Keyframe

Clairvoyant

"This is your life; there's no way to run from it.

The doubt in your brain, or the pain in your stomach.

I only have one complaint at the moment:

Don't paint me black when I used to be golden."

- "Clairvoyant," The Story So Far (2013)

Jordan

"I like it." Alex looks around at my new apartment now that it's fully furnished, shifting his mouth to the side. "You should thank your agent. And your interior designer, of course."

"I don't know about that," I grumble, collapsing on my couch. "It'll do, but...it's definitely not Fifth Avenue."

I've been looking for apartments since move-in day, and it's taken months for me to stop shooting down every option in sight. However, once it became clear to my real estate agent that money was no object for me, the pickings got better.

I decided on this apartment a month ago, but only after endlessly pleading with my father to let me put down any kind of roots in California. It's the most expensive by far, but a small price to pay for the only living space that's halfway bearable to me. Even then, I had to bring in an interior designer and have all my books flown over from New York before it felt remotely like a home.

The place is painfully nouveau-riche—modern with big windows, an open-concept floor plan, and sleek interior design. I know it's a big ask for the recently-bloomed Silicon Valley, but I would have preferred something more classic if I had the chance.

"Well you still got it, didn't you?" Alex answers sarcastically, turning over his shoulder. "Pre-war penthouses aren't the norm around here, and you're not exactly a real estate agent's...easiest client."

I scoff as he goes to the balcony, soaking in my last moments on the couch before following him. When I reach the sliding glass door, I slow down a little so I can take in what's in front of me.

The apartment is nice, with an even nicer view of Palo Alto and the mountains around us. I might hate on California with every waking breath, but it certainly tops New York when it comes to natural beauty.

Plus, if the past few months are anything to go by, my chances of dragging both Alex and Lily back to New York with me every summer are slim to none. Might as well spend my time here comfortably while I work on changing that.

Alex shoots me a glance when I join him, resting his elbows on the balcony railing.

"I guess you can tell Ash that he finally has the room to himself."

"Finally," I echo, following suit. "It'll be good for both of us."

"Whatever you say," he mumbles, still staring at the view. "All you do is complain about him, but it sounds like he's really just trying his best to be nice to you. I'm sure he'll miss you—even if you treat him like dirt. And who knows—you might end up missing him too."

"Oh, cut the sappy shit; you actually like your roommate," I shoot back. "Besides, it's not in my blood to share a room with anyone—much less a bathroom with a dozen strangers. Dorms just...aren't for me."

While Alex adjusted seamlessly to the torture that is sharing a room with a stranger and a bathroom with even more of them, I've been counting the days until I can end my suffering. Technically, I'm still required to live on campus as a freshman, but what Stanford doesn't know can't hurt them. I'll be living in the dorms on paper, but spending my time here instead of with Asher.

He's nice, but he's too nice, so much so that it creeps me out. He tries his best to be my friend, yet he won't just take the hint that I'm not interested. At least he won't have to worry about trying to engage me in conversation or invite me anywhere any more.