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“Even for her.” I kick off my shoes and flop onto my bed. “At least your parents want you to do well. Mom couldn’t care less about my grades. She thinks I can just marry Zander and be a lady of leisure.”

“Oh no?—”

“Yeah, she’s pushing the old M.R.S. degree.”

Liv rolls her eyes. “She needs to stop watching Bridgerton .”

I let out a giggle. “At least Zander didn’t catch on.”

“God, let’s hope not. Ugh. How annoying.” She kicks off her shoes and reaches for her slippers. “I mean sure, maybe you and Zander will get married, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to have a career and all that. ”

Yeah, and it’s the “all that” that I’m hung up on. I want more than a career. I want…what?

Well, who knows? But I hope I’ll recognize it when I find it.

Because the next day is unseasonably warm, I propose a family walk around campus and lunch at the student center food court.

My parents are leaving early this afternoon with plans to visit Jamie on their way home, so a mini-tour is a perfect way for the three of us to kill an hour or two.

And minimize the opportunity for intense conversation.

As always, Mom looks lovely. She wears a wool blazer and a floral scarf that accents her blue eyes. “A walk was a nice idea,” she says blandly as we stroll between the dorms toward the quad. “I like soaking up the atmosphere.”

Brownhill isn’t the sort of atmosphere I’d associate with Mom.

It’s more Hogwarts than White House—wild, rustic, and old.

I love everything about it. My parents, on the other hand, have never shown much interest. I ditch the idea of taking them on a tour of the library or the historic chapel.

Nor do I suggest showing them Tayler Hall, where I have most of my classes.

No, Mom’s idea of “soaking up the atmosphere” is admiring the fashion sense of the students walking by. “Oh, look, Betts. Did you see her sweater? That would look so pretty on you.” “I do love those boots.” “Now, why is that young man wearing flip-flops?! He’ll catch his death…”

We’ve almost made it to the student center when I hear her tsk. “She could be so pretty. I’ll never understand why some girls do that to themselves.”

I follow her line of sight and see…oh no. Avery. She’s walking toward us, eyes cast down at her phone. But the moment she looks up, she notices me.

“Betts! Hey. Just the person I wanted to see.” She drops her phone into her crocheted, cross-body bag and comes right up to me. She’s wearing a Sailor Moon t-shirt over a short black skirt and her lipstick is dried-blood red.

I’m frozen, a smile plastered across my face. Frankly, after the week I’ve had, Avery is a refreshing sight. But to run into her when I’m with my parents?

Somehow, I remember my manners, and like a well-trained automaton, I introduce everyone. In response to Avery’s bold, friendly “Hello,” Dad nods and Mom manages a grimace of a smile. At least they’re too well-bred to be outright rude.

Unbothered, Avery turns back to me. “I’ve got a good book for you. Very beginner-friendly. Why don’t we meet up this week?”

I manage a strangled, “Okay.”

There’s a strange wheezing sound coming from Mom. I think she’s hyperventilating.

Avery takes her phone out again and hands it to me. “Put your info in there.”

I type, doing my best to ignore the way my parents’ shocked stares are scalding the side of my head.

“I’ve been trying to get your number from Leo for days,” Avery tells me. “But he’s gone MIA.”

MIA? So I’m not the only one he hasn’t talked to. I recall what he told me at the party. I can’t stay. I have to help Robin with something. Who exactly is this Robin and is she the one monopolizing all his time?

“Have you ever met her?” I ask Avery.

“No. Have you?”

I shake my head and hand her back her phone. I want to know more and I want to ask after Aaron, but my throat isn’t letting out any words.

Hey!” Her eyes drop to my chest. “Leo gave you the amethyst!”

My muscles seize and heat rushes from my neck to my hairline.

Avery’s eyes dart to my parents then back to me, her lips quirking. “We’ll talk later,” she says, sotto voce. To Mom and Dad she gives a wave and a loud “Nice to meet you!” as she spins and heads toward the library.

I get the feeling it’s her way of flipping them off.

The moment she’s out of earshot, Mom rounds on me. “Who on earth was that ?”

“Uh, Avery Bauer. A friend of a friend.” Lamely, I add, “I guess.”

I’m such a wuss.

“What sorority is she in?” It’s beyond Mom’s comprehension that some people never go Greek.

“She’s a GDI.”

Dad looks puzzled. “Gamma Delta Iota? Never heard of it.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “GDI, Derek. It means God Damned Independent.” Dad was your quintessential frat boy in college and still keeps in touch with some of his brothers. He knows what GDI means, he’s just forgotten.

We don’t talk as we make our way into the student center. Mom’s loading up the heavy artillery, her mouth a flat line of disapproval as we order food from the soup, salad, and sandwich station, then find a place to sit by the windows.

I’m not even in my chair before she clunks her tray on the table and blurts, “Who is Leo?”

“Um.” I sit and force myself to meet her eyes. “Another friend.”

“Why did he give you that necklace?”

I shove a forkful of salad in my mouth, even though I’ve lost my appetite. I can’t answer her honestly without bringing up subjects I don’t want to discuss. Protection magick? Please. My parents would think I’m on drugs.

Dad swallows a bite of his Reuben. “There’s only one reason a man gives a woman jewelry, sweetheart.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Of course it is,” Mom asserts. “Don’t be so na?ve.”

“Does he know you have a boyfriend?” Dad asks.

“Yes.” This conversation is on a crash course and I seriously need to turn off. There’s no way I’m going to tell my parents about last weekend’s fight.

“Zander loves you,” Mom warns. “Don’t break his heart.”

So now I’m a Jezebel?

“I’m not going to break his heart.”

And as for Zander loving me? Well, I think he does. He acts like he does, but neither of us has said those three words. Call me old-fashioned, but I want Zander to say them first. Unfortunately, it’s like it’s never occurred to him that they’re words I might like to hear.

I don’t know if I’m relieved or annoyed when Mom spends the rest of lunch and the walk back to my room questioning me about Rush.

Open houses, the application, what I’m wearing to all the Rush Week events.

I think she’s worried I’m heading down the wrong path with these strange new friends I’ve made.

So I tell her everything she wants to hear.

When it comes time for my parents to hit the road, they’re all tenderness and affection, hugs and “love you, sweetheart.” I wave as they disappear down the hall, then I shut the door and collapse onto my bed.