking about.
He shakes his head, a smirk curled on his lips. “Sorry, you’ll have to clarify. The last time I checked my email was April when I signed up for a VPN to access a Danish website that deals in… artistic films.”
“I don’t want to know about your weird Danish porn habits.”
“Of course it’s weird,” he says. “It’s Danish. And I wouldn’t be surprised if less than six people open the newsletters from the housing office.”
He is giving me an actual headache. I can’t believe there was a time in my life when I saw him every day and didn’t feel like splitting my brain open. “Excuse me for being invested in my future college career.”
That elicits an eye roll on his part.
“Anyway, the newsletter you didnotread was about a new initiative to integrate nontraditional students into the more traditional aspects of campus culture. Greek life. Sports. Student government. And… housing.”
“How charitable,” he says. “And you are a nontraditional student how?”
“Wearen’t,” I tell him. “Not yet. But as of this semester, married couples can sign up to live in traditional gender-neutral dorms.”
He leans back against the booth with his arms draped across. “I’m crushed, Clo. You mean to tell me that this marriage proposal isn’t from the heart?”
He’s needling me. Pushing for a reaction. But if I’m going tohumble myself to this extent, then I’m not going to blow this opportunity on my short temper. Wexley is an exclusive school with an unusual history and quirky traditions, but it is one of the most prestigious schools in the country. In fact, it is often referred to as the Ivy of the Pacific Northwest or the Gray Ivy. My dreams of being a Wexley Bear rival some little girls’ dreams about their wedding day. (Ironic, I know.)
“Myheartis in attending Wexley, the school I have worked my ass off to get into. Listen, you’re the only other person I know who’s going to Wexley in the fall. I just need this one semester and I’ll have something figured out by the spring. Trust me when I say that if I had any other options, I wouldn’t be sitting across from you.”
He flinches, and then turns rigid as he reaches into his back pocket and begins thumbing through his wallet. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to settle, Clover.”
In one swift motion, he slides out of the booth and stands, slapping two twenties on the table before he storms out.
Panic rises in my chest like water in a sinking car.Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Marianne’s eyes widen as she frantically waves me after him.
“Shit,” I mutter as I shimmy out of the booth with much less grace than he did. “I can’t believe I’m chasing after that twat,” I whisper to Marianne.
