Pieces of Olivia
Page 1
Pieces of Olivia
Melissa West
InterMix Books, New York
INTERMIX BOOKS
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PIECES OF OLIVIA
An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
InterMix eBook edition / July 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Melissa West.
Excerpt from Miles from Kara copyright © 2014 by Melissa West.
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eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-16576-2
INTERMIX
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For the wonderful charity CASA, and the Delta Phi chapter of Kappa Alpha Theta, who introduced me to your cause.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Special Preview of Miles from Kara
About the Author
Chapter One
Someone should warn you that move-in day at a college is the last day you should actually try to move into your dorm. I stared down the line of girls waiting to get on the elevators, all of them with stacks of suitcases and boxes and microwave-refrigerator combos, which should have already been in our rooms, but evidently there was a shortage this year. I eyed my own set of suitcases and the line again. I could drag them up the three flights of stairs to the third floor faster than I could get there waiting in that line.
I tilted the heaviest one on its wheels, tossed the second on top, and started for the stairwell door around the corner. There was no line there, surprise-surprise, so I took my time pulling my suitcases through the door and lifting them one step at a time up the stairs. By the time I reached the third floor, my face was dripping with sweat and I found myself wishing I’d taken my parents’ offer to help me move in.
At the time, all I could think about was their sad expressions as they asked me for the hundredth time if I was sure. Sure I wanted to ditch Columbia for the College of Charleston. Sure I wanted to live in a dorm on campus (forget that all freshmen were required to live on campus). Sure I wanted to have a roommate in said dorm instead of living alone. The list went on and on and on. They didn’t understand. I couldn’t live that life anymore. Every part of it brought back memories I couldn’t handle. I needed a change. And not just a change in geography. I needed a complete change—different town, different people, different me.
I needed to be able to grab bananas from the produce section without running into someone who knew and getting that sad look as he or she asked how I was doing. I mean, how did they think I was doing? I hated pity. I hated the long look people gave you and the slow headshake that said poor little you. I knew sadness. It was a longtime friend of mine now. I didn’t need reminders of how closely it clung to me every time I went to the grocery store.
I heaved my suitcase through the third-floor door and glanced around for room numbers. I was 3-F and my roommate was some chick from Gator Town: Gainesville, Florida. I pictured a surfer girl, complete with sun-bleached blond hair and bronzed skin, who used words like totally and awesome as though they were worth gold each time you said them.
I tugged on my UPF 55 shirt, glad that I’d been smart enough to pick up a few. Long sleeves at the beach in August would cause a few looks, and I wasn’t prepared to explain the real reason for them. But with UPF shirts, I could just claim a crazy interest in sun protection. Plus with the tiny shorts I paired with them, I felt sure I could go about without too many questions. Or so I hoped. Thank God my legs weren’t scarred. Otherwise I’d have had to go to college at some snow lift in Colorado, and I hated cold weather.
I reached the hall for rooms 3-A to 3-H. Most of the doors were open, and I tried not to peek inside them as I passed. The hall was completely alive with excitement and commotion. I wondered if it would always be like this or if there were study hours or something. I finally came to the door for 3-F, which was closed, no sounds coming from inside. I grabbed the knob and turned, relieved that Gator-girl wasn’t there yet, until I flicked on the light and heard a grumble from across the room.
“Damn, shut the light. I’m working off a buzz here.”
I turned around to see a guy in the bed on the left side of the room, a white sheet tangled around him, exposing his bare chest. My eyes roamed over him, and for the first time, I understood how Bella could be attracted to Edward’s paleness. This guy’s skin could rival a vampire’s for sure, but instead of looking like it belonged to a hospital patient, it was startlingly creamy with just a hint of a golden undertone. His shaggy brownish-red hair scattered in a mess across the pillow, and although I knew I should ask a myriad of questions, I just found myself staring.
His eyes peeked open and he
tossed one of his arms over them to block out the light. “You must be Olivia,” he said, his voice thick from sleep.
I waited. Hot or not, I didn’t know this guy. He could be here to steal my virtue . . . or the virtue I had two years ago, but still.
He climbed out of bed, a pair of low-hanging navy pajama pants with little yellow characters the only thing on his flawless body. I took them in before glancing back at his face. “Tweety Bird?”
“Goldfish. It’s an inside joke.”
I nodded. “Ah.”
He brushed his hair out of his eyes. It was the sort of hair you wanted to touch just to see if it felt as perfect as it looked. “So . . .”
“So . . .” I smiled. “Are you going to tell me who you are and why the hell you’re in my dorm room?”
He smirked. “I see you’re not as small town as you look. Where are you from?” He reached behind him for a T-shirt thrown across a desk chair. He had that deep Southern drawl that reminded you of warm syrup on pancakes, slow and delicious and entirely too tempting.
I considered lying, but that would only delay the inevitable. “Westlake,” I said, bracing myself for his reaction. What happened never made national news—thank God—but everyone in a two-state radius knew and felt inclined to ask as soon as they heard where I was from.
He glanced up at me before slipping the shirt on, and I prepared for the question, the change in his tone, but instead he said, “I take it back. You are small town. Rich. But still, small town.”
For a moment, I was too startled to respond. I had yet to meet anyone who heard where I was from and didn’t launch into questions too personal for a friend let alone a stranger. I opened my mouth to remind him that (a) Charleston wasn’t exactly New York City and (b) he still hadn’t answered my question, when the door behind me burst open and a tiny girl rushed in. She had the look of one of those flyers on a cheerleading squad—five-foot nothing, blond hair in loose pigtails that hung over her shoulders, and dressed in just a tank top and jean shorts.
Jean shorts. Trisha. My chest constricted as memories poured in, and I had to take a step back so I could breathe. Trisha hated jean shorts.
“I’m so sorry! So sorry!” the girl said, her tone entirely too high for such a small space. Gator-girl, I presumed. “This isn’t what it looks like.” Then she turned on the guy. “I told you eight a.m. exit, dude. It’s twelve-thirty!”
I started to tell her I didn’t care regardless. I hated that stereotypical bullshit, where guys could hook up with whomever and be cool, but when a girl did the same thing, she was a slut. I decided it wasn’t the time.
The guy shrugged. “What do you want from me? I was drunker than I thought. Happens to the best of us. Besides, look at her. She’s cool with it. Aren’t you?”
Both of their gazes fell on me. “Um . . . should I come back later? I can just . . .” I started for the door when the girl reached out to stop me.
“Don’t go! Please. I’m Kara. And this asshat is Preston Riggs, my best friend. Well, he used to be my best friend.” She glared at him. “He was supposed to be out this morning before you arrived, but clearly”—she motioned to him—“he’s got issues with time. Among other things.”
Preston slid into a pair of Rainbow sandals and ran his hands over his face before stretching his arms out wide. “I take offense. I pride myself on punctuality. If there was ever a—”
“Out. Before I call your mom.”
Preston looked at her. “Like I’m afraid of my—” Kara pulled out her cell, and he threw up his hands. “Okay, okay. I’m gone.” His eyes swept from her to me, giving me a slow once-over, before winking and heading for the door. “Nice meeting you, Small Town.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Chapter Two
An hour later, I knew that my roommate was Kara Marcus and that she had only recently moved to Gainesville. Previously, she’d grown up in upstate South Carolina.
“So that’s how you know Preston?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too eager. I was curious about the guy. More curious than I cared to admit even to myself.
She tilted her head, as though her mind was somewhere else, then looked back at me. “Yeah, something like that. Our parents are good friends. We pretty much grew up together. I’ve known him forever.”
I focused on putting the rest of my clothes away. All long-sleeve shirts and sweaters. It had taken a surprisingly small amount of time for me to unpack, and in looking at my wardrobe cabinet, I realized in my desperation to get away from home, I’d under-packed.
Kara walked up beside me. “That’s all you brought?”
“Apparently.”
We stared at my barren cabinet for another solid minute in silence. Anything I said about it would lead to more questioning, and the last thing I wanted was to let on what a freak I’d become over the last couple months—right on the first day I met her. She’d discover it soon enough, no doubt, but I hoped to get a week in first.
“Well, this settles it,” Kara said, her tone forlorn.
I glanced sideways at her. “Settles what? I know I’m not . . .” What exactly? I sighed heavily, but then her face lit up and a smile spread across her face.
“We’re going shopping. I’ve been dying to peruse King’s Street, but Preston refuses to shop with me. Plus, he’s still working his summer job, so all he wants to do when he’s off is fish. Which, hello, I love him, but I refuse to clean a damn fish.”
“Fishing, huh? I didn’t picture him as the outdoorsy type. I mean, not that I’ve pictured him, of course.”
Her smile widened. “Of course. So, are you in?”
I grinned back. “I’m in.”
***
We left Liberty Street Residence Hall, our dorm, for King’s Street. The dorm itself was every bit the beauty of the rest of the city. White and tan exterior. Clean lines. Inside, there was a common area with floor-to-ceiling windows, which allowed the sun to shine through, and I knew I would spend many free hours there, pretending to study, while actually daydreaming about what my life could be . . . or could have been.
The College of Charleston was the fifth college that I had visited, and immediately it had become my favorite. My parents groaned when I mentioned it as an option. The other four were all Ivy League. But even they couldn’t argue with the huge oak trees and cobblestone streets and buildings and houses that oozed history. The city had an air to it, an elegance that reminded me of women in old movies. Vivien Leigh. Audrey Hepburn. The actresses in old movies were graceful and beautiful, yet controlled. I had always loved old movies, but now that my life had taken a sharp left turn, I found myself mesmerized by them, eager to learn how the actresses looked so poised while their lives were in turmoil. I tried to emulate that strength. And I was ready to take on my first shopping experience with Kara as the perfect opportunity to test my newfound pretend strength.
Liberty was located just off King’s Street, which was basically the Rodeo Drive of Charleston. All the best shops were there, plus a mix of restaurants, which meant you could make an afternoon out of shopping without having to leave to go eat. It was like a mall with a food court—only nicer.
We decided to walk the street, eager to be outside, even though in August it was every bit of ninety degrees and the humidity would have driven Trisha crazy. She had the sort of curly hair that refused to be contained, especially in high humidity. I swallowed a lump in my throat at the thought of her and pushed on.
“So, do you have a favorite store? Like those shorts. What are they?”
We had been shopping for about an hour, and Kara’s arms were now loaded down with bags, but I had yet to buy anything. I glanced down at my shorts, trying to remember where Mom had gotten them. “J.Crew, I think.” Kara nodded slowly, which I took to mean she didn’t approve. J.Crew was about as basic as it came. I used to have a definitive style, something tha
t would have impressed Kara. Now, I had my hair pulled into a high ponytail, had next to no makeup on, the J.Crew shorts, and the UPF shirt, which, let’s face it, was only meant to be worn on the water, not every day.
Kara tilted her head in deep thought, then snapped her fingers and said, “I know! Urban Outfitters. That’s totally your style. Do you know it?”
Oh, I knew it. It should be called Cool Clothes That Cost a Fortune. Normally, I wouldn’t care about costs. My life had afforded me exposure to designer brands, but now that I was here, doing the exact opposite of what my parents wanted, they had put me on a strict monthly allowance to teach me “the value of money.” Basically, they wanted me to suffer my decision. Knowing my dad, I would only have enough money to buy food and little else.
“I don’t know if—”
“Hey! It’s Jim ’N Nick’s. Are you hungry?”
I grinned. I could see already that Kara was one of those people whose mind moved at warp speeds, never stopping for you to catch up. “What’s Jim ’N Nick’s?”
“It’s BBQ. Good stuff. Plus, I can get us free food.”
Free sounded great.
Kara opened the door to a small restaurant teeming with music and chatter. The bar was crowded with people screaming at some baseball game on the wide-screen. There were framed black-and-white photos all over the walls, giving the place a cool and casual vibe.
Kara slipped into a booth, pulled out a set of menus from behind the ketchup and barbeque sauce bottles, and passed one over to me. “I’m told the cheddar biscuits are worth the extra pounds they’ll add to your thighs.”
I laughed. “Told by who?”
“Small Town,” a deep voice said. “Fancy seeing you again so soon.”
My gaze drifted up and straight into Preston’s startling blue eyes. He had the sort of blue eyes that looked like the water in the Gulf of Mexico, crystal blue and so beautiful all you could do was stare in wonder. I managed to glance down before I embarrassed myself.