The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

“Yeah, from the Grammys,” he growls. “Who wouldn’t use a picture of themselves at the Grammys?”

I wouldn’t. But that’s also because I have no interest in throwing on a fancy gown and getting my picture taken at award shows. I could’ve gone with them to the ceremony last year—Mom wrote an album for a new indie rock trio that was nominated for several Grammys—but that’s more Wyatt’s scene than mine.

“Whatever. Clearly I’m not going to get any support from my beloved sister.”

“Beloved,” I echo with a snort. “That’s rich.”

I reach the front doors of Hartford House and stop to tie a shoelace that’s come undone.

“Anyway, I gotta go now,” I tell him after I hop to my feet. “I’ve got a ton of plans today.”

“Later, traitor.”

I’m on the road not long after, driving to my best friend’s place in town to take advantage of the sunny, humid morning.

Diana lives in a new apartment complex called Meadow Hill, which is inaptly named because it’s neither in a meadow nor on a hill. Hastings, Massachusetts, comprises mostly flat residential streets, little parks, and wooded trails. Still, I love this new housing development. White-railed balconies overlook a massive landscaped courtyard that features a huge pool and rows of lounge chairs with red-and white-striped umbrellas. It’s heavenly.

Instead of her voice crackling over the intercom outside her lobby, I hear it wafting down from her balcony.

I look up to find her waving at me. “Don’t bother coming up! I’m heading down! Meet you at the pool!”

I shift my oversized beach bag to my other shoulder and follow the flower-lined path toward the rear of the property. I’m shocked to find the pool area devoid of people. Not a single soul there.

Diana dashes out the back doors in denim shorts and a bright pink bikini top. Her platinum blond hair is in a high ponytail that swings from side to side as she bounds toward me.

If there’s one word to describe Diana Dixon, it’s firecracker. Barely over five feet, she possesses a scary amount of energy, a flair for the dramatic, and a complete and total lust for life. She’s one of my favorite people in the world.

“Where is everyone?” I demand when she reaches me. I gesture at the empty pool. “How is nobody taking advantage of this sunshine?”

“People have jobs, Gigi. Not everyone can be ladies of leisure like you and I.”

That makes me laugh. She’s right. I keep forgetting this isn’t college housing. Actual adults live here. Diana’s the youngest of the tenants, in fact.

During freshman year, she roomed with me and Mya in a triple suite, but at the end of second semester, her aunt passed away and left Diana this apartment. I was bummed to see her go, but really, I don’t blame her for fleeing the dorms. She’s a homeowner now, with her own private space and a mortgage completely paid for by her late aunt’s estate.

I suppose I could’ve been in a similar position—my parents offered to rent or buy me an off-campus apartment when I started at Briar. But the idea didn’t sit right with me. They already pay my tuition; I passed on a scholarship because it felt wrong taking an opportunity away from someone who might not be able to afford an Ivy, when I come from a wealthy family.

On the same token, I don’t want extra perks thanks to my rich parents. Living in the dorms is cheaper than off campus because everything’s included, so if my parents were already going to fund my entire college experience, I feel better not accepting any more money than needed.

“I hope you brought sunscreen, ’cause I’m all out.”

I lift the corner of my bag. “I got you covered, babe.”

“You always do.”

We lay our towels on two loungers. I brought spray-on sunscreen with me, so we take turns with the can, spraying ourselves while the sun beats down on our heads.

“How was cheer practice this morning?” I ask her. “Is that new chick still angling for your job?”

Diana’s a flyer on the cheerleading team. The top girl, or at least she was last year when they came in second at nationals. Yesterday she texted me she was worried she might lose that position to some new freshman dynamo whose high school team won the last four high school national championships.

“Margo? Donesies,” Diana says flatly. Her eyes convey regret rather than relief. “She tore her ACL at practice this morning. Our trainer says she’s out for the whole year.”

I whistle in dismay. “Shit. That’s brutal.”

Injuries are a fact of life for student athletes, but sometimes it’s easy to forget how fickle the human body can be. One minute you’re vying for top girl, the next you’re sidelined for an entire cheer season.

“Yeah, I feel bad for her.”

Kicking off my sandals, I grab my bottle of water and sit at the edge of the concrete pool deck. The water is warmer than I expect when I dip my feet in.

I glance over my shoulder. “Are you still dating both those guys?”

Diana ditches her flip-flops and comes to join me. “Oh, plot twist. It’s three now.”

“Jesus. That kind of multitasking would make me break out in hives.”

She heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Yes. It’s starting to be a bit much. You have to help me decide who to pick.”

“Can’t we date them all?”

“We have been! I’ve been trying to narrow it down from two to one for the last few weeks, and instead, I just ended up adding one to the list! But I’d like to start getting naked, so it’s time to pick. I can only give one of them my flower.”

I choke midsip of my water. “Yes, your treasured flower.”

Diana’s no virgin, but she’s picky as hell about who she sleeps with. She also likes to make me laugh by using the most absurd language to describe sex and body parts.

Her green eyes dance playfully. “Anyway, I need your help. Help me decide.”

“All right, let’s hear it. One of them is the guy from your squad, right? The stunt guy? What was his name again? Actually, I can’t remember either of their names. Wow. My memory sucks.”

“Nope, I’m not reminding you. I don’t want to bias you. Because the third guy has a really bad name.”

“What! What is it! Please tell me. Is it Roger? Biff? Is it Carl?”

“I’ll tell you at the end. After you pick.”

“You’re such a tease. Okay. Suitor A. The cheerleader.”

She nods. “He’s so athletic. So dedicated. Really funny. Cocky but not arrogant. Sex appeal galore. Only con is that he sings everything.”

“Like he sings a lot of songs?”

“No.” She groans. “He sings everything. Like, ‘I a-am go-ing to chew-ooh some guuuum nowwww!’”

Her musical rendition has me keeling over in laughter. “Oh my God. I love him.”

“It’s legit one of the most obnoxious things I’ve ever experienced in my life. Suitor B is an actual musician and he doesn’t sing nearly as much.”

“Oh, I remember the musician. He wrote you that song and tried to rhyme Diana with banana.” I firmly shake my head. “No love song should have the word banana in it. Also, your family’s from Savannah. Missed opportunity right there.”

“He’s not a great rhymer,” she concedes. “He’s also not very funny. He doesn’t get my jokes and he’s super intense.”

“The intensity is a musician thing.”

“I know, but I like a good sense of humor in a guy.”

“Is Suitor C funny?”

“Oh my gosh, yes. And he’s sort of dorky. He’s a physics student. Really smart, but not condescending. Super sweet. He’s not my usual type, but we bumped into each other at the Coffee Hut last week, and I was oddly attracted to him.”

“Con?”

“Sort of insecure. He constantly asks about my exes, but then gets pissy when I answer any of his questions.”

“That’s annoying, but at least he’s not singing the questions.”

“Very good point. Oh, he’s also a bit older,” she reveals.

“How much older?”