Page 6 of Five Things
“Rightttt.”
“I’m Maisie,” she says again when I grip her hand, she shakes them up and down, and a nervous giggle slips past my lips. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Err, Beatrice. Well, I guess you know that.” I wince, pulling my hand free. “But you can call me Bea, I guess.”
“Our moms met through a virtual book club,” she explains.
I step back with a nod, though I still have no idea what she’s talking about. My mom even reading books is brand-new information. Not that I think she can’t read, I just never knew it was something she had any interest in.
That thought has my lips turning down. Have I been so lost in my head that I don’t even know my parents’ interests anymore? That I haven’t bothered to ask them?
“Helloooo … Beatrice!”
Blinking against the emotions that threaten to spill over my lashes, I look back to Maisie. “Sorry, I, er, yeah, sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?” She frowns, tilting her head as she assesses me.
“Force of habit,” I mutter, chewing the inside of my lip for a beat before moving the conversation along. “So our moms know each other?”
“Yep. They met through their love of reading naughty books, if you know what I mean . . .” She winks at me before wagging her eyebrows up and down. My brows furrow for a moment but then her meaning clicks into place.
“No freakin’ way,” I gape, my nose wrinkling. “My mom reads porn?”
A laugh bursts from Maisie as she bends over, slapping her thigh. “Yeah, she does. And let me tell you, some of the stuff they read? Ten out of ten on the spice scale.”
“Wooow, okay. The things you learn, I guess.”
“Oh, they’re learning.” A flush crawls up my cheeks at the insinuation, and a scowl crosses my face. I’m not a prude, honestly, but nobody wants to hear about their mom learning things likethat.“Anyway, they’ve become fast friends over the last few months and figured since we were both attending BU, they’d hook us up as besties, but it seems your mom may have forgotten to let you in on that information.”
“Yeah, I think she did,” I say, grabbing the last bottle of water from my stash in the fridge and leaning against the counter opposite Maisie.
“I know this is probably a lot to take in, me just barreling in here,” she starts, smiling softly at me. “But I’m totally out of my element here, over two thousand miles away from home, and I could really use a friend.”
My heart aches for her a little. I’m little less than a two-hour drive from home, and that feels like a world away. I can’t begin to imagine being that far from my parents.
“And, if I’m not mistaken, Beatrice,” she continues when I still don’t say anything. Her gaze flicks over the dorm once more before settling on me, her eyes softer than before. “I think you could probably use a friend too.”
Chapter Three
Beatrice
“So,BeatriceMarieFletcher,”Maisie says when the waiter leaves our table after dropping a basket of bread in the center. Grabbing one of the rolls, I break it into pieces before popping one in my mouth. “What’s your story?”
“What makes you think I have one?”
“We all have a story. Some are just more interesting than others.”
“Well, you’ll be disappointed to learn that mine is not one of the interesting ones.” At least not the one I’m willing to share at this moment in time. “Only child, two parents still madly in love, coasted through high school with average grades. That’s about all there is to know.”
“Why do I not believe you?” She ponders, a tiny smirk on her lips. Shrugging, I shove another piece of bread in my mouth, chewing gingerly while she assesses me.
Truthfully, my life story is riddled with drama and pain.
While Maisie seems like a genuinely nice girl, there’s no telling how she’d look at me if she learned the truth. It’s only been in the last hour of spending time with her, from leaving my dorm to arriving at this tiny pizza place, that I realized how much I need a friend. And selfishly, that’s not something I’m willing to jeopardize right now.
“What about you?” I ask instead, happy when she takes the bait and regales me with tales of her childhood. Youngest child of three, her older siblings being brothers, and it’s easy to see where she gets her sparkly personality from with that information.
Being an only child means I’ve never had to fight for my parents’ attention, or share a bathroom, or do anything that having siblings entails. It’s nice for the most part, but I’ve always been jealous of those with close bonds like that.