He lets out a snort. "Uh, more like ‘or something’."
"Hmm. So, what exactly were you doing then?"
He studies me for a moment, contemplating the truth. His pupils dilate just before he lies. "Meh." He casually lifts a shoulder. "I was stealing a password from a Post-It note."
What? I glance to the window he stood at and drag my eyes back to him. There's no way; clearly, he's pulling my leg here. He doesn't know me, why would he trust me with the truth?
"Ha-ha. Right. Well, you don't need to worry about me. I never saw you. You were never here." I wiggle back into my original position in the window and wink.
He stares at me in wonder for a beat then clears his throat. "Well, I gotta run. It was nice meeting ya, Blondie. Maybe I'll see ya around."
Heat floods my cheeks at the nickname. "Just look for the hair," I add as he salutes me and then slips back out the door as quietly as he came.
My eyes blur as I stare at the door for several minutes.
What the hell just happened?
The next day, I still can't seem to shake that oddly entertaining meeting with Ryker. I really want to know what he was doing. Whatever it was, he probably doesn't want people to know about it. Maybe he would get in a lot of trouble if he were to get caught.
That thought has led me down the path of wondering what he does in his spare time. Does he do unsavory things a lot? Or was yesterday, whatever he was peeking in on, a one-off?
No, something tells me he's probably sneaking around doing things he probably shouldn't more often than not. Consider my interest piqued. I've never meant someone "bad" before.
Not that Ryker Stone is bad per se, but hanging around Ryker might lead to an adventure. Oh, how badly I'd love an adventure right now.
Sigh.
My feet shuffle against the concrete as I wait in line at Jumping Joes, the on-campus coffeehouse, waiting to place my order. Cameron is meeting me, but he must be running late.
Cameron 's been at Camelot University since freshman year, so maybe he knows who Ryker is. The student body isn't massive; there are only about three thousand students. There's a chance, since they are both in their third year, that they've crossed paths.
I'm the next person in line when someone next to me brushes my arm. Turning, I can't hide the smile I get when I see my oldest friend.
"Cam, there you are. For a second, I thought you might have forgotten our standing coffee date."
"Coffee-s’moffee. You don't even drink coffee, Zella."
I shrug; he has a point.
"Do you want me to order for you?" I ask. "You go grab us a seat. It's really busy in here today." I ask and scan the open floor. With less single, small tables, the shop is full of long wooden tables, both short and high top. The only tables for two are up against the walls in a booth slash table set up.
"Sure. Get me that new Enchanting Frappé everyone's drinking," he says.
I confirm I heard him with a nod as I step up to the counter to order, he disappears behind me to find us a place to sit.
"I'll take a large white peppermint hot chocolate and a large Enchanting Frappé, please."
The barista runs my student ID card, and I move to the pick-up line to wait for our drinks. A few minutes later, with a hot and cold drink in hand, I find Cameron, who's managed to get an end seat at one of the long tables. With all my hair, sometimes I feel like I take up too much room when I have to squeeze in between people already camped out in their seats.
I hand the frappé over to Cameron, and he takes a sip.
"How is it? It sure is fun looking." I nod at the cup, it's all pink, purples, and is that... glitter?
"It's dreamlike, actually." He sucks down more. "Want to try it?"
"No, thank you. One taste may put me into a sugar comma." I take a sip of my own drink. The WPHC is my go-to drink, even when it's hot out. My mother never let me get café drinks growing up, but she did buy me those little hot chocolate packets, which I still love.
"Maybe, but this drink is worth it. I feel like it has magical powers. Maybe I'll turn into some mythical creature. It's official. This is my favorite drink." By the looks of it, I might have to agree because it's almost gone.
"You're always changing your favorite drink. It never lasts more than a month. You're like a chameleon, always changing your tastes based on what's popular."
He thinks about my statement, puckers his lips, then nods. "True story."
We chat briefly about our day and our shared class tonight. Cameron has been my best friend for years, ever since he moved in next door to me when we were seven. Before I transferred to CamU, we talked via email and text nearly every day. Now that we are on the same campus, we get to see each other all the time. Somehow, I’m lucky enough to end up sharing a class with him: Western Culture and Humanities.
It's a core class, one of those classes all graduates are required to take. The class is normally full of sophomore and juniors, but if I'd been here before my third year, I would have taken it as soon as I could. I love the study of human culture, and since I'm majoring in art, learning about culture and art in history is my jam. While this humanities class isn't hard, it's a lot of work since it's a one day a week, ninety-minute night class.
"I've heard that Professor Evans hands out pretty thorough study guides for tests though, so that's good. I think we need to focus more during our study sessions with Wells." Cameron slurps up the last reaming drops of the enchantment spell in a cup then pushes it away.
"For sure, we need to stop shooting the breeze. Or maybe we all just need to hang out more so we don't get side-tracked," I offer. When Wells is around, he's always filling our ears with the gossip around campus. I don't know hardly anyone yet, but Cameron and Wells are entertaining in their stories.
Cameron leans his chin on his fist and smiles at me.
"What?" I tuck a hair behind my ear.
"You said, 'shooting the breeze'."
"Yeah... so?" I'm confused.
"Shit. You ‘shoot the shit’, Raps. You know, it's okay to swear, right? It's completely acceptable to cuss. You're a college student; your mom isn't going to pop up out of nowhere and scold you for saying a bad word."
I blush. He's right, but old habits die hard. "Swearing doesn't feel right."
"Come on, try it. Say ‘shit’. Let's start small."
I shake my head defiantly. "Cameron, don't make me say that."
"Do it. I bet you'll like it." He's always pushed me out of my comfort zone. Most of the time, I've liked it, but it still takes some mental preparation.
"Shit. That's all you gotta say, Raps."
"You're a bad influence," I hiss at him and then glance around the room.
"Say it..." He's leaning in toward me, like he knows I'm about to say it.
"Shit," I finally say in a hushed whisper.
"Yeah, baby. How'd that feel?" He's laughing now, and I can't stop from joining in.
"It felt ... strangely liberating," I admit.
"Watch out, CamU! Zella Raps is about to shit all over this place."