“To Tristan Vanderbilt,” he reads, his voice so commanding that most everyone in class stops to listen. “Thank you for being a good friend. I’m glad we could overcome our differences. Love, Marnye Reed.” He snaps my name off his tongue like a curse … or a promise. My heart thunders as I stare at him and wonder if he’s going to chuck my note in the trash next. “Thanks, Marnye. I love it.” Tristan snatches a single red rose from the bouquet, tucks it behind his ear, and then hands the rest to some random first-year girl. He comes over to stand in front of me, and pulls a gold box from his
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