When I was young, I thought nothing could hurt me. I thought I was invincible. My whole life was ahead of me and I had a lot of plans. Plans for high school. Plans for college. Plans to be with Tristan the rest of my life. He was my perfect match. My soul mate. Or so I thought.

But then I got older and realized that it was all crap. I was living a lie. Lost in my own delusion. Tristan was not my soul mate. He was just my boyfriend. Someone who had broken my heart. And now, I don’t know if I believe in the whole idea of soul mate.

And for all the reasons that I hate him, that’s the thing that makes me hate him most.

“Hey, hey,” I hear someone saying far in the distance. “Hey, excuse me.”

I turn away from the window and come face-to-face with tall, blonde, blue-eyed hottie.

“Are you my new roommate?” he asks. His eyes twinkle in the sunlight that streams in through the living room’s window. I nod. He gives me a warm hug. Introduces himself as Dylan Waterhouse.

Dylan is from Connecticut. I’ve never been to Connecticut. Immediately, I think of the Gilmore Girls and an old romantic comedy with Julia Roberts called Mystic Pizza. I imagine Dylan growing up in one of those picturesque coastal towns where leaves turn gorgeous colors of red and gold every fall.

“No,” Dylan laughs when I tell him. “I grew up in Greenwich. It’s a bit different. No fishing for me. We spent our summers in the Hamptons and my dad has an apartment on Central Park.

“So, where are you from, gorgeous?” he asks, tilting his chin toward me. His arms hang loosely on his sides, but I can still see that he’s ripped. For a second, I don’t get it. And then, it hits me.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Yeah, maybe. Why?”

I roll my eyes. I pretend that I’m annoyed, but too effectively. I hate to admit it, but I like the attention. Dylan is very cute. And rich, apparently.

“Because we’re roommates, remember?” I say, pushing him aside slightly. My hand lands on his chest. His pecks are hard and warm. I linger there a little too long.

“Hey! You’re back!” Juliet walks out of our room. “Oh, and you met Dylan!”

I nod. There’s a knock at the door and a man who’s old enough to be Dylan’s father walks in, laden down with expensive looking suitcases. He’s got jet-black hair and serious eyes. He’s clearly out of breath.

“Oh, you must be Dylan’s father. Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” I say when the man puts down his bags. Dylan doesn’t make a move to help him. I wait for his dad to reprimand him, but he doesn’t.

“Oh, no, miss, I’m not Dylan’s father,” he says.

“You can just put the bags in there.” Dylan points to his room.

“He’s not your dad?” I whisper.

Dylan flashes a crooked smile. “No, he’s the chauffeur.”

“You’re chauffeur dropped you off? Shit, and I thought my parents were uninvolved,” Juliet pipes in.

She proceeds to go on a rant about how ridiculous her parents are for not even coming to the school. She’s from Staten Island and apparently taking a ferry over and then a cab all the way up to 116^th Street is too much trouble.

“What’s the problem?” Juliet mimics her mom, giving her a raspy smoker’s voice. “You don’t think we’ve been to Upper West Side before?”

“Eh, your parents at least have the ferry as an excuse. My parents are separated and my dad’s been living in his Park Avenue apartment. Still didn’t bother to come by. But he did act like him lending me his chauffeur was a big deal this morning.”

What I quickly learn is that in New York, there’s a big difference between old and new money. Juliet’s dad owns a chain of laundromats and a few apartment buildings. Her dad went to CUNY for a semester, but dropped out to start his business. Her mom is way younger than her dad, and his fourth wife. Dylan’s parents met at Princeton. He’s rebelling by not going to Princeton. His dad runs some sort of pharmaceutical contract company and he’s also a practicing attorney. Graduated from Yale Law School.

I have no idea why both Juliet and Dylan give me a breakdown of their parents’ education and background immediately upon meeting me. Is this an East Coast thing? Probably, I decide. Back in LA, people are different. Education matters less than people you know.

“So, what do you think you’re going to major in?” I ask Dylan. He laughs. I think he knows that I’m just following standard operating procedures of meeting someone new at college. What other way is there to evaluate the person from head to toe and make all sorts of inappropriate assumptions of who they are as human beings?

“Not sure yet. Leaning toward history, I think. I’m planning on going to law school after. So history sounds good, I guess.”

“Hey, me too!” Juliet says. “I just love Roman and Greek civilizations. They’re so fascinating, right?”

Dylan’s unimpressed. “I like 20^th century better.”

“Is that history or poli sci?” she asks.

We take a moment to consider the notion. I hate to admit it, but I agree. In school, we didn’t even reach the 20^th century. Instead, we kept learning about Columbus, the founding of America, and the 1800s.

My eyes wander over to the back and I see Tristan standing there. His hair is falling slightly into his face. He casually leans on the doorframe the way models do in magazines. Look at me, aren’t I hot? But not in that totally obvious way? I’m hot, but I don’t really know it. Except that I do. That’s what that look says. Even if the guy doesn’t say it out loud. Especially if he doesn’t.

Dylan and Juliet continue their banter, completely oblivious to us. I stare at him. He says nothing. I can’t believe that less than three weeks ago, I could just go over there and plant a big wet kiss on those luscious and utterly kissable lips. And now I can’t. It’s feels so arbitrary. It hasn’t been that long at all and just because our status has changed, suddenly we’re strangers with nothing to say to each other. No. We’re strangers with a million things to say to each other. A million things we can’t or don’t say.

“Oh hey, Tristan! You’re back. Good,” Dylan says. “I was just wondering if any of you are hungry? I know this awesome pizza place down the street. They serve slices as big as regular-sized pizzas at other places. Their pizza’s delicious.”

“I’m starving,” Juliet says.

“Me too,” Tristan says after a moment. I search his face trying to figure out what he thinks I should do. But his expression is blank. Unreadable.

“No, I’m fine. I got a lot to do,” I finally say.

“Awe, c’mon, Alice. Please come.” Dylan puts his arm around my shoulder as if I’m his oldest friend. “Pretty please?”

“Yeah, c’mon,” Juliet says. “It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know.” I stand my ground.

“This is our first official activity as suite mates and you have to be a part of it.” The tone in Dylan’s voice changes. He’s more serious now. But still joking.

“Listen, if she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to go,” Tristan says. It sounds like he’s taking my side, but something in the way that he says it irks me. He’s the one who dumped me. Why should I be the one staying home and not going out? Fuck him.

“Okay, I’ll go,” I say.

“Awesome!” Dylan jumps up in excitement. He wraps his arms around me and gives me a big kiss on my cheek.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tristan’s crestfallen face. All of a sudden, I feel as light as a feather.