{18+ COMPLETED • COLLEGE ROMANCE}
When a college freshman with a learning disability and a reputation collides with a straight-A, straight-laced girl in the dorm kitchen one night, he sees the darkest parts of himself reflected in her. But the two o...
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M A D I E
September Sixteenth
Four
You got a compliment today.
Your boyfriend took you out to eat, and it was nice.
You feel valued.
But you know that you only feel like you're worth something because someone else told you that you were.
And you don't know how to fix it.
—
Lunch was fantastic.
I used to be a believer that pizza solved all problems—a little bit of grease fattened the soul, just like it fattened the heart.
It was a problematic approach to life, but who didn't eat their feelings every now and then?
Quinton took me to a pizzeria between our morning and afternoon classes today, and I devoured those little woodfired slices of heaven. He was sweet, peppering me with supportive words and asking me about my day. He asked for updates on chemistry, which unfortunately were not great, and if I'd made any new friends in my classes.
Lunch was fantastic.
But then the moment we returned to the dorms, and I crossed the commons to say hi to Bren, Quinton's mood soured. He dropped me off at my room without so much as a goodbye before leaving.
And now, greasy pepperoni was rolling around in my gut.
Needless to say, I was rethinking the power of pizza.
"Are you going to throw up?"
Lifting my head off my daisy-patterned duvet, I looked to see my roommate waltzing into the room. I threw down the book I was pretending to read.
"It's possible. The verdict is still out."
She made a face, her little button nose scrunching up.
"Don't give me that look," I said. "I might just aim for your bed, Wednesday."
"Don't do that. And for crying out loud, don't call me Wednesday."
I sat up all the way, smirking. "It just suits you, you know?" Wednesday—or Nessa, as she preferred to be called—had long, dark hair that framed her face in straight sheets. Her constantly exasperated attitude and flat, brown eyes matched so well with the Wednesday Addams aesthetic that it was almost creepy at times.
She rolled her eyes, dropping her backpack onto the bed and beginning to rummage through it. "Yeah, I know it suits me. That's the problem." Her hands full of textbooks, she turned toward me. "But really, what's wrong?"
It was funny how quickly you got to know someone when forced to live in a one hundred thirty square foot room with them. When I didn't answer right away, she raised a brow.
