Boyfriend Glasses: Greta Bell Psychological Thriller, #1

For Dave, who is thankfully nothing like anyone in this book.

PART ONE

MY BLAKE

CHAPTER 1

SOME PEOPLE SAY THERE’S NO such thing as love at first sight. They’re wrong.

The first time I saw Blake … well, it was like his heart was a magnet and mine was molten nickel. I could feel the fire of it singe my skin as it left my body. I could see its hot cord twining orange out of my chest, melting its way directly toward his. When our hearts met, they fused. Mine wrapped around his, holding him forever.

I knew it was love because the first time I saw him, the very first time, Blake did something no one else had ever done before. Blake made me forget all about Johnny.

We were at a geeks/Greeks party at the Sigma Phi Upsilon house before I knew to call it SigUp. It was the first real party of many that night, the first party night of the year. We were drunk on freedom and electric with high expectations for our future. Walking in there with Amber like we belonged, like it was no big deal, like they threw parties just so girls like us would come? It made me feel wild and alive for the first time since Johnny. It was everything I hoped college would be. It was everything high school wasn’t.

Blake was … all Blake. There’s no other way to say it. There’s no other way to define all the little parts that add up to him being him—his confident smile, his body tall and statuesque, the absolute command he had of the whole room. Dark hair and tan skin and eyes like peridot: green and shimmering and endless. He was all Blake.

Every single girl in the room was looking at him. Every single one. Why wouldn’t they? He was perfect.

But Blake didn’t pay attention to any of them. He knew what he wanted, and he knew he would get it. And what he wanted was me. Right from the beginning. He could feel me there, in that room, feel our connection just like I could.

But he saw Amber first. And he got confused.

He walked right up to her like I wasn’t even there. He didn’t say a word, just held her eyes and took her hand and led her into a corner. Everyone stared as he took his fake black glasses off and put them on her and kissed her. They looked like the perfect couple. But we would have been better, so much better.

Amber wore those glasses all night, a trophy of his love. Her cornsilk eyelashes brushed against them, every flutter reminding her she was his choice. His.

I wanted to rip those glasses off her face, just to touch something he’d touched.

But I don’t want to anymore. I don’t have to. I’m wearing them right now.

And Amber is dead.

PART TWO

MY AMBER

CHAPTER 2

I’VE SPENT THE LAST THREE months working out and studying every fashion magazine I can get my hands on. My desk back home is stacked high with issues of In Style, Vogue, Marie Claire, everything—even teen ones like Seventeen and Ms., each of them highlighted and dog-eared like a textbook. Between stocking shelves in my dad’s gas station and sliding change through bulletproof glass, I scoured them for beauty tips. Then I took every penny of my earnings to buy blush and shoes and haircuts from the best salons all the way in the city.

I have been plucked and dyed and polished until I am those glossy images. My tangle of red hair has been tamed into smooth curls that bounce down my back. My eyebrows are perfectly tweezed, and my lips perfectly plumped. I am a butterfly emerged from her cocoon. I am I am I am. You wouldn’t even recognize me now.

But Johnny will. I can’t wait for him to.

It’s all for him, of course. For Johnny. I thought maybe if I looked more like those girls in the magazines, more like that girl, Johnny would see me as I really am. He would see all I was meant to be and know, just like I do, that we’re perfect for each other. With every new shade of lipstick and every new summer dress, I’d stare out of my glass cage in the gas station, looking toward the parking lot, hoping to see his beat up white Impala drive in.

He never came.

Then I found out his family moved, and no one would tell me where.

I still look for him, but now it’s on my drives into the city, in the streets and grocery stores and coffee shops of the towns that line the highway. How far could they have gone? Maybe far. It hurts to think about.

Everyone says it’s time to put Johnny aside, but they don’t know about true love. I believe, deep in my heart, that we’re meant to be together. And people who are meant to be together will find each other eventually.

In the meantime, I have to become his perfect match. I have to go to college and be successful and have the kinds of friends that will let him know there is only one path.

His destiny.

Me.

I look for Johnny constantly on this drive, this big, important drive all the way from my tiny town in the rural Colorado plains. It marks the beginning of a whole new life for me. College! A fresh start!

But it also takes me so far away from where we met that it makes me nervous. I’ll be in the southeast corner of Pennsylvania. What if he comes back for me? What would my parents tell him?

Probably nothing. They never liked Johnny.

I stop at a gas station even though I don’t need gas. It’s part of my routine now. Johnny could be there. You never know.

This gas station is the last one before I get there. I take my time filling up, count until twenty cars have passed in and out of the lot before going inside. It keeps me here longer, gives me a better chance of seeing him.

Inside, I wander every aisle, picking up and putting down all kinds of stuff before deciding on nothing. I’m not even really looking at the items. I’m scanning the aisles, watching the door every time I hear it ding. But I don’t see his face.

At the restrooms, I pretend to go through the wrong door by mistake, then stand there fake-frozen, scanning the men’s room for his back, his hands, his face. An annoyed businessman turns his hips away from me fast, spraying the already filthy wall. A huge trucker catches my eye and chuckles. I turn and go. Johnny isn’t in there.

To sell the lie, I go into the women’s room even though I don’t need to go and sit in the stall for a few more minutes than anyone needs to. Then I change into my dress.

By the time I leave, none of the men are still lingering in the store. I take one last look around just to be sure Johnny hasn’t come in while I’ve been inside, then drive away.

I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter. When we’re supposed to find each other, we will.

CHAPTER 3

THE GRAY BLOCK BUILDING LOOMS large against a bright blue sky dotted with tall oaks just now kissed with auburn. The building is twenty stories high and looks like it was built in the sixties. The sign below the flat awning reads: Candel Hall. My dorm. I park in one of the last available spots, far away from the entrance.

There are students everywhere, hauling tubs of clothes and bright new bedding, posters of their favorite bands rolled into tight tubes over their shoulders. One boy has brown hair, cut looser and freer just like Johnny’s, but it’s not him. He’s not even close to as beautiful as Johnny.

My Johnny, my Johnny, my beautiful boy. No one will ever be like you.

A pretty blond girl walks ahead of a rolling cart, which is being pushed by her dad. It’s packed with teal-colored everything: a teal lamp with a teal toile shade, a teal chair covered in teal fur, a teal flowered rug, a whiteboard with a teal border, and a teal shower tote with a teal loofah swinging from the handle.

I’m suddenly worried. I’ve only been thinking about what I looked like, not what my room is supposed to look like. The baby pink chintz quilt my grandmother sewed by hand, the one that’s been sitting dutifully on my bed since I was four, suddenly seems shabby by comparison. How did I not think of this?

My throat gets tight, and I have to suck in a heap of air to calm down. I have to do something. I have to do something. I have to—

I can fix this.

There’s a mall five miles away. I’ll run over and buy all new things and ditch my old, ratty trunk in a dumpster.

How much is that going to cost? I perform a quick tally of the cash in my wallet: I don’t have enough. I’ve spent nearly every penny just to get here and will need to get a part-time job as soon as I can if I want to do anything but go to classes and eat in the cafeteria.

There’s the money my dad gave me for textbooks, five new one hundred dollar bills my mom told me would be the last money I’d ever see from them. But classes start Monday. There’s no way I can get a job before Monday. So what’s worse? Making a bad first impression? Or struggling through classes without books for a couple weeks?

I can catch up. I’ve always been a good student. I can talk to my professors or read the books in the bookstore or try to borrow them from other students.

What I can’t do is let people see my old, awful things. If they saw that quilt, they’d know right away. They’d only see that other girl, the one I used to be. The ugly, awkward, high-school nothing. They wouldn’t see the person I am now, the one I’ve worked so hard to become.

Screw the books.

My key is in the ignition, the rabbit’s foot dangling and ready, when there’s a tapping on my window.

Greta? My aunt’s face stares down at me, round and grinning and surrounded by springy brown curls. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. Not now. I roll down the window.

Hey, chicky-poo! You excited? How was your drive?

Good, I say with a forced smile. I didn’t know you’d be here. I had thought, in fact, I’d be able to avoid Aunt Peggy for at least a few weeks.

I didn’t want to go to Culford University. It’s not a bad school. In fact, it’s a prestigious school—top-tier and second only to the Ivy Leagues. But it has no real film program and is, therefore, the last place Johnny will go. But my parents refused to pay for college at all, so my options were limited. When Aunt Peggy volunteered to cover my costs, going to Culford (her alma mater) was her only condition.

She only lives a couple miles away from campus, so I had to put up a fight to live in the dorms. She wanted me to stay with her so she could keep an eye on me. It was my insistence that dorm life was a quintessential part of the college experience that finally convinced her—not my good grades in high school or all my efforts to prove I could handle myself after what happened with Johnny. I told her living in the dorms was something I needed to get a fresh start. And wasn’t that the whole point of going to college at all? Besides, I’d told her, she’d still be nearby. She’d still be there just in case I needed her. What a joke. I knew I wouldn’t.

I wanted to surprise you! Your mom told me you were arriving today. Of course she did. Aunt Peggy is playing this off as nothing, but it was probably a plan hatched up by her and my mom. Mom, still trying to interfere even though she practically shoved me out the door. Did you hit some traffic on the highway? I thought you’d be here sooner.

Yes, traffic, I say, trying to paste a smile on my face. An accident on I-70 just before Topeka. Shut down both lanes. I was stuck overnight. There was no accident, of course, just my searching. Aunt Peggy can’t know about the searching.

I hope no one was hurt.

I don’t know. The ambulances were gone by the time I got there. An awkward moment passes. She seems to be waiting for me to do something, but I can’t tell what.

Ready to check out your new digs?

Actually, I just realized I need to run to the store for a few things. It was so nice for you to come out to see me, though. Can I meet you for dinner sometime this week?

The store? There’re only a few minutes left before they close the check-in desk for the day, honey. You’ve got to get in there, or you’re gonna get stuck bunking with me for the night. She laughs, even though she knows I fought against living with her.

I glance at the clock. Shit. She’s right.

Of course. I lost track of the time. Reluctantly, I get out of the car. Sorry. It’s been a long day.

You must be tired, all that driving. What’d it take you? Two days? Three?

Three. I turn to walk toward the building. She motions toward the lone trunk in my back seat, an old thing that used to belong to my grandmother, left to rot in the basement for decades.

Don’t you want to take a load in on our way? she says.

That’s okay. I’d rather see the room first. I might not bring everything in.

What do you mean? You brought it all this way. What else would you do with it?

I didn’t mean—I meant right away. I just want to make sure there’s room for everything in the elevator.

It doesn’t look like you brought much. I’m sure it’ll fit.

I don’t want to take it up right now, okay? I say, unable to hide the edge in my voice. She stares at me, searching my face for something. The other girl. The old me.

I force myself to soften my face. To smile. Sorry. I’m just really tired. And really excited to see my room. Would you mind if we go up first?

Okay, honey, sure, she says. We walk toward the door. You know, I’m really glad you picked Culford. It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other better.

Me too, I say as she puts her arm around me. Me too.

As if it was a choice.

CHAPTER 4

FLOOR-TO-CEILING MIRRORS PANEL the elevator. I check myself while the floors tick their way up to seventeen. My lipstick is still perfect. I smooth down the flyaways in my curls. And then I notice the wrinkles in my dress.

It should be flawless. I only changed ten minutes ago in the restroom of the gas station for precisely this reason. But the short drive has ironed creases under my rear and at my middle, pointing out exactly where the material stretches to accommodate my flaws. I’ve slimmed down a lot since graduation, but I still have some weight to lose, and now the dress screams it. I pull on the fabric to smooth it down, but it sets back into unflattering lines as soon as I release it.

You look great, Aunt Peggy says.

No, I don’t, I say.

Relax. She’s going to love you.

But what if she doesn’t?

The elevator dings and we’re here. There’s a clang of activity in the narrow corridor. Students and their parents carry boxes and hangers full of clothes down the halls. People seem to stream continuously in and out of rooms with no apparent pattern. An acne-pocked blond boy races past, another guy shouting at his heels, and his shoulder knocks mine as he passes.

Sorry, he shouts without even looking back at me. Will I be invisible here too? Maybe everyone was right. Maybe I’m not ready for this.

Come on, my Aunt says. It’s only then I realize I’m standing still. She tugs my hand, and I follow her toward room 1717. The door is ajar. Aunt Peggy taps on it and enters.

Hello? she calls. I yank my hand away from hers just in time.

There’s a girl standing on one of the two beds, hanging a corkboard loaded with pictures of her friends. Pretty friends. Happy friends. Pink sweat-pantsed friends and cheerleader friends and friends in lavish prom dresses. I have no photos. None. There was nothing to take photos of.

Two older women, one who looks like her mom and one who looks like her grandmother, unpack clothes into a wardrobe standing against a wall. They all turn to look at us.

You must be Greta! the girl says and hops off the bed. Her name is Amber, which I only know from my dorm assignment letter. She is blond and southern and perfect, and I am terrified. I had hoped she was pretty, had hoped I wouldn’t get stuck with someone who would make things hard, but I didn’t expect her to be this pretty. She must think I’m disgusting with my wrinkled dress and my frizzy red hair and my cheap purse. I don’t even know what to say.

But before I can think of anything or even nod my head that yes, I am Greta, she throws her arms around me and hugs me tight. She’s stronger than she looks.

Sorry. I’m a hugger, she says in a sweet twang. "You’re gonna have to get used to that ‘cause I can’t seem to stop myself. I love a good hug. I also love Ryan Gosling and coconut anything and all animals. Except cats. I’m deathly allergic. It’s the tragedy of my life. She finally lets me go. And my name’s Amber, but you probably put that together already. She motions to the beds, I hope you don’t mind, but I took the one on the left. They looked pretty much the same, so I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal either way. But if you’d rather have it I can totally move my stuff over to the other side. It’s no big deal at all. I also thought we might get a little more space in here if we bunked them. I saw some other girls do that down the hall. Do you like top or bottom?"

I am dazzled by the aqua clarity of her eyes and couldn’t force my mouth to open even if I knew the right words to say.

Give the girl a chance to catch her breath, darlin’, the one who’s probably Amber’s mom says, You’re scaring the poor thing to death. She steps forward in her pressed linen pants (no wrinkles—how?!), grinning wide underneath a perfect blond bob. I’m Evelyn, Amber’s momma. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

Don’t say ‘momma,’ Momma. It makes me sound like an infant.

"I am her momma, whether she likes it or not, and this is my momma, Bunny." Amber’s grandmother steps forward, as perfectly manicured and made up as her daughter and granddaughter, her short hair set in an elegant silver wave against her cheek.

Nice to meet you, I say. All of you.

It is a pleasure to meet you, sweetheart, Bunny says, clutching my hand in both of hers. She hooks her elbow around mine and leans in conspiratorially. "Don’t worry. Amber’s not as bad as she seems at first. She can actually be quite pleasant when she makes an effort. If she makes an effort, that is."

Granny!