“Yeah. I had a date.”

“Must not have been a very good date. It’s not even nine and you’re headed home.”

I shrugged. Annie wasn’t my favorite person. She hung out with us a little at the beginning of the year. Until we all figured out she was one of those girls who would tell you to wear an unflattering sweater just so she could look better standing next to you.

“It’s still early. You should come out with me,” she suggested. My mind shot back to when Annie abandoned Em at a biker bar. She wasn’t the kind of girl to have your back when you went out.

The elevator doors slid open and we stepped inside. “Thanks, but I’ve got work to do.”

“On a Friday? Lame.”

“What are you up to?” I went for changing the subject back to Annie—always one of her favorite topics.

“Oh, you know . . . going to a certain club.” She lowered her voice to a whisper as she toyed with her straw, even though it was just the two of us in the elevator. “It’s going to be funnnn tonight. There are supposed to be some interesting games.”

“You mean your kink club?”

“It’s not my kink club. No one owns it.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s a place to go if you want to really live and experience whatever you want, whatever you feel like without judgment. A safe place to let go and lose control.”

A safe place to lose control? For some reason, an image of my mother frowning and shaking her head rose up in my mind. “There’s no such place,” I said.

Life was judgment. We lived. We made choices. If we weren’t judging ourselves, then others were. That’s just the way the world worked. Self-control was everything. It’s what kept us civilized.

Annie chuckled. The elevator slid open and we stepped out. “God, you are repressed. You have my number. Text me if you want to join.”

I watched her for a moment as she turned and headed down the corridor in the opposite direction from my suite. Somewhere on our floor someone was playing the latest Bruno Mars at full blast.

I entered my room and closed my door. Bruno fell to a low muffle. Emerson’s side was a mess, littered with clothes. She might have fallen in love and started taking life a little more seriously now, but her indecision regarding what to wear and her inability to hang clothes back up had not changed.

I flipped on the television and changed clothes, neatly folding and putting away my sweater and jeans. After tucking my boots into the corner of the closet, I reached for my phone to call Mom back. She hated it when I didn’t call back on the same day.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I watched a cop chase a bad guy across the screen as the phone rang in my ear. On the final ring, Mom picked up. “Georgia, hi!” Her voice was full of energy. Reminiscent of how she sounded on the intercom all those mornings in high school.

Attending the school where your mom worked as a principal had been less than fun. Thankfully, she adored Harris—everyone in my hometown did—or I never would have been asked out on a date. Not too many guys wanted to date the principal’s kid. Harris had been confident enough to not let it intimidate him. I’d loved him for that. Of course, his father was a city councilman then . . . and happened to be the current mayor now. My mother loved him for those reasons, too.

“How are you? How’s school?”

“Good, I’m—”

“Did you change your password? I was trying to get online and look at your current GPA.”

“No, Mom, I haven’t.”

I might be twenty years old, but my parents were footing the bill for school and still expected full access to my life—that included online viewing of my grades at any time during the semester.

“Hmm. Maybe I hit the caps button. I’ll try again later.” She took a breath and slid into the next topic. “Have you thought more about your summer plans? I’ve been talking with Greg Berenger, and he can get you on here at the bank. It would be a great way to get your foot in the door for when you graduate.”

And there it was. The expectation that I’d come home. Eventually. I’d finish college and start my career back in the bustling metropolis of Muskogee, Alabama.

“Um. I’m not sure yet. Still looking into a few things . . .”

“Georgia Parker Robinson.” She must have heard something in my voice because hers just got all principal-mode on me. Not to mention she was whipping out my full name. “This is your future. You need to take this seriously and not wait until the last minute.”

“Of course, Mom. I know.”

A pause fell. “Is this because of Harris? He won’t be here this summer, you know. His mother said he took an internship in Boston.”

“You spoke with his mother?” I couldn’t help it. My voice escaped in a squeak.

“I saw her at the store. What was I supposed to do? Ignore her?”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“We both agree that this is just a phase he’s going through . . . this other girl is just a fling—”

“Mother! You discussed us . . . her?”

Her is a girl I’ve never even met, but someone Harris started fooling around with a few weeks before he dumped me. It was such a cliché. But then wasn’t there truth in clichés? That’s why they existed.

“Don’t get upset. You and Harris will work this out—”

“I don’t want to work it out with him, Mom. He cheated on me. He broke up with me.”

“You’re both so young. You don’t understand yet. This will only make your relationship stronger down the road.”

“Mom, this might be hard to believe, but I don’t want to be with Harris anymore.”

“Oh, this is so unlike you, Georgia. You’re not the type to hang on to pointless anger.”

“What do you mean? Why is this so unlike me?” What was I like then? The kind of girl who would let a guy stomp all over her heart and then ask for seconds?

“You’ve never disappointed me before.”

And not marrying Harris would disappoint her? Was that her implication?

She continued, “You always make the right decisions. We raised you to be reliable.”

Boring. Harris’s word drifted through my mind just then. He’d called me boring when he broke up with me. Oh, there had been other words. Other accusations laid at my feet, but that one stuck in my head the most.