One Tiny Lie (#W.S Awards 2016)

Chapter Five

Diagnosis

While I've attempted to experience as many of Princeton's campus-coordinated events as possible as a way of immersing myself in the spirit and culture, Reagan has decided to immerse herself in as many beer-and-vodka-coordinated events as exist. And she's decided that I need immersing along with her. It's because I want to please my lively roommate that I ended up at dorm parties every night this week and in bed each morning with heavy eyelids. That, and I also hoped I'd run into Connor again. In the back of my mind, there was a fear of running into Ashton, too. In the end, hope won out over fear.

Unfortunately, I never saw Connor. But I also didn't see Ashton. I did meet a few more freshmen, though, including a Korean girl named Sun who's as new to the whole partying scene as I am and sort of attached herself to me on Thursday night.

I honestly don't know how Reagan is going to survive the heavy workload of classes here. Her books sit in a pile on her desk, unopened. Not even a flip-through. I'm starting to believe that she's not a student, that Kacey and Dr. Stayner have somehow planted her here. I can almost picture them cackling while they hatched this plan. Student or not, though, I'm happy to have Reagan as a roommate. Except when she puppy-dog-eyes me into drinking with her.

Ceaseless knocking on our door wakes me up.

"Kill me now." Reagan moans.

"I will, but can you get that first?" I mumble, burying my head under my pillow, pushing a textbook with exceptionally sharp corners out from beneath me. I had managed to sneak out of the dorm party two floors up and come back to get some reading done late last night. The clock read three a.m. the last time I had checked. Now it reads seven. "It has to be for you, Reagan. I don't know anyone on campus." I rationalize, curling my body up tighter.

"Shhh . . . they'll go away." She whispers. But they don't. The knocking increases in strength and urgency, and I'm starting to get concerned it will wake up half the floor. As I lift myself to my elbows, ready to crawl out of my top bunk and answer it, I hear Reagan's defeated groan and rustling sheets. She makes a point of stomping to the door. She throws it open with a quiet curse and something about Satan.

"Wake up, sleepyheads!"

I bolt upright so fast that the room starts to spin. "What are you doing here?" I ask in a high-pitched voice as I turn to see the distinguished-looking man in a well-tailored suit step into the room. I haven't seen Dr. Stayner in person in two and a half years. He looks basically the same, if not for a bit more gray in his hair, which he has a bit less of, in general.

He shrugs. "It's Saturday. I told you that we'd talk today."

"Yeah, but you're here. And it's seven a.m.!"

He glances at his watch with a frown. "Is it really that early?" And then he shrugs and throws his arms up in the air, his eyes lighting up with genuine excitement. "What a beautiful day!" As quickly as they lifted, his arms drop and his calm tone returns. "Get dressed. I have a conference in the city that I have to get back to by noon. I'll meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes."

Before turning to leave, he spots a disheveled but curious-looking Reagan in a rumpled tank top and pink pajama bottoms. He holds out his hand. "Hi, I'm Dr. Stayner."

She accepts it with a weary frown. "Hi, I'm Reagan."

"Ah, yes. The roommate. I've heard so much."

From whom? I haven't talked to him since . . .

I sigh. My freaking sister. Of course.

"Make sure Livie socializes, will you? She has a tendency to focus too much on school. Just keep her away from those Jell-O shooters." Not waiting for a reaction, he walks out as briskly as he walked in, leaving my new roommate staring at me.