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Our RA holds her hand up, biting her lip as she avoids my eyes and hands me a paper that explicitly says I’m not allowed to live here anymore. The reasons barely make sense, nor are any of them true: partying at all hours, presence of drugs and alcohol; anything it seems Taylor could think of. I don’t try to argue, very aware of her connection with our RA.

“It’s January,” I snip. “The semester has already started. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Not our problem,” Taylor says, butting in again.

I head to my room before either of them can see the burning redness of my eyes. It only takes me a minute to pack everything into my large duffel bag.

Most of what I own in one bag. How pathetic.

Still, I’m careful to tuck my well-worn velveteen rabbit plush into my faded blue backpack.

The RA tries to stop me again as I step back into the common area.

“Paloma, you have until the end of the week—”

“Consider me moved out,” I growl, shoving past her and clipping her with my shoulder. It’s petty and rude, but I’m livid.

There’s no way I can find an apartment fast enough. I’ll be sleeping in my car tonight. I’m too poor to grab a hotel but too prideful to stay in that dorm room any longer than I have to. Another batch of angry tears threaten, but I smother them before they can fall.

I reach for my phone, tempted to no end to call him, the one person I know who will swoop in and save me—but stop myself immediately, banging my head on the steering wheel as I attempt to get my breathing under control amidst the torrent of anger and fear.

Three steps forward, one thousand steps back. The same path for me since I was six years old.

• • •

“ . . . easy, Freddy.”

“Relax, I can . . .”

The voices blur in and out of my consciousness. I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids are too heavy. So is my head—am I resting on something?

“Was she alone?” The girl’s voice is low, recognizable. A little smile pulls at my lips. Sadie fucking Brown. This has to be a dream.

“ . . . you’ve been here before?” Sadie asks, voice quiet as she approaches me.

“Yeah. Not my proudest moment,” a male voice says, irritated and jumpy. I don’t recognize it. Is this a memory? I don’t know it, at least not enough to place it. “But you’re welcome.”

“Right,” Sadie sneers.

I finally blink my eyes open. This time, I do laugh—I have to be dreaming.

Sadie Brown and Matt Fredderic are standing over my corner barstool. There’s no way this is real.

My eyes flutter again, body slumping before someone catches me.

“All right, guess I’m carrying you,” Freddy says, lifting me into his arms in a bridal carry.

“Did someone bother her?” Sadie asks. She must be talking to the bartender, but I’m close enough to hear her. “How did you even find my number?”

“She gave it to me,” the man says, his voice calm and quiet. “I asked if there was anyone I could call to help her when I realized she wasn’t okay. I don’t know who was serving her, but clearly someone was sneaking her more to drink than I would have allowed.”

“And she asked you to call . . . me?” I blink my eyes open. Sadie looks over her delicate shoulder at me. “Damn, Paloma, you must’ve been desperate.”

It’s a joke, but I can almost see the worry present in her eyes. An emotion I’ve never seen there before. She always kept things locked down tightly.

Eyes closing again, I relax at the fact that reluctantly, I trust the two people around me to have my back. At least enough that I know they won’t hurt me.

I blink, losing time, and we’re in the car in front of the dorms. My head is pressed to the cold window, a relief to my overheated skin.