Page 2 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)
“Oh, I got here super early. Like, dawn.” She points to various spots on the maps.
“So I walked around campus for a few hours. Met some people, learned some things. Like, avoid the breakfast potatoes in East Hall—they’re always undercooked.
And the library has a haunted bathroom on the third floor. ”
“Is it haunted?”
“Probably not, but I’m not ruling it out.” She grins. “Also, I met just about everyone on our floor. There’s Marnie across the hall—she’s cool, does theater, and has the dramatic attitude to match. And Ping next door. She’s pre-law, and kind of intense, but in a good way, I think. And then?—”
As she rattles off names and brief character assessments of our entire floor, I can’t help but smile.
Maybe this isn’t exactly what I had in mind—sitting cross-legged on a bed while my new roommate shows me detailed maps of escape routes and tells me which dining hall has the best breakfast potatoes.
But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like something good.
Especially after the summer I had…
“Oh, and I met this guy who’s hosting a party tonight!” Em’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “It’s at one of the fraternity houses. We should go!”
My stomach tightens at the word ‘party’ after everything Mike has told me. “I don’t know…”
“Come on!” She bounces on her heels. “It’ll be fun! Plus, there’s this whole group of girls from our floor going! Safety in numbers!”
Trying to get off the topic, I reach into my backpack to find my phone, when my fingers brush against something else. Something I’d tucked in there this morning, almost without thinking.
The postcards.
My throat constricts as I pull the first one from the stack. The image on the front shows the Charles Bridge in Prague at sunset, the sky a watercolor wash of pinks and oranges. I remember the little market stall where I bought it.
With Chris.
“What’s that?” Em asks, peering over my shoulder .
“Just…” I shove the postcard back into my bag. “A memento.”
“From a trip?”
I hesitate. I’d rather not tell her, but I don’t want to lie. “From a summer romance gone wrong.”
Em plops down beside me. “Do tell!”
“There’s not much to tell.” I force a light tone. “Met a guy while traveling. Thought it was something real. Turned out he had a girlfriend back home.”
Em’s eyes widen. “What an asshole!”
“Yeah.” I zip my bag closed with more force than necessary. “So I’m done with boys. At least for now.”
“Fair enough.” Em nods sagely. “But you know what’s the best cure for a broken heart?”
“Let me guess—a party?”
“Exactly!” She grabs my hands. “Come on, there are so many cute guys on campus. The best way to get over someone is to?—”
“If you say, ‘get under someone else,’ I’m moving out.”
She laughs. “I was going to say ‘meet new people and have fun.’ But your version works too.”
I shake my head, but I can feel a smile tugging at my lips. “You’re awful .”
“I know!” She beams. “So… is that a yes to the party?”
I hesitate. The last thing I want is to meet anyone new to date, especially at a frat party. But the second-last thing I want to do is upset my new roommate, who’s looking at me with such hopeful eyes…
“Fine, I’ll go to the party,” I sigh. “But I’m not looking to meet anyone. I mean it.”
“Of course not!” Em holds up her hands innocently. “We’ll just go, dance a little, have a drink or two. Totally casual. No boys required.”
Something in her too-innocent expression tells me she’s already plotting to introduce me to every eligible guy at the party, and that she’s got a spreadsheet in mind for match-making, but for now, I let it slide.
After all, what’s the worst that could happen?
The bathroom mirror reveals an unfamiliar face—mine, but enhanced by Em’s makeup wizardry. She’s transformed my usual low-maintenance look into something sultry yet effortless, with smoky eyeshadow that makes my green-gold eyes pop and a nude lipstick that somehow makes my lips look fuller.
“You’re a magician,” I tell her reflection as she adds a final sweep of highlighter to my cheekbones.
“Honey, I’m just enhancing what’s already there.” She caps the highlighter with a flourish. “Though that dress is doing most of the heavy lifting...”
I smooth my hands over the black fabric, still unsure about the thigh-skimming hemline. The dress belongs to Marnie, our across-the-hall neighbor who’d burst into our room twenty minutes ago with an entire wardrobe’s worth of options slung over her arms after I’d told Em I had nothing to wear.
If there’s one thing I didn’t pack for college, it was an array of revealing ‘slut dresses,’ as Marnie had called them. After a quick dinner, the three of us had rushed to get ready, and now we’re putting the finishing touches on our outfits before heading to the party I’m still dubious about.
“Stop fidgeting.” Em swats my hands away. “You look hot. Like, I-should-probably-warn-the-fire-department hot.”
“I feel naked,” I say, doubt creeping into my voice. “I don’t usually show this much skin at the beach.”
“Good! First night of college—you’re supposed to get naked.” She grins wickedly. “Besides, those legs deserve to see the light of day.”
I glance down at my bare legs, lengthened by the wedge sandals she’d also insisted I wear. “It’s night, Em,” I say.
She shrugs as she adjusts her outfit—a cropped halter top and high-waisted jeans that showcase her willowy frame. “Time to embrace your inner party girl!”
“I don’t have an inner party girl.”
“Everyone has an inner party girl.” She sprays perfume in front of her and walks through it. “I just need to get you over that summer romance first…”
My stomach clenches at the mention of Chris. “I’m already over it…”
“Uh-huh.” She draws out the syllables skeptically. “That’s why you got all quiet and broody when you found that postcard.”
“I wasn’t broody.”
“You were totally broody. Like, Emily Bronte levels of broody.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Did you just make a Victorian literature reference?”
She shrugs. “I have a thing for tortured souls wandering the moors.”
“There were no moors involved. Just a guy who turned out to be less prince and more frog. Hence my current stance on the male species.”
“Which is? ”
“Complete and total embargo.”
She snorts. “Good luck with that at a frat party.”
“I have excellent willpower.”
“Sure you do.” She loops her arm through mine. “But just in case, I’ll be your wing woman. I’m not looking to pick up, either, so the minute any guy gets too close, I’ll swoop in with some elaborate emergency. Like, ‘Oh my God, we need to go right now—someone’s stealing the moon!’”
I burst out laughing. “That’s your emergency scenario?”
“Hey, it worked in Despicable Me .” She grabs her phone as someone knocks on our door. “That’ll be Marnie and the others. Ready?”
I take one last look in the mirror, at this glammed-up version of myself. The girl staring back looks confident—someone who belongs at a college party, who isn’t still nursing a broken heart or wondering if she made the right choice coming here instead of taking another semester off.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Em opens the door to reveal Marnie and three other girls from our floor, all dressed up and buzzing with pre-party excitement. The hallway echoes with their chatter and laughter as we join the exodus of students heading out for the night.
The late August air is thick with humidity, making me grateful for Em’s insistence on waterproof mascara. As we trek across campus, following the stream of other party-bound students, I find myself swept up in the energy of it all. The anticipation of something new, something unknown.
“Fair warning,” Marnie says as we round the corner onto Greek Row, “I hear this frat throws the best parties, but their house is kind of a dump. ”
“Define ‘dump’,” I say.
“Like, if a hovel and a haunted Victorian mansion had a baby, and that baby was raised by wolves with no concept of interior design.”
“That’s... vivid.”
“But accurate,” another girl—Katie? Kaitlyn? I’ll need to consult Em’s spreadsheet—chimes in. “Though the haunted vibes add to its charm.”
“See?” Em bumps her hip against mine. “Plenty of adventure already, and we haven’t even arrived.”
I smile, forced to admit I’m already enjoying myself. Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is exactly what I need—a night of normal college experiences to help me forget about Chris and his betrayal, about the postcards still sitting in my backpack like little paper reminders of my naivety.
The thrum of bass grows louder as we approach a sprawling Victorian that definitely lives up to Marnie’s description. Every window glows with multicolored lights, and the wrap-around porch is crowded with students holding red cups and shouting over the music.
“Welcome to college,” Em says with a grin. “Time to make some questionable decisions, although we’re both out of the boy market.”
I laugh and let her pull me toward the house, already feeling lighter than I have in weeks. For the first time since Chris, and since the rejection letter from the Rhode Island School of Design—which led to my year abroad and to Chris—I feel something like excitement flutter in my chest.
Maybe this is where I’m meant to be , I think as we step through the doorway into the pulsing heart of the party. Maybe this is where my real story begins.
The moment we’re inside, I understand why Em insisted on the wedge sandals. The floor is sticky with spilled drinks, and navigating it in flats would’ve been like walking through a tar pit. The music hits me like a physical force—some EDM remix that makes conversation impossible without screaming.
“Drinks first!” Em shouts over the bass, grabbing my hand. “Then dancing!”
I’ve been to parties before, but they were always intimate affairs in friends’ basements or backyards while their parents were away. This is different. This is chaos incarnate, bodies pressed together in every direction, the air thick with sweat and cheap beer, and something sweeter.