Dearest Clementine (2 page)

Harper is standing next to Jenna silently begging me to side with her. She removes her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose before she swats at a loose strand of dark auburn hair dangling in her face. I’m lucky to have her as my in-house shrink. Her father is a world-renowned psychiatrist, and she’ll be one too someday.

I’ve been roommates with Harper since second semester of our freshman year after neither of us could stand living with our original roommates in Warren Towers. That’s when we got matched up with Jenna, who’s a creative writing major like me. By some fluke sophomore year, our little trio ended up in a coveted apartment on Bay State Road, which rocks the most amazing brownstones. We’ve been living together ever since.

Aside from Harper and Jenna, people here don’t know me, the real me. They don’t know I stand to inherit a shit-ton of money. Between the trust fund and the holdings from my grandfather, the amount is staggering. But I don’t like how people look at me when they think I’m some trust-fund baby.

Besides, the money isn’t mine, so I don’t want it. Especially if it means groveling to my mother. Because that will never fucking happen.

Harper clears her throat to catch my attention, and I remember that I’m supposed to be the enforcer.

“Jenna, we don’t have much room in our new place,” I say, hoping to let her down easily. “Our common area is pretty small this year.”

I don’t tell her that we’ve wanted to burn her table all summer.

“Babe,” Jenna’s boyfriend Ryan says with a look of resignation, “why don’t I take it for now? I’ll put it in my garage, and you can get it next summer.” As much shit as I give him, deep down he’s a great guy. “Besides, we’ve made some good memories on it.” He waggles his eyebrows at her, and I have a deep desire to hurl.

“Gross!” Harper yells. “Why can’t you two limit your sexual activity to the bedroom like normal people?”

“I can’t help it if I have a hot girlfriend.” Ryan leans over and kisses Jenna, and she giggles like a love-struck teenager.

Fortunately, the buzzer rings, which gets him bounding over boxes and out the door to pay the pizza guy. After scrounging around for some paper plates, we congregate on the bare floor in the living room.

By the time we’re done eating and the food coma starts to set in, the task of moving all of our crap to our new place on campus seems daunting.

A weary Harper holds up her cup of soda. “Here’s to our senior year.” We all raise our drinks. “To Ryan, may he sell out all of his concerts.” He winks, his stage swagger evident in the upward tilt of his chin. “To Jenna, may she be just as pleased in the bedroom but less vocal.” Jenna shoots her the finger but laughs. Harper turns to me and grins. “To Clem, may she write another bestselling book.”

Her words send twin pangs of hope and fear through me as I pray that I can finally break my dry spell and do it again.

Ryan tips his cup toward me. “You ever gonna let me read that book of yours?”

That’s an easy answer.

“I’m thinking no.” I arch an eyebrow at him, and he feigns disappointment. Yeah, like he really wants to read my Young Adult chick book.

Jenna interrupts to finish our toast. “And here’s to Harper, may she be wrong about all of my Freudian slips!”

Laughing, we clink our cups.

Jenna pauses mid-toast to wave her hands, sloshing soda all over the floor. “Don’t forget that Ryan’s show is tomorrow night at Euphoria.” Jenna is the ultimate groupie, standing in the front row to eye-fuck her boyfriend, who’s the lead singer of Tragic Paradox. “They got a new guitarist, and he’s really amazing.”

She leans over to kiss Ryan, which goes from a sweet peck on the mouth to something more, eliciting groans from Harper and me.

As Ryan starts to pull away from the kiss, he cops a feel.

“Are you always such a pervert?” I ask, giving him what I consider a withering eat-shit look, one that only makes him smirk. The fact that he just grabbed Jenna’s breast doesn’t faze her at all. Public groping is something she has gotten used to, like getting frisked by the TSA.

He’s still looking at me with a big, stupid smile. I shake my head. “You’re immune to my powers, huh?”

“Guess so.” He shrugs.

“I never could scare you.”

“No, but you scare the shit outta all my friends.” He scruffs my hair like I’m a kid, which has me seriously thinking about punching him in the kidney. “Why you so mean, Clementine?”

I lean back and shrug. “If you can’t stand the heat, stay the fuck out of the kitchen.”

“You just need a worthy adversary.” He has that look in his eye. This guy never gets the message.

“No, and don’t go trying to set me up with one of your sorry-ass friends.”

“Clem?”

“Yeah?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you a lesbian?” Before I can scoff, he raises his hands defensively. “Because it’s okay if you are. I won’t judge you, and seriously, that would be pretty hot.”

“Fuck off, Ryan.”

“I think you’d be less tense if you had sex, maybe just once.”

“Who says I haven’t?”

It always goes here. I catch Harper’s eye, and she makes a face. She knows how much I hate this.

“Clem can’t help that most men don’t meet her standards,” Jenna says as she clears away our paper plates.

“Thank you.” It’s not like I’ve never dated. I merely gave up trying to find someone who wasn’t a shithead. Or a cheater. Or a stalker. Yeah, guys suck.

Ryan frowns. “I’ve been with Jenna for a while, and you’ve never had a boyfriend in all of this time. That’s fucked up. All my friends are dying for a shot with you, and I like to think that pairing you off with someone is good for the gene pool.”

He’s ridiculous. There’s nothing special about my genes. I’m a little on the short side with long, blondish-brown hair and blue eyes. People say Jenna and I could pass for sisters, but where her hair is silky and smooth, mine is longer and wavier. If I wanted to look as good as Jenna does when she rolls out of bed, I’d have to spend half the day under a blow dryer. No thanks.

The biggest thing I have going for me is that I love running and rock climbing, so at least all of my parts will stay in place for a while.

Ryan points at me with a sly grin.

“The fact that you never date must mean you kind of hate men, right? Well, except for me.”

He makes a puppy-dog face, and Jenna coos at him.
Good lord.

“I don’t hate men. I hate
predictable
men.” I’m not sure what’s gotten into Ryan tonight. He knows better than to mess with me.

“You should come with a warning label, girl,” Ryan jokes. “Mishandling could result in injury or death.”

“Yeah, let’s start with yours,” I say as I mock-punch him in the stomach.

* * *

Bay State Road is lush with maple trees and ivy, the perfect setting for a postcard to send home. That’s if I sent postcards home.

Exactly one block from the heart of Boston University is our brownstone for the year. Although I’m exhausted and the street is crawling with students and double-parked with cars, standing here looking at our new place has me practically bouncing on my toes with excitement.

Harper, Jenna and I bound up the stairs and throw open the door to our new place.

“Let’s figure out where everyone goes.” Harper has her no-nonsense face on.

Our apartment, which is at the top of a four-story walk-up, has a little more space than the other suites in the building, but it’s still a glorified dorm.

In the front is a small common area, which is lined with two single-occupancy rooms and one double. I eye the bathroom. Four girls sharing one bathroom is never fun.

“Dani is rooming with me,” Jenna says, “so the double in the front is mine.”

She stays with Ryan most of the time anyway, so she doesn’t really need privacy.

I’m glad I’m not the one stuck with the new girl. That’s the drawback of living on campus. Even though it’s convenient, the lottery system doesn’t care that we wanted to live as a trio and randomly assigned us a suite that housed four students. We then could wait to get assigned some random person or scramble to find someone ourselves. Jenna swears we’ll love Dani, but I’m reserving judgment because you can never be too cautious. Especially in my position.

I try to live under the radar because the press would love to splash my family’s name across the tabloids. It’s happened with my twin brother Jackson a few times, but Jax relishes the limelight because it means he can get laid whenever he wants.

But I make it my mission to live a quiet life, even if it is a little boring at times. Because Lord knows I’ve seen enough drama.

Quiet is how I like it, so I used a pen name when I published my book—because there is no way I can lay claim to the fiasco that inspired that novel.

Harper looks to me, and I shrug. I’ve paid for a single, and although that’ll be a stretch for me financially, I can’t write while someone is watching
Glee
in the background.

“You can take whichever room you want. As long as I don’t have to live with Eva Richardson ever again,” I say as Harper laughs.

My freshman year roommate Eva, a snarky sorority girl, made my life hell, but she’s also the reason I ended up with Harper later that year.

Footsteps echo along the hardwood floors, and we turn to find Ryan groaning.

“Fuck. You girls couldn’t get a room on the first or second floor?” When he reaches the top of the stairs, he heaves the boxes to get a better grasp.

“Drinks and dinner are on us tomorrow night,” I say, grabbing the top box out of his hands. “Besides, this is the price you pay to date one of the most gorgeous girls on campus. You get to be our grunt on moving day. Man up, buddy.”

He sighs, then nods. “You’re right.”

Okay, so maybe
all
guys don’t suck.

-
2 -

The next day I’m sore from moving, like I’ve been dropkicked by a medium-sized farm animal, which is why I’m not excited to go to work. I’m one of the assistant managers at the campus bookstore, a coveted position among students as it gets you discounts on books, clothes, and, most importantly, coffee. My store is three stories high, takes up half a city block, and has everything from a Barnes & Noble and Starbucks to dorm room essentials and apparel. Eager parents can outfit their kid’s crappy room, pay out the ass for textbooks, and top it off with a goofy coffee mug for grandma.

I love my job. Most days. It keeps my head busy, preventing me from crawling into a cave, which is always my go-to response when I’m stressed. But this is the busiest time of the year.

With school starting in a few days, I have to deal with the overflowing storage room, but I need the money because I’ll be damned if I’ll call my parents for help, so I caffeinate with a double latte, preparing myself for the work ahead of me.

Selling my book has gotten me pretty far, but attending one of the most expensive schools in the country, which is located in one of the most expensive cities in the country, has been tough financially. My parents pay for my brother’s tuition, but at least he’s down the road at Boston College, so I don’t have to see daily reminders of his preferred status in our family.

I type a quick text apologizing to Jenna for needing to skip out on Ryan’s show, and I promise to pitch in some cash to buy the guy a few drinks to thank him for moving us.

Jenna writes back:
I understand even though you’re a whore. Wish you were coming tonight! Wanted you to meet Murphy, the new guitarist. Very cute.

Laughing, I respond:
Stop trying to set me up!

Jenna:
Your vagina is going to close up, and you’ll need surgical assistance to use it again.

Me:
Don’t worry. I have insurance. And battery-operated accessories that don’t cheat on me or stalk me. Can’t beat that!

Okay, I don’t have insurance. Or a vibrator, and I feel a tad guilty for lying, but Jenna doesn’t totally get why I don’t like to date, and I don’t have the energy to have that conversation. Again.

Jenna:
Fine. I’ll let you off tonight on ONE condition.

Me:
?

Jenna:
I get full license to plan your bday next weekend. CARTE BLANCHE!

Me:
You drive a hard bargain. If I say no?

Jenna:
You have 10 minutes to get your ass here for the show.

Me:
You’re a slut. Fine. Bday it is.

Jenna:
Love you! Don’t work too late.

Shaking my head, I tuck my phone away and get down to business. When I finish dealing with the inventory, it’s after midnight. Kenmore Square is bustling with hordes of students headed to Lansdowne Street, which houses a dozen bars, but when I turn down Bay State Road, the block leading to my building is dark. Two street lamps are out, and I can’t help but quicken my pace until I reach my door.