The Game That Breaks Us (Us 3) - Page 2

The girl—Elle, according to the information packet I got—has long, wavy, dark-brown hair that looks like it hasn’t ever seen a brush. Her eyes are slightly slanted, giving her an exotic look, and her top lip is slightly larger than her bottom. On someone else it might look odd, but it suits her. Freckles are sprinkled across her nose and she’s dressed in a thin black tank top, black skinny jeans, and black boots.

She points to my outfit. “Who dresses like that? It must take you all day to get ready.”

I look down at my black tights, light-gray skirt, pink blouse, and black heels. I look like a preppy beauty queen next to her simple outfit, which I guess is what I am, but I’m definitely not a bitch. My hair is curled to perfection and I know my makeup looks flawless. I spend enough time watching YouTube tutorials that I know my way around makeup brushes.

“Not really,” I say, wheeling my suitcase and duffle bag into the room and over to the empty bed. “When you know what you’re doing it doesn’t take time.”

She huffs in disbelief.

I hike my suitcase onto the bed that will be mine for the remainder of the school year.

My parents begged me to go to school near home, but I wanted to get away. Growing up the middle child, surrounded by two annoying—but awesome—brothers and an overprotective dad, I just needed to get away. I ended up picking a school in Massachusetts—Addams University sits about three hours away from Boston—which means I’m still close enough to my parents in Northern Virginia to see them for holidays, but far enough away to avoid random visits.

“I’m Elle, by the way, but I guess you knew that.” She turns her head to the side, appraising me. I feel like a bug under a microscope.

“Grace.” I glance at her over my shoulder and give her a smile. It doesn’t seem to be appreciated.

“Not Gracie?” she asks with a little smirk.

My brows narrow in irritation and I whip around. “You really think you’re something, don’t you?” I snap, my patience having reached its limit with her snark. I point to her all black ensemble. “You think you’re some kind of rebel, but you’re exactly like everyone else, whereas I—” I point to myself “—dare to be myself. I guess originality is under appreciated where you come from.”

Her face remains neutral, and then little by little her lips begin to lift into a smile. She claps. “I underestimated you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“True.” Her lips twist. “But I guess we’ll be getting to know each other pretty well considering we’re roomies.” She says the word like it’s dirty. She bounces on her bed, which is covered in an old quilt in colors of purples and reds. She already has a tapestry hung on the wall beside her bed, and so far, that seems to be as far as her decorations go—unless the clothes strewn across the bed and on the floor count as decorations.

She crosses her legs and flips through a magazine.

I turn my back on her and open my duffle bag. My bedspread is stuffed in there, and when I pull it out it’s all wrinkled, which irks me, but I try to pretend like it doesn’t because it would only give her more ammunition against me. We don’t have to like each other, but it would make things easier. I don’t want to have to be worried about her slipping blue hair dye into my shampoo or something.

I make my bed with the clean white sheets and spread out the teal-and-white printed comforter. I’ll need to buy some throw pillows since I didn’t have room to pack any and I can’t stand a bare bed. My bed at home was so full of pillows you could barely see the bed itself. My older brother, Dean, used to joke that I liked so many pillows because I could get lost and never found in them.

When I finish wi

th my bed, I start to unpack my things. Elle and I each have a tiny closet that will barely hold anything. Thankfully, we’re also provided with a dresser. It’s small, but it’ll help with the storage problem. We have two oak desks with two rickety chairs that were provided along with a small refrigerator tucked into the corner. Our dorm room floor is in need of a rug to brighten up the place since the carpet is a drab gray color. Everything in this room is small, but at least I’m on my own for once. Well, kind of on my own since I have to share the room with Elle.

I get all my clothes unpacked and stuff my suitcase and duffle bag under the bed.

“I’m going shopping,” I tell Elle, grabbing up my purse.

She glares at me over the top of her magazine. I don’t think she’s even reading it, just using it as a shield. “Of course you are,” she says.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I need to get a few things for the room. Pillows and food and stuff.” I don’t know why I’m even explaining this to her. “You’re welcome to come if you want.” I smile, but it’s forced. I’m trying to be nice, but she’s making it damn near impossible and I haven’t even been here two hours.

“No, thanks.” She closes her magazine and lays it on the bed. “There’s a party off campus tonight.” She looks at her nails and I know she’s baiting me.

I sigh. “Okay?”

“I’d invite you, but it probably wouldn’t be your thing.” Her eyes scale me from head to toe.

It wouldn’t take an expert to figure out my clothes are expensive, but it’s not something I necessarily flaunt. Yes, I came from a rich family but I wasn’t spoiled. My parents made sure to raise my brothers and me with an understanding for the real world. Elle is judging me based on who she thinks I am, not who I really am, and that irks me.

“Maybe it is my thing,” I counter, squaring my shoulders.

There’s a challenging look in her amber eyes. “Then go.”

I clench my fingers around my purse strap so she can’t see them shake. “I told you, I’m going shopping.”

Tags: Micalea Smeltzer Us Romance
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