3:24 AM
Liv: That’s impossible. Your past makes you who you are.
3:26 AM
Unknown: Beautiful and wise.
3:28 AM
Liv: More compliments? And here I thought all you liked about me was my tits.
3:28 AM
Unknown: Not even close.
3:30 AM
Liv: Maybe today will be better than you think.
3:31 AM
Unknown: It’s already exceeded my wildest expectations.
On the first day of classes, the campus is buzzing.
Sororities are rushing. The frosh will be embraced by upper-year students.
It’s an orgy of newness and adventure and acceptance and possibility, and both years, I’ve loved it.
Except both years, I didn’t dump my boyfriend the night before.
“I hope your first day of school is everything you want. Remember, first impressions linger. Say hello to Adam for us.”
My mother’s voicemail rings in my head as I search my closet for outfits.
I stretch on my toes, feeling for my Givenchy denim miniskirt on the top shelf. It’s stuck under something, and when I tug it, a cardboard box falls to the floor. I shove the spilled contents, pink and black fabric and feathers, back inside and replace the box.
After dressing, I fasten my hair up in a simple French twist and straighten the full-carat diamond solitaire around my neck.
My mom is right about one thing. First impressions linger.
I reach for the phone on my desk, resisting the urge to read last night’s texts for the millionth time.
Sawyer hadn’t put his name in my contacts, and I didn’t add it because it felt like a secret between us. Naming him in black and white pixels would make him less mysterious.
He said he had to work today. I hope I see him again because I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.
Not that I’m looking to jump out of a three-year relationship and into…whatever it would be with a guy like Sawyer, but I’ve never experienced that kind of connection I felt with him last night.
On impulse, I tug a couple of pieces of hair out of my twist to frame my face before heading out to the living room.
“You look cute.” Jules bursts into our shared apartment on campus in shorts and sneakers.
“Thanks.” I grab my soft gray Ted Baker sweater that feels cozy and sophisticated at once from its hook by the door. “You’re up early.”
“Went for a run. Five miles.”
I check my nude lipstick and add some bangles of Kat’s. We have an open-door policy for borrowing clothes, instituted when we became roommates.
“Want breakfast?” I ask, grabbing a yogurt from the fridge.
“No thanks. I’m late already and need to shower. You seen Kat?”
We stick our heads in her room, but she’s already gone. Her computer sits open to the homepage of Russell University Download. We’ve all lost hours falling into the rabbit hole of gossip on R.U. DOWN.
When I eat my yogurt, a text from Adam comes through.
Adam: Hey babe. We should talk.
Now he wants to talk?
I shove the phone in my bag without responding.
The Stevenson dorm is newer than the stone and ivy buildings, made for upperclassmen in apartment-style residences with three or four rooms each.
As I take the stairs down and start across campus bound for my first class of the new year, I tug the arms of my sweater up to my elbows.
At the end of August, the campus is in full summer bloom. It’s postcard perfect with green hills, manicured pathways lined with flower beds, Greek Row at one end, and the elm forest beyond that separates it from the bad part of town east of campus. The good part of town is west, brushing up against the stone gates like rich people rubbing elbows at a charity event.
I wave to some other classmates as I arrive at the stone lecture hall.
“Did you hear?” asks Madison, one of the handful of girls in my cohort. “Professor Lancaster died last week.”
“What?” My fingers tighten on the strap of my bag so hard it hurts. “That’s impossible.”
She shrugs, her red ponytail sweeping over one shoulder of her Russell Engineering hoodie. “Just passing along the news. I don’t know what happened. There’ll probably be some TA to make a cursory statement today, then he’ll let us out until they can find a replacement.”
He couldn’t have been more than sixty. His tough exterior hid someone who genuinely wanted his students to do well.
An arm hooks around my neck, and I look up to see Kat.
“You’re coming to my engineering class?” I ask as we head inside the building, the wood floors of the theater-style lecture hall creaking under our feet.
“I don’t have class until ten thirty. Need to keep an eye on you given what happened with Douchewad. You’re too nice a person to treat him the way he deserves.”
“I’m not that nice.”
“Liv, you brake for squirrels. And frogs. And a dragonfly that one time—”
“You’re exaggerating. Besides, animals deserve kindness.”
“Unlike Adam.”
I take a slow breath. “We’re done. I texted him last night.”
Her brows shoot up but I’m grateful for her company when Adam walks in and claims a seat behind us.
When I chose the same major as my boyfriend, I pictured us at graduation together, our proud parents in adjacent seats in the audience.
This scenario never entered my mind.
Adam’s hands find my shoulders, and I resist the urge to shove them away as I turn.
“Babe. I heard you were at Velvet last night.” His blue eyes search mine, concerned. “That’s not your scene.”
“It’s not,” I reply, “but I saw you at Velvet. And you weren’t alone.”
The rest of the class has gone quiet.
A throat clears behind me. “Welcome to mechanical engineering. We will be creating many things in this class. Drama is not one of them. Check your personal lives at the door.”
The voice is masculine and irritated, and from the echo, it’s coming from the pit at the front of the hall.
“Jesus,” Kat breathes.
I face the front, and my entire body tightens.
The man at the head of the class is tall and broad. His beautifully cut jacket sets him apart from even the upper-crust academics at Russell while his dark jeans and too-long hair say he doesn’t give a fuck.
But it’s his gaze that pins me to my seat, that has heat crawling through me as recognition flares in Sawyer’s eyes.
In the light of day, the man I passed the better part of an evening with is more beautiful than I remember.
I swear he memorizes every inch of the sweater clinging to my breasts, the bangles on my wrists, the hair I spent an extra half an hour washing and styling after its misadventures last night.
“Damn,” Kat exhales next to me. My roommate shifts, chewing on her pencil and arching an eyebrow. “Think he fucks students?”
I kick her under the desk.
Sawyer finally breaks our loaded eye contact, turning to the rest of the class.
“My name is Professor Redmond. You’ve more than likely heard the untimely passing of Professor Lancaster. I will be filling in.”