Page 11 of Roses & Ruin

“Jesus, watch where you’re going!” she cries. I scramble to my knees, wide-eyed, frantic.

“Did you see him?” I gasp, pointing. “You saw him, right?” I grab her shoulder. “Look!”

She shoots me an irritated glance, and I know, I know what she’s gonna say as soon as I point, as soon as she turns her head.

“See who?” she says as I stare, wordless and annihilated, at a lone tree.

Chapter 4

Maybe he’s a student at Payen. Does the registrar have a database with picture IDs?

“Can I have one of your cookies?” Delia nudges the small stack of snickerdoodles on my tray.

“Go for it,” I say distractedly. How would I get access to that database? I wonder how hard it is to break into the registrar’s office.

“Anyway,” Delia says, her mouth full of cookie, “I still can’t believe this guy said that on the first day! And that he was twenty minutes late, walking in with that sort of you’re welcome for my presence attitude.”

“Uh-huh.” I stab at the gelatinous Salisbury steak on my plate. Delia reaches across the table and grabs another cookie. Even if I broke into the registrar’s office, I’d probably need a password to access the database, right? Who would even have that?

“And then when that douche and the professor whipped out their little baguettes and started sword fighting in front of the entire class. Right?”

I sit up straight, blink at Delia. “Huh? Sword fighting? What are you…” Delia raises her brows at me. Immediately, I feel ashamed. “I’m so sorry. I know I wasn’t listening. I was…Wait. Did you just call a boy’s…thingie a baguette?”

“Did you just call a boy’s penis a thingie?”

“Fair point.” I push away my tray, fold my arms on the table, and put my head down, groaning. “Ugh. Maybe I am just a stupid six-year-old.”

“Julian really did a number on you, huh?” I feel a gentle pat on my head. “Don’t listen to that asshole.”

I debate for a moment about telling her the truth. In the end, I go for the safe, tried-and-true half-truth. “It’s not just Julian,” I say, peering up at her. “I…” I chew my lip. “Have you ever…been super sure you were over someone, so sure you had moved on, and then, out of nowhere, like, completely relapsed?”

Delia narrows her eyes thoughtfully. After a moment, she thumps her palm on the table.

“If that’s the problem, I know just the cure.”

“Oh yeah?” I perk up. “What is it?”

Delia stands up, stretching, and gives me a wicked grin. “It’ll be easier to show you.”

—

“But it’s a Tuesday!” I call after Delia. “It’s a school night!” How is she walking so fast in heels in this gravel parking lot? My borrowed pumps are only two inches, and I’m fighting for my life here, shivering violently in the little black number Delia insisted I wear.

“Rosie, less griping, more striding.” Delia flashes a perfect smile at me over her shoulder. She looks stunning, of course, in an all-sequins sheath dress, her ten-mile-long legs looking even longer in her six-inch heels. I nearly stumble in the gravel, and Delia shoots me a sympathetic look. With shocking grace, she’s by my side, holding me steady. “I promise you’ll have the night of your life. I asked around. The Ballroom is the hottest club in the area.”

As if on cue, we both look up, and a strong wind parts the mist to reveal a beautiful modern building made completely of glass. Each floor pulses with a different neon color: the first floor bubble gum pink, the second electric blue, and the third floor a shocking red.

“Here.” Delia slips a fake ID into my hand.

“I look nothing like her,” I yelp, staring buggy-eyed at the beautiful blonde in my photo.

“You do tonight, Giselle.” She winks at me and pulls me toward the entrance.

My heart pounds as Delia and I flash our fake IDs at the bouncer, but he seems more interested in the teasing smile Delia gives him than in checking how old we are.

“See?” she says, tucking the ID into her purse. “Men are easy peasy.”

“You certainly make it seem that way,” I say. “I have no clue how you did that.”