Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss novel Chapter 31

Yvonne was driven to school in an old, black Toyota SUV. It was over ten years old and the most ‘modest’ vehicle in the Spencer family’s garage. The driver, clearly on purpose, chose the most congested route. After nearly three hours in traffic, they finally arrived at the academy.

“Miss Spencer, do you need me to help you inside?” the driver asked, but he didn't move from his spot beside the car. Yvonne had even had to haul her own suitcase out of the trunk.

“No, thank you for the ride,” Yvonne said with a polite smile. But as she lifted the suitcase, her hand “slipped,” and the heavy bag landed squarely on the driver’s foot.

Though small, the suitcase was heavy. The driver doubled over in pain, not daring to move his foot, wondering if his toes were broken.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, that was an accident. I guess I’m not as strong as I thought. I should have asked you for help after all,” Yvonne said with a breezy, insincere apology. Then she turned and casually strolled into the campus, dragging her suitcase behind her.

She was the last to arrive at her dorm room.

It was a four-person suite, and the other three were already there. Her roommates, Tina and Luna, were fawning over Teresa and Queena.

“Queena, is that a limited edition Chanel? It looks amazing on you. You look like a princess.”

“My mother picked it out for me,” Queena replied with a smile.

“She has wonderful taste, and you have such grace. You definitely get it from her,” Tina gushed.

“Mrs. Spencer, Yvonne has always been a loner at school,” Luna added, stirring the pot. “She never participates in any of our department’s activities. Is she this reclusive at home too? What’s the point of being smart? We’re in the acting program. What kind of roles can you even play with that attitude? A nerd? It’s pathetic.”

“What roles I play is none of your business,” Yvonne shot back. “Mind your own business and worry about yourself.” She bent down and started unpacking her books and stationery, arranging them neatly on her desk.

“Yvonne, is that any way to talk to your classmates? Have you no manners?” Teresa scolded, frowning.

Yvonne, who had just picked up a cloth to wipe her desk, slammed it back down with a sharp crack, her patience finally snapping. “The last time the department organized a hiking trip, they intentionally left me behind, taking my phone and my map. If a local villager hadn’t found me, I would have died on that mountain. I don’t participate in activities because I don’t want to be murdered. Is that what you call being ‘reclusive’?”