Page 33 of Satan's Spawn

It’s gorgeous, and I love the chain and whipstitch trim aligning the bag, but I feel guilty knowing Roman spent almost fifteen-hundred dollars on a bag for me.

Which is absurd because he’s spending so much more a month sending me to Riverside.

After a glance at the time to find it’s seven-thirty, I twist open my pill bottle, and quickly pop a tablet in my mouth.

“Think we can pass for entitled twats?” Hendrix asks, wiping down the lapels of her blazer as she emerges out of the explosion of mess that makes up her side of the room.

After lunch yesterday, the Mom’s returned home teary eyed while Archer, Hendrix, and I spent the day together in our dorm watching TV and ordering takeout for dinner until curfew was called.

Archer has been with us so much the past week I questioned whether or not he had anyone else in this school he was close to. The endless calls from his friends, however, proved me wrong fast. It means a lot knowing he’s taking time out of his daily life to help Hendrix and I get acclimated.

“With a bit more cleavage and makeup, probably.” I smirk. “We’d also need to come equipped with a live-in maid to clean up the messes you make.”

Hendrix feigns offense. “Messes are how I express myself. Judgey McJudgerson.”

“No judging here.” I hold my hands up in a defensive position. “I just prefer my things in order. It’s more appealing and less distracting.”

She crosses her arms. “I could easily argue that bothappealinganddistractingare mutually exclusive.”

Well, not for my brain.

“Doesn’t work that way for me, unfortunately.” I reach for the medicine bottle and twist it closed.

Curiosity etches across her face as she watches me. “Why do you say that?”

I don’t like to mention this to a lot of people, but there’s something about Hendrix that makes me feel comfortable confiding in her. Maybe it’s because of the natural gravitation we had toward each other at the beginning.

“Full disclosure?”

She nods, reaching for her backpack and throwing it over her shoulder.

“I have ADHD, diagnosed when I was younger.”

Hendrix looks as if she wants to call bullshit, but when I remain stoic her expression shifts.

“Is that why…?” She purses her lips, eyeing the bottle.

“Yup.”

“I never would’ve guessed, man. You’re so…” Hendrix tries to find the words, so I find them for her.

“Organized? Not bouncing around the room like a rabbit on speed as most people expect?”

“More like…focused.” She laughs, but not in a shrewd way.

“Focusing on the things I’m interested in was never really the problem.” I counter. “It’s what I’m not interested in that’s tricky. It works this way for people like me more than you’d think. I was held back in first grade because of it.”

She turns all serious. “Bex, if it’s that hard on you I’ll make sure to clean up better moving forward.”

I look over at the unmade bed, thrown clothes, and random sketch pads littered around the floor on her side—deciding I don’t mind the challenge if it comes from her.

“You’re all good. I’m a big girl.” I shrug, heading for the door. “Besides, I’m not the one sleeping on top of a bed of pencils.”

After a quick FaceTime call with Mom, Roman, and Potato, Hendrix and I made a quick Starbucks run so I could get a matcha latte, including the coffee I owe Archer from yesterday.

I’ll need all the green tea I can to survive the first day of classes. I’m trying my hardest to be optimistic and keep my eyes on the prize, but I can’t help the looming feeling overhead as I recall what happened at orientation.

If karma is in my favor she will make sure I have no classes with Crayton, or his ice queen Alexis, so I can get through this year with a smile on my face and a continued 4.0 GPA.