Only With You (Knights #2)

4

JULIANNA

I have a love-hate relationship with Sundays.

I love them, because every Sunday, I meet the most amazing group of kids and teach them how to play instruments at the community center. It’s something I’ve been doing since my freshman year after I got a job at the Hall of Art Museum. After doing this for almost four years, I’ve fallen completely in love with it.

But I only teach the kids in the morning, and occasionally, I’ll do it on Saturdays.

The reason I hate Sundays is because of the once-a-week mandatory Chapter meeting with my sorority—Alpha Delta Pi—that I’m currently at.

I used to not dread these meetings and genuinely loved being in a sorority. From the friends I made, the parties, the tailgating before a football game, and the sorority life.

Freshman year was great, but sophomore year, that’s where it took a turn, and it all started with Sienna Forbes.

She stands at the front of the living room of the sorority house, green smoothie in one hand and phone in the other. She’s not changed looks-wise, perfectly-straight blonde hair, pretty poised smile, her outfit immaculate as ever.

We met freshman year at kickoff, when we were rushing for a sorority. We were sitting next to each other and instantly connected. On bid day, when we opened our envelopes and found out we were in the same sorority, we grew closer. There was never a day we weren’t together or speaking.

But one day, she changed, and now, we hardly speak unless it deals with the sorority.

I shove the thought of our friendship away and try to focus, but the meeting is running long.

Usually, they last for about thirty minutes to an hour, but now that Sienna is president, they’ll run up to two hours. There’s only so much she can talk about. Our philanthropy, issues that need to be addressed, and events coming up.

She’s passionate, I’ll give her that.

I sit up when I hear her say one last thing, but sink back into my chair when she says, “So, as you all know, semi-formal is in December, and with that being said, I wanted to tell the newcomers about our two simple rules.”

Even though semi is three months from now, we always get together around September and discuss who we’ll be going with. It’s unnecessary, because a lot can change from here to then, but it’s been a rule since long before I came here.

And because this is a sorority, and they like to be extra, we don’t just call out who we’re going with. It’s all based on position and seniority. Sienna goes first because she’s president, then the recruitment counselors, and so on.

The second rule is sharing our dress in the group chat. Just to make sure no one shows up wearing the same thing.

“This year, I’ll be bringing Landon Taylor,” Sienna announces.

I almost laugh, but manage to stop myself. I’m the only one who’s amused, because the rest of the girls seem shocked.

“Landon Taylor as in the basketball player?” Grace quizzically asks.

“Yes, him,” she replies as if it should be obvious.

“Sienna, you really think he’s going to come?” Breanna hesitantly questions. “He never comes to these things.”

She folds her arms defensively, eyebrows pinched together. “Of course he’s going to come. Just because he doesn’t talk to any of you doesn’t mean he doesn’t talk to me.”

No one makes a comment or doubts her, because when Sienna sets her mind to something, she’s persistent enough to get what she wants. I won’t be surprised if the Spawn ends up going with her.

The rest of the girls go around naming who they’ll want to go with and it’s no surprise that most of them are athletes or in frats. Though I’m right behind them, because I picked Finnick Kamiński. He’s a football player, and usually I stay away from athletes, but he’s the only exception. I’ve gotten to know him because we’ve had a few classes together, and I went to semi with him last year. He was nothing but amazing and sweet.

I zone out as the rest of the girls call out who they’re going with, and as soon as I hear “that concludes today’s meeting,” I get up and leave the house. As I’m about to open the door to my Rover, Sienna calls my name.

“Juli, wait.” I roll my eyes at her haughty tone and the way I know she’s smiling at the stupid nickname. She knows how much I hate it.

I force a smile and turn. “Yeah?”

“I know you’ve picked your date for semi, but if it doesn’t work with Finnick, I know Cole Austin said he’s interested.”

My heart lurches and beats frantically. My body seizes painfully at the reminder of that night with him.

“Are you serious?” My voice cracks in a whisper. “After everything that?—”

“Juli,” she cuts me off, placing her hand on my heavy shoulder. “Nothing happened. Why can’t you let it go?”

My heart bottoms out, landing at the pit of my stomach, tempting the water I had earlier to bitterly rise up. Shrugging her hand away, I open my door and look at her. “Because something did happen.”

“You’re being dramatic.” She heaves a sigh. “But if you want to go there, remember you were just as drunk as he was. I told you not to drink too much but you did. And you better be glad no one else knew about it, or you’d be kicked off the sorority.”

“Whatever.” I climb in, slam the door behind me and drive off.

Biting my quivering lip, I hold back the tears that threaten to spill as the memories of that night invade my thoughts.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I close my eyes and firmly clutch my phone in my sweaty palm as I pace my room.

The mantra is useless because when my phone vibrates in my palm, my somewhat steady heart rate surges, smacking hard against my rib cage. A shiver racks down my body, and my breath becomes uneven.

I don’t know why I do this to myself. I should be used to it by now.

Once a week, every Sunday, I get a phone call from either Mom or Dad at the same time, 7:00 p.m. I’ve been getting these calls since my freshman year, and now that I’m in my senior year, I should know what to expect.

Still, my brain and body refuse to understand that because nerves prickle at my skin. Despite my tumultuous feelings, a small part of me clings onto hope that the conversation won’t be so bad today.

Blowing out a shaky breath, I answer and prop my phone between my shoulder and ear, wiping my sweat drenched palms on my thighs.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hello, how are you?”

The pep in her voice somewhat alleviates my nerves, but still, I wait for the inevitable. Unlike Dad, who’s curt and straight to the point, Mom likes to be passive-aggressive.

“I’m…good. I just finished studying. How are you?”

I eye my open laptop, the notebooks, and array of highlighters and pens scattered on my desk. I studied for approximately two hours, but it was pointless, because nothing stuck.

My thoughts couldn’t stop straying to what Sienna said earlier today, my test grade I’ll be getting tomorrow, and the conversation with Mom or Dad.

“Natalie and I just got back from speaking with the wedding plan—” She stops mid-sentence and in the background, I hear faint clicking. I don’t have to ask what she’s doing to know she’s on her laptop. If she’s not on it, she’s on her iPad or phone or she’s using them all at once. Because of her job, she stays busy and that means during our once-a-week call.

“You looked odd in the picture Sienna posted on Instagram. You looked really exhausted.” The change of conversation isn’t new to me, but it still gives me whiplash.

If it were up to me, those pictures wouldn’t have been taken, but it’s part of being in the sorority. Pictures are constantly taken and posted on all social media accounts.

I force my smile to stay put and not burn under the pressure building in my head.

“I—”

She cuts me off. The clicking in the background stops. “Look, I understand you have a lot going on with school and the sorority, but if you want to stop, I will speak with your father.”

I thickly swallow, bracing for impact for what I know is about to come out of her mouth.

“School isn’t for everyone, and I know it’s really never been for you.” She wistfully sighs. “But look on the bright side. At least you’re beautiful. Your brains may not get you far, but your beauty will.”

I bite the inside of my cheek hard, hating how the bridge of my nose stings. Pressing my lips together, I stare up at the ceiling and blink a few times.

She means well. She loves you. She’s the reason you have it made. Get over yourself. It could be worse.

I tell myself and force my gaze back down, not willing the tears that have gathered at the corner of my eyes to fall.

“No, Mom, you don’t have to speak to Dad. I’m confident I’ll do well this year.” I grasp onto the last bit of positivity I can before it eludes me and clutch onto it as hard as I can.

“You sound very self-assured for someone who’s failed quite a few times,” she passively replies.

“I know, but this time, I?—”

“I have to go, but I really hope you don’t disappoint us again. It’s embarrassing not only to me, but to your father as well. Do better, Julianna. Love you.”

“Yes, Mom, I promise I’ll do better. Love you.”

She hangs up and my room fills with silence once again, but the silence lasts merely a second before her words echo in my head.

It’s really never been for you.

Your brains may not get you far.

Don’t disappoint us again.

Licking my dry lips, I lift them higher, refusing to let the quiver trap my bottom lip. I stand up straighter, not allowing myself to throw a pity party.

After setting my phone on the bed, I wipe my palms on my thighs and pick up the remote. I go to YouTube and I’m immediately greeted with my favorite YouTuber, Haptic.

He sometimes sings, plays the piano, or the guitar, but never shows his face. When he plays the piano, it seems like whatever is recording him is propped up so it only shows the keys and his hands. When he plays the guitar, only that’s shown and part of his torso.

He popped up on the homepage of my YouTube a few years ago. He had about ten followers and I was one of them, but over the years, he’s amassed many subscribers and now he has over 3.2 million.

He blew up one day after someone commented he has hot hands. I can’t say I blame them. He has extremely long fingers and the top of his sandy-beige hands are veiny.

That’s all the subscribers have going for them, but that’s enough for anyone with a hand kink. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m part of that club.

What can I say? He sings, he plays instruments, and has hot-looking hands, my dream guy.

I revel in the sound of his voice. Drown in the deep, raspy words that meddle into something soft, and as I do, the weight of the world lifts off. Even though I know it won’t last forever, I enjoy it for now, because once I step out of my room, I’ll be back to reality.