Unloved: A Novel (The Undone)

“You look like shit.”

I barely raise my head, instead turning my neck so I can peek up from the blissfully dark paradise my crossed arms on the table have created.

Sadie smirks, setting down two cups of coffee from our secondhand Nespresso—a gift from my mother the first and only time she visited—in front of me.

“You try waking up with a pounding headache and ‘tolerate it’ playing on repeat like a sad, terrifying alarm.”

Sadie bursts into a laugh, wiping her mouth with her sleeve where some of the coffee sputtered. “Please don’t tell me that was your speaker playing all night on a loop.”

I groan. “I think I started with ‘Getaway Car,’ and then at some point during the night I got sad and weird.”

“That’s less surprising considering your absolute knockout karaoke performance in the back of the car last night.”

I slam my hands down on my face, head shaking. “No, please say you’re kidding.”

Sadie raises one perfect eyebrow, her lips still stained from her usual dark red lipstick, hair slicked back into a bun. Even undone, she’s perfect, elegant. And I’m…noveldrama

A lumpy mass of frizzy, tangled curls and swollen eyes.

“You really don’t remember?”

“I blacked out after those last shots, Sadie,” I whine, rubbing my eyes and dramatically slumping back in the wooden chair at our little breakfast table. “I don’t remember anything.”

Sadie’s face looks almost stricken and something sinks in my gut.

“Oh God,” I moan. “Your face—just tell me. What is it?”

“Your little sing-along might have been in the back of Matt Fredderic’s car.” She chews on her lip for a moment while I feel my face slowly drain of color with each word she says. “And you might’ve somehow ended up in the pool with him.”

“In the pool? What? How—”

“You jumped off the top of the shed like a lunatic.” Sadie snorts. “Kinda scary, but also kinda amazing.”

Oh God.

I hate that my first thought is of Tyler, wondering if he saw, if someone at that party filmed me acting insane and told him all about it. I wish I didn’t care about his opinion of me, but I still do, because I love him, I think. And I want him to think highly of me, as an equal and a partner.

Not a drunk party girl jumping off roofs with playboy hockey players.

Instinctively, I reach for my phone and open our text thread.

Nothing.

Just two unanswered, unread I’m sorry texts, from me to him.

My entire body jolts as I do a double take at the time staring up at me from my phone.

1:39 p.m.

“I slept past one!” I shriek, nearly knocking the chair back in my haste to stand up.

Sadie, who has put her trusty corded headphones into her ears, looks over at me with a piece of butter-and-jam-covered toast half hanging out of her mouth. She reaches up to pull one earbud out, then reaches for the toast.

“Yeah,” she says, dragging it out, arching an eyebrow. “I think we were up until nearly four, Ro. I barely survived getting the boys to their practice this morning, and immediately went back to sleep when I got back. Why—what’s wrong?”

I’m groaning already as she finishes and I unceremoniously shove a piece of toast into my mouth and grab a water bottle.

“I’m supposed to be at the library in twenty minutes.”

“Damn, Ro!” Sadie smiles. “I think I’m proud of you for this, actually. First ever day you’re late to anything.”

I’m already desperately searching the cabinets for a protein bar—anything to tide me over so I don’t pass out on Matt Fredderic midsession.

Matt Fredderic.

I pause in my rapid retreat to my room, spinning back toward Sadie to beg, “Please, please, please tell me Freddy and Rhys were so hammered last night they also blacked out?”

Sadie pauses, her face slowly morphing from confusion to a beaming, evil smirk.

“I didn’t see either of them holding a drink once. Sorry, Ro.” She shakes her head at my stricken expression. “Don’t worry, Freddy is probably obsessed with you now. Might be good payback for you spending the entirety of freshman and sophomore years pining over him.”

I shake my head hard enough to stir up my headache again full force.

“I have to go tutor him now.” I rub my hands over my face again and nod, turning for my room before her mocking rendition of “Getaway Car” can fully reach my ears and irritate my already pounding head.

He’s late.

It’s a blessing and a curse, considering the absolute sprinting gymnastics I performed to get myself ready and here on time. It’s not my best look—an oversized bright pink tee dotted with hearts and butterflies in different shades of pink, a pair of comfy, thin cream cargo pants, and a thick, black fabric headband pushing my absurdly more-unruly-than-normal curls back.

At the least, I’m clean and have successfully washed out any lingering cinnamon liquor smell.

My head is almost too heavy to hold up, so I rest my chin in my hands and close my eyes, sucking down more water from the ridiculously large bottle I’ve lugged with me.

“Hey.”

God, how can he make one word sound like that?

I straighten, smiling lightly even as I feel the heat start to rise in my cheeks. It only grows hotter as Sadie’s retelling of the night forces its way back into my brain.

He’s infuriatingly handsome, as he always is, dressed a bit more casually today than his usually well-planned outfits. Still, the material of his soft navy Waterfell University Hockey shirt stretches perfectly over his defined chest and shoulders, looser over his trim waist.

Golden hair sits in soft, short waves, perfectly styled, and those same smile lines carve out space, sharpening his smile into an unsuspecting weapon.

“H-hi,” I breathe, clearing my throat as I realize I’m still staring at him.

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he settles his body into the chair, which suddenly looks small beneath his weight. There’s a lightness to his face, like we’re sharing some inside joke even though neither of us has said more than a greeting to each other.

“Good to see you again, princess,” he says, the words soft. My cheeks heat. “I missed you.”

“I—good to see you, too.” I fumble for the words. “I should apologize for last night.”

“For which part?” He smirks, leaning forward, hands on the table suddenly so close to mine they nearly touch. “Getting me wet?”

Freddy bites down on his lip, tamping down his smile as he looks at me. I watch him right back, like studying intensely for a test in a subject I don’t know.

He almost looks like he wants to kiss me—which is ridiculous. But his face is so similar to the version of him I remember from that summer party freshman year. The flush of his warm skin, the taste of cinnamon on his tongue—the flavor of him on my tongue.

Does he remember that kiss? Does he wake up from dreams about his arms around my waist like I do about him?

Icy shock has my eyes jolting back to lock on his half-lidded green gaze.

Did we… Did we kiss? I can’t ask him that. I don’t want to admit that I remember nothing from last night. It’s humiliating that it happened at all.

“No. I mean—yes, but—I don’t—” What did he say? My brain has gone blank.

I clear my throat and refocus on my usual script. “We’re here today to do a quick assessment of—”

“Rosalie,” he coos, trying to calm me as he sets a hand on top of mine. It has the opposite effect, jolting me a foot off my seat as I yank my hands back to sit on them.

Rosalie? Oh my god. My cheeks stain darker somehow; I can feel the heat. I told him my full name? No one knows my full name—I never use it. Not even Tyler knows what Ro is short for, but he also never asked.

“It’s Ro,” I say, my voice small and squeaky. “I mean, that’s what I go by.”

There is a sliver of hurt marring his expression before he laughs it away and sinks into the chair across from me, still leaning over the table with his large forearms and big hands. It’s distracting. He’s distracting.

“Not what you told me,” he says in a singsong. “Besides, I like Rosalie.”

I can feel my control of the situation slipping, so I straighten up a little in my seat and slide my notebooks and folders into a straighter line, busying my hands and watching my movements so I don’t have to look at him.

“I might’ve had too much to drink,” I say, biting down on my lip and swallowing the shame-induced lump that forms in my throat. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Rosalie,” he says, smirking at me as I blush again over the use of my full name. It rolls off his tongue like a song. “I really, really enjoyed last night.”

“I know I may have, uh, behaved in a certain way at the party last night, but I want to assure you that I am usually very professional—”

“But we didn’t know each other yet,” he says, frowning.

A dull ache throbs in my chest, but my smile still shines as I finally meet his confused gaze.

“Right,” I say before sliding over the packet I usually use for assessing learning differences. I clear my throat unnecessarily again, straightening my spine. Freddy mirrors me slightly, but his bright green eyes are still dancing. “Rodger and Tyler left me a few notes about you to go through. But I figured that we could—”

“Hold on.” Freddy holds his hand up like he can physically shove the words I’ve said back into my mouth. “Tyler—your asshole-maybe-ex-boyfriend—is Tyler Donaldson?”

My mouth gapes, opening and closing a few times before I settle on a response that doesn’t include I talked to you about Tyler last night? in a screeching scream. Instead, I try to grab hold of my fragile professionalism.

“That’s inappropriate,” I snap. Freddy slumps back in his chair, brows furrowed in thought and eyes pointedly aimed away from me for the first time since he arrived at the table. “But, yes. Tyler Donaldson and I… date.”

Date. Present tense, because I’m not quite sure what to call this weird, uncomfortable dance we’re currently doing with each other.

A jovial smile works its way across Freddy’s face as he crosses his arms and meets my eyes again, “Of course. Makes sense why he warned me about you the same way they’ve warned you about me. Seems both of us have a bit of a reputation.”

The words sound like a joke, a purposeful jest. But I feel a little sick—more from the anxiety than from the aftereffects of the alcohol.

Tyler warned him about me?

The list of things he might’ve said feels so long and overwhelming I don’t know where to start—which only ratchets up the anxiety and fear to an insurmountable level. Ro’s had a crush on you since freshman year. She swears you were her first kiss, even if most of us don’t believe it happened. I can almost hear his mocking laugh grating over my ears.

Or worse—my bedroom habits.

Tyler says I behave too brazenly, to put it kindly. I’m overeager, too loud or dramatically vocal. I ask for too much, or to do things that Tyler sees as “beneath someone smart like you, Ro. It’s degrading.” Would he mention something so personal to Freddy? Could that be the warning he’s talking about?

Could that be why Freddy found me at the party last night? Looked for me then and is flirting with me now? My heart drops again, like I’m on a never-ending thrill ride that’s easily shaving years off my life.

Maybe Tyler has been right all along. My behavior should reflect the respect I expect. If I want to be seen as brilliant and smart, I should be more reserved with sex, like Tyler is. Like I’m sure his prep school New York friends he spends his summers with are as well. If I do that, maybe I’ll finally be good enough.

I wipe my clammy palms across my pants and pull on a loose curl, wrapping it around and around my finger soothingly.

“Listen… If Tyler said something or I was weird to you last night, or something… just know, that’s not me.”

His brow dips, furrowing at my words as his fingers draw circles on the wood of the tabletop. His lips are twisted down, and I feel like somehow my words are upsetting him.

“What about what you said—?”

“I don’t remember anything from last night,” I finally say, my voice a little harsher than I intend, skin hot with humiliation. Nodding my head a little roughly, I press on. “It’s probably best that way. Let’s start over. Forget last night ever happened,” I cut him off, reaching my hand out like a formal greeting.

Freddy looks at my outstretched hand, hurt rolling across his features as his shoulders slump. Does he know how openly he’s wearing his emotions in this moment, without his perpetual flirty smile?

He shakes his head, muttering, “Right,” beneath his breath. He doesn’t meet my eyes, his gaze drifting to the ground like he’s working something out in his head, before finally grasping my hand in a quick, halfhearted shake.

As I flip open the folder, he stands so abruptly his chair gets knocked back. My eyes go wide.

“Where are you going?”

He has his backpack already tipped onto one shoulder, giving me an awkward salute before heading out the door and into the empty silent floor of the library.

“Wait! We haven’t even started!” I shout, somewhat too loud, flustered as I chase him down.

I grab his backpack strap and stumble back a little with the accidental force of my pull. I’m surprised he manages to stay upright, but I’m not surprised that I can’t. A squeak bursts from my mouth as I crash backward onto the floor.

He flicks his eyes over my now-prone form, sprawled embarrassingly across the terrible nineties-patterned carpet. I wait for him to leave, tempted to shut my eyes not to see the mocking smile I’m sure he’s sporting.

But instead, he bends over me, his palms gripping my waist over the billowing fabric of my too-large shirt, and lifts me up, setting me steadily on my feet. As if I weigh nothing—like I’m some tiny girl, and not the five-nine lanky girl that I know I am.

There’s a moment where his hands linger a little, and I swear I feel them squeeze—

Freddy takes off again, and I startle.

“Wait, Freddy. Where are you going—”

He snaps his fingers and spins to answer. “I forgot— I have, like, hockey stuff,” he says, a fake smile spreading over his lips. “You get it!”

I shake my head a bit to keep his charm from settling over me. “No— I—”

“I’ll see you next Tuesday!” he shouts, getting another stern shh! with a wagging finger from the summer librarian.

“It’s on Thursday,” I shout back, rolling my eyes as the librarian gives me a shocked expression. There aren’t any other students here currently, no need to be silent.

He leans against the door and shrugs with a cheeky smile. “I’m dyslexic.”

He pushes out the door before I can even begin to come up with a response to his self-deprecating humor.

Day one of tutoring Matt Fredderic and I’ve already lost all control over our dynamic.