Chapter 1 | Room 3C
I’ve learned that silence isn’t always peaceful. Most of the time it’s just the moment where you hold your breath and wait for the next hit to come. The moment where you hope no one notices how nervous you actually are.
Here on the campus of Vanmore University it’s never quiet.
The loud sound of my suitcase wheels on the stone pavement is already driving me crazy. I feel every vibration in my hand, and it travels up into my shoulder until it hurts. I grip the handle so tightly my knuckles turn white. My hand is clammy. Not because of the sun, even though in September here in America it’s a lot warmer and more humid than the wind I’m used to back home in England. It’s pure stress. It feels like a heavy lump in my throat.
The buildings around me are enormous. Old, dark stone combined with cold glass and steel. It feels like they’re looking down on me, like they want to show me how small I am.
Three years,I tell myself. I keep my eyes fixed on the ground, about a meter in front of my feet.Three years of studying physiotherapy. Do your homework, get your degree, and leave again. No one has to know your name. No one has to know who you are.
A group of students walks past. They laugh loudly and talk constantly. They wear burgundy jackets with the golden logo of the university. They walk around here like the whole campus belongs to them. Automatically, I step half a meter aside, onto the grass, to give them space.
I pull my shoulders up and sink deeper into my grey sweater. It’s three sizes too big and the sleeves fall completely over my hands. It’s my shield. My safe place. As long as no one can see what my body looks like, I don’t really exist. My straight dark brown hair hangs in strands along my face. As long as I’m invisible, nothing can happen.
The student house at the edge of the campus looks boring. Inside it smells like a strong mix of cleaning products and the musty carpet that hundreds of students have walked over for years. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling hum softly.
Third floor. Room 3C.
My hand trembles a little as I put the key in the lock. The door opens heavily. I step into the room that is supposed to be my entire world for the coming time. It’s small. Two simple wooden beds, two desks with cheap varnish, and a window that looks out onto a boring courtyard.
On the left bed is a giant, bright pink suitcase. It’s wide open. Clothes with glitter, short tops, and a lot of perfume bottles are scattered all over the mattress.
My stomach turns. A roommate. Of course. Vanmore doesn’t have single rooms for first-years. The hope that I would have this place to myself is gone immediately.
I walk to the empty bed on the right, put my suitcase down, and start unpacking my things. I do it very neatly and calmly. Every shirt is folded tightly. Every pair of jeans is placed in exactly the same way. It’s my way of calming down in a situation where I actually have no control.
At the very bottom of my suitcase is a small wooden photo frame. My fingers rest on the glass for a moment. The photo is old and the edges are slightly yellow. A woman with soft green eyes and the same dark hair as me is smiling into the camera. Mom. This was before she got so sick. Before the silence in our old house turned into something scary.
Suddenly the door behind me swings open with a loud bang. I jump out of my skin, spring up, and my heart immediately pounds in my throat. My breath gets stuck.
“Oh my god, sorry! I didn’t know you were already here!”
In the doorway stands a girl. She is all color and energy, the complete opposite of this boring room. Her blonde hair falls in perfect curls around her face. She wears tight pink pants and a top so short you can see her abs. In her hand she holds a huge iced coffee with a green straw.
“I’m Willow,” she says. She walks into the room without asking and throws a large paper bag onto her bed, making a few perfume bottles shift. “You’re Mae, right? From England? The administration already said my roommate was from the other side of the ocean. That’s honestly so cool.”
I swallow the shock and try to breathe normally. She must not notice how quickly I’m already shaken.
“Hi,” I say, and my voice sounds a bit hoarse. I quickly turn the photo frame upside down on my nightstand so she doesn’t see it. “Yes. Mae.”
Willow plops down on her bed, crosses her legs, and takes a big sip of her iced coffee. Her blue eyes scan me from head to toe. She looks at my oversized sweater, my worn sneakers, and my face half hidden behind my straight dark hair and my big glasses. Not unkindly, but like she’s trying to figure me out.
“Did you just land? You look super tired,” she says with a smile. “You know what you need? Coffee. And sugar. There’s a cute place just outside campus, Pink Café Fleur. Jordan and Zara are already there. Come with me.”
“I still need to unpack,” I say immediately. It comes out a bit cold and distant. The idea of going somewhere with three strangers already makes me nervous. “And I’m really exhausted.”
“You can unpack tonight too. And trust me, if you sleep now you’ll wake up at like three a.m. and regret it,” Willow says. She stands up and reaches for my arm.
Her fingers are warm and too close. With a quick sharp movement I pull my arm away.
Willow freezes. She raises her hands slightly and looks at me surprised. There’s a flicker of hurt on her face, but she recovers quickly. “Okay, okay, no touching. Sorry. But you are coming. No discussion. I’m not leaving my roommate alone in her room on day one.”
Her energy is overwhelming. She’s so enthusiastic I can’t really argue. If I say no, she’ll probably keep pushing. If I go, at least it’s over.
“Fine,” I mutter. I pull my hoodie a bit further over my head. “But I’m not staying long.”
The walk to the café is exhausting. Willow talks nonstop about which teachers are awful and which parties we absolutely have to go to. I barely listen. I mostly look around, watching everything and how people look at us. Or rather, how they look at Willow. She attracts all the attention, while I follow behind like a shadow.
Pink Café Fleur is exactly what the name suggests. Fake flowers everywhere, big green plants, and pink colors. In the corner at a table sit two girls.
The first has long brown hair with a messy wave and waves at us with a donut in her hand. That must be Jordan. Next to her sits a girl with a sharp short blonde bob and dark sunglasses, even though we’re indoors. She looks neat and calm. Zara.
“Look who I brought!” Willow calls out.
Jordan looks up and her brown eyes widen. “Oh my god, the roommate! Sit, sit. I’m Jordan. I talk too much, I eat too much, and I’ve already decided we’re friends.” She pulls a chair out loudly.
I sit down slowly and press my back against the chair. “Mae,” I say shortly.
Zara slides her sunglasses down slightly so I can see her grey eyes. She nods briefly. “Zara. Don’t mind Jordan, she just says everything out loud.”
Within ten minutes I understand the roles. Willow is the one who organizes everything, Jordan is chaos, and Zara is calm. And me? I just watch. I take a sip of my black coffee—no sugar, no milk, just bitter and hot—and hope they’ll ignore me if I stay quiet enough.
But then Jordan suddenly leans over the table and starts whispering.
“Okay, but have you heard? The Vipers were seen at the gym this morning. Mason apparently forgot his shirt—not that the girls minded—and Daxen was doing his thing again. There was a whole group of freshmen girls following him like he’s some kind of pop star.”
Zara rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her tea. “Those guys are a walking warning sign for drama and trouble, Jordan. Why do you even care?”
“Because they are the absolute stars of our NFL team, Zara! They run this whole campus,” Jordan says excitedly. She turns to me. “Mae, you don’t know the Vanmore Vipers yet. That’s the four most important players on the football team and the most arrogant assholes on this school. They all live together in a huge house just outside the gates. Cole is the muscle and captain, Mason is the joker and throws the best parties, Logan is the mysterious Italian rich boy, and Daxen...”
Willow lets out a deep irritated sigh. “Don’t say his name. I’m already tired thinking about him.”
I look between Willow and Jordan. “Do you know him?” I ask softly.
“Unfortunately yes,” Willow mutters, stirring her iced coffee aggressively. “Daxen is my older brother. And trust me, it’s a disaster being related to him. He thinks the world revolves around him just because he’s the quarterback.”
Jordan leans forward, eyes shining. “Yeah but it’s true, Mae! Your roommate has the most popular guy on campus as a brother. But be careful, he’s the ultimate player. One rule: never the same girl twice. One night and the next day he doesn’t even remember your name. He uses girls like disposable cups.”
“Sounds sad,” I say dryly.
It suddenly goes quiet. Jordan blinks, Zara gives a small smile.
“That it is,” Zara says. “Remember that, Mae. Even if he’s Willow’s brother, stay as far away from him and that whole NFL crew as you can. They’ll mess you up for fun.”
“Don’t worry,” I mumble, looking at my empty cup. “I’m not here for boys.”
When we walk back later, the air is slightly cooler. We take the shorter route past the big trees near the sports field.
“Look there, training just finished,” Willow suddenly whispers. She grabs Jordan’s arm and slows down.
Under a huge tree sits a wooden bench. Four guys are there, sports bags around them with the Vanmore NFL logo. You can feel their energy immediately.
One of them is laughing loudly, Mason. Next to him is a massive guy, Cole. A bit further sits Logan, quietly writing in a notebook. And then there is the fourth.
Daxen.
He’s leaning back on the bench, legs stretched out, wearing a tight black T-shirt. A girl in a short tennis skirt is standing way too close to him, her hand on his thigh, talking like he’s the center of the universe. He smiles lazily, but his eyes look bored.
As we walk past, I keep my eyes forward. I don’t want to look. I don’t care. Willow sighs loudly at her brother.
Just as we pass, his gaze shifts. A quick glance at Willow. A nod. Then Jordan and Zara.
And then it lingers on me.
Not interested. Not impressed. Just a glance over my oversized sweater, my hood, my dark hair. Like I’m nothing. Like I don’t matter.
And for some reason that irritates me more than anything.
I clench my jaw and walk faster, a meter ahead of the others.
“Mae! Wait!” Willow calls behind me.
I don’t look back. I just want my room. And silence. And as far away from Daxen as possible.
