Page 85 of Palm South University: Season 2

“It’s nice to seeyou,” I respond with a chuckle. She must be joking, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her be so formal. Realizing maybe it’s her parents, I throw her a wink and slip on my professional face. “Sir, ma’am, my name is Clinton Pennington.”

I extend my right hand to her father first, but his eyes don’t leave his daughter and my hand remains empty. Her mother reaches her dainty hand across her husband to give mine a light squeeze. “Pleasure, dear. And how do you two know each other?” She phrases the question to her daughter, not to me. Neither of them will look at me.

“Oh we’re just project partners in art class, Momma. Clinton is actually really great. He’s got a lot of talent.”

Her parents’ brows shoot up in synchrony, their lips tight, but satisfied at their daughter’s response. It’s as if their eyebrows have a direct connection to my stomach—they rise, my stomach falls.

What the fuck is happening.

“I have a lot of talent, do I?” I don’t even bother hiding my sarcasm as I snap the question at Shawna. All the little pieces are clicking into place as my heart rate accelerates, my nose flaring along with the beat.

“Momma, Daddy, I’ll be right back. Clinton and I need to discuss an assignment that’s due this week. Why don’t I meet you at the alumni tent?”

They both nod, their eyes raking me disapprovingly once more before Shawna pulls me in the opposite direction. I barely let them get out of earshot before I rip away from her grasp.

“What the fuck was that, Shawna?” I seethe. “Yourproject partner? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Bear, please.”

“Oh,nowI’m Bear to you. What, that didn’t sound as impressive to say to Mommy and Daddy? I guess I can thank my deadbeat dad for his last name, at least.”

“Stop!” she screams, her eyes glossing over. She’s never seen this side of me before. “You don’t understand.”

“Clearly. Although, I’d love to hear your explanation. Please,” I scoff, motioning my hand toward her before crossing my arms over my chest. Her bottom lip quivers as I close myself off to her, and it’s almost enough to make me apologize.

“My parents are old-fashioned . . .” She trails off, eyes on her fingers as she wrings them together. “We’re from Mississippi, and where I grew up, there weren’t many . . . there wasn’t much . . . diversity.”

She peeks up at me through her lashes, brows furrowed, eyes guilty and ashamed. It takes me a moment to understand as I squint at her, the sun beaming behind her black hair, framing her in a silhouette. When the anchor drops, pulling my chest along with it, I have to force a breath.

“It’s because I’m black.”

Shawna cringes, one arm crossing her chest as the other lifts her hand to cover her mouth. I watch as her eyes fill to the brim with tears, but I feel no urge to soothe her.

“They hate me already because of the color of my skin, don’t they?”

Shawna just shakes her head, refusing to answer my question and answering it all the same.

I lick my bottom lip against a manic smile, clenching my fists where they’re still crossed over my chest. “And you?”

“What about me?” she asks softly, her brows pinched in confusion.

“Do you have an opinion about me based on my race?”

“What? No!” Two tears stream out of her left eye, one after the other, the stream falling vertically before breaking right at her jaw line. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Then tell them.” I point two fingers straight over at where her parents are standing at the alumni tent, not even bothering to see if they’re looking at us. “Walk over to them right now and tell them what you told me last week. Tell them you’re falling in love with me. Tell them I’m not your project partner, I’m your boyfriend.”

She chokes on a sob, biting her lips together. “I can’t.” She hiccups the words, just above a whisper. “Please, just let me explain.”

“I think I’ve heard plenty.” I don’t look at her again before walking straight past her back to the Alpha Sigma tent. Ican’tlook at her. Still, I hear her calling my name as I stride, her tears breaking on the one harsh syllable.

“Who was that,” Clayton asks as I hook my hand around his elbow, pulling him away from the A Sig tent. I’m on a mission to find my own brothers now. It’s been a long time since I’ve drowned myself in a bottle of liquor to find the numb I used to crave so often, but I feel that same want creeping into my bloodstream now.

“No one.”

“No one,” Clayton deadpans, struggling to keep up with me. “So, you ran up and wrapped your arms around her, but you don’t know her?”

His words dig into my chest like a rusty butter knife and I suck in a breath, desperate for air, for relief.

“Not anymore.”