Chapter 3

"To go where?" I asked.

"Jason managed to get his family out of the mansion they own. We're planning to head over there later with some of my friends. Do you want to come?" he repeats.

"Who will be there?" I asked.

"Well, like I said: friends of mine, friends of my friends, a few acquaintances, and plenty of girls too... So, are you tempted or not?"

"Where is this mansion?"

"Not too far from Manhattan. We'll have the whole place to ourselves until dawn!"

I take a few seconds to think, even though my decision is already made: I decline his invitation. Long hours of studying await me, and since it's the weekend, I intend to take it seriously.

"You're sure?"

I nod.

"That's a shame, you know."

"A shame, why?"

"Because there's going to be a huge crowd. It would've been a great chance for you to socialize and open up a little more to people."

I sigh. "I'm not asocial, as far as I know."

Noah smiles. "No, of course not. You only ever stick to one routine."

I squint, not quite following where he's going with this, as he presses on:

"When was your last date, exactly? Two months ago? Two years ago? Oh, wait: you've actually never had one!"

"Okay, I've heard enough for today!" I exclaim, rolling my eyes.

In response, Noah bursts out laughing, clearly mocking me. In a flash of irritation, I grab my empty juice bottle and throw it at him, but he ducks just in time.

"Well! Looks like someone's losing her temper, huh, Muza? Did I hit a nerve?"

"Just shut up, Noah!" I mutter between my teeth.

I storm out of the room and head for my bedroom, though Noah's sarcastic laughter still rings in my ears. I take the stairs four at a time, push open my door, step inside, and double-lock it. I sit on the edge of my bed and take a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden wave of anger boiling inside me.

Calm down, Muza. Remember, you're not an impulsive person...

My gaze drifts toward my desk, where all my notebooks, binders, and files are neatly arranged. Everything I've worked so hard for—everything that will secure my future at the best possible university.

I get up from the bed and sit down in my rolling chair in front of the desk. I've worked too hard to get here, and I've worked too hard to become the person I am today just to meet my father's expectations. There is no way Noah's remarks—whatever they might be—are going to get to me.

***

"The denim skirt, or..."

She closes the fitting room curtain, then opens it again a few seconds later.

"...the denim shorts?"

Cynthia struts past us. I simply shrug, while Margo pipes up:

"What I believe, above all," Margo says, "is that we've been watching you try on a thousand different outfits for hours! Hours, Cynthia! We've done more shopping in one hour than most normal people do in a lifetime!"

Cynthia rolls her eyes. "Be patient, grumpy pants. I'm not asking for that much!"

Margo continues to complain: "I don't remember signing any contract that included a service dog clause!"

"Well, you're my best friend, so it basically counts!" Cynthia replies, sticking her tongue out.

In response, Margo flips her the middle finger, which makes me burst out laughing.

Cynthia Donovan and Margo Tucker are my best friends. We've known each other since elementary school, and they were the first people my age to talk to me when I first started going to school here in New York. Of the two, Cynthia is closer to me physically: she is of average height—or rather, quite petite—and slender. Her soft, blonde curls cascade over her shoulders, and her pretty ocean-blue eyes immediately make you feel at ease.

The only real difference between us is that she loves to show off, while I prefer to stay in the background. Cynthia is naturally generous: she always has a smile, she's full of life, but she's also deeply sensitive.

Margo, on the other hand, is the exact opposite: pessimistic and always complaining about something. But her prickly personality doesn't mean she lacks good qualities. Her brutal honesty is paired with a strong sense of fairness and understanding. Her tall stature earned her a spot on the high school women's basketball team, her curly auburn hair forms an impressive mane around her head, and her eyes are hazel—just like mine. My two best friends are like night and day, completely different from one another, and that's precisely why I love them.

"Hey!" Margo calls out, giving me a nudge.

I turn my head toward her. "What are you thinking about, Muz?"

I shrug. "Nothing special."

"Good! Because as soon as Miss Donovan finally decides to move her ass, we can get out of here, because I am sick of waiting for you!" Margo complains again.

"Yes, yes! Just another minute!"

While we wait, my eyes wander over the bustling crowd filling the store: employees running around, checkout lines backed up, and customers darting about like ants in a colony. That's when my gaze locks onto a young man. He is tall with curly brown hair, and he seems deep in conversation with another person whose back is turned to me. Suddenly, he turns his head in my direction, and our eyes meet. I don't even try to look away—it's too late now, he's already seen me! He smiles and gives me a little wave, while I... I do nothing at all. I just stand there, frozen like a statue.

"Well? Do we have an admirer?" someone whispers right next to my ear.

I jump and spin around. "Margo, you scared me!"