Page 9

A sprite would have come in handy that morning, considering my alarm never went off.

Without any possibly hallucinated creatures destroying the kitchen loud enough to wake me up at the crack of dawn, I slept way too late.

Now I sprinted up the stairs to the City College, praying for no pit stains in my cropped striped crew neck, as I jumped over the eroded steps.

The humidity smeared my Chapstick, and the shorter layers of hair that framed my face tangled in my mouth.

When I got to the top of the staircase, I pulled up the map to find the best route to class and picked a path that seemed to go in the direction I needed to be heading.

I entered a gray-slatted building, my hurried footsteps echoing through the empty hall, curious glances and my feverish reflection staring back at me from the tiny windows in the classrooms’ doors I swept past. Behind the Plexiglass, labs with white coats and microscopes made it clear this was not where I was supposed to be.

Cool, cool, cool . I’d just continue to wander around aimlessly and miss my first day, no big deal.

Pavement replaced the linoleum as I exited out into a shady courtyard.

Concrete benches arranged in a half-moon lined the perimeter, backed by trellises of morning glory flowers.

It would have been a peaceful place to study if it wasn’t enveloped by a cloud of smoke.

Its current patrons crowded in front of the exit path, their stream of laugher and swearing stifled by coughing and hocking loogies—one landing near my shoe.

Ew.

Cringing a bit, I glanced around the courtyard for an alternative route or a map because the one on my phone was hardly legible when I zoomed in.

Going back the way I came would just put me in circles.

Ugh, I should’ve listened to Javi and toured the campus before my first day…

My hands balled into fists.

That was it, I was going to have to grow a spine and cut through the smokers, even if they looked like they’d bite.

A guy turned away from the group and blew a plume right in my face.

It watered my eyes and tickled my nose.

I bit back a cough, but it was too late, and one came bursting out of me.

As my palm covered my mouth, the others turned to look.

Ten. Ten older guys and girls stared back.

All of them dressed the same—greasers, but with a James Dean edge—abundantly pierced, tattooed, wearing band t-shirts, hair slicked into messy comb-overs that made anyone want to run their fingers through it.

All eyes were on me as I took a deep breath.

“Excuse me—hi—is the seven hundred building that way?”

One guy responded with an endearing burp, while the girl next to him brought a fist to her lips, her striking blue eyes squinting from trying to withhold her laughter.

The rest gaped at me as if I just told them punk rock was dead.

The way my cheeks flushed, I felt like I might’ve.

Standing on the outskirts shifting between tippy-toes did not send off the vibe of confidence I needed.

Before I changed my mind, I beelined through the group, not daring to lift my head any higher than the knee holes in their jeans.

They parted for me only a second before I’d plow into them.

One person was a little too slow—my toe caught their half-laced boot, and I dove headfirst into the concrete.

I ate more of that fall than my own birthday cake.

For a moment, the shock kept me from moving—kept me from feeling anything.

Slow as an earthworm, I crawled to my feet, resisting the urge to cry or scream as embarrassment flooded me.

I’d be surprised if the welt protruding on my forehead didn’t spell out the word loser .

Common sense yelled, Get lost!

while impulse thought, How bad?

The smart thing to do would be to leave and not look, but of course I did the opposite and stole a quick glance, because I was sure they were just dying to know I was okay…

They weren’t. Their dismissive stares pierced me like laser beams. Someone scoffed.

“I’m good!” I threw my hands up to prove it.

Not that they were asking or cared.

Eager to split, I almost tripped over another pair of Doc Martens as I scampered away.

For those few mortifying seconds, I forgot why I’d been running in the first place, then the light bounced off a plastic room number plaque.

I was still scrambling, but at least it was in the right direction.

Finally, I found it: 707.

The door to my class practically glowed.

My plan? Slip in, take a seat in the back row—after all, this was college.

Chances were the teacher wouldn’t even notice.

Beaming with giddiness, I reached for the handle.

What could be worse than the humiliation I just endured?

A classroom filled to the brim.

Students taking tests.

Everyone looking up at me in silence from their desks.

That’s what.

The wiry, grayed professor tilted his silver spectacles, observing me through agitated blinks.

His scorn destroyed my short-lived joy at finding the classroom, replacing it with the hot shame I thought I’d escaped.

Sorry, I mouthed, narrowly avoiding the school-style booby traps in the aisle: backpacks and pen caps and outstretched ankles—my own almost hooking on a skinny metal desk leg.

I followed the professor’s finger, fighting the urge to give him one of my own, to the single empty seat.

Settling into his direct line of fire, I realized why it hadn’t been taken yet: it was front row, dead center.

He gestured to the engraved tumbler he held.

MR. HESS. Then with his free hand, flashed me four fingers, followed by five.

Forty-five minutes , I assumed.

Would the entire semester be taught in mime?

Nodding in acknowledgement, I took out my calculator and opened the pop quiz on my desk, the smallest motions met with passive-aggressive throat clearing.

At this rate, I was on track to get kicked out for breathing, so asking to use the bathroom was definitely an offense.

After skimming the questions, centered on stats (which I assumed was to make sure we understood the basic fundamentals of econ) I returned to the first problem: Create a value table then graph the result.

Easy.

My brain went as blank as the whiteboard.

Pencils scratched around me.

Mine hovered above the paper.

An eraser tapped, and my foot moved with it.

Numerical signs spotted my vision—looking at economics equations had the same effect as staring at the sun.

In my mind I knew the Voices wouldn’t come, but my body still tensed and flinched at the tiniest noise as if they’d show any minute.

I must’ve wasted fifteen just untangling my senses to find some sort of groove.

True to his word, Mr. Hess’s alarm rang not a second past the allotted time.

I plugged in the remaining coordinates, barely having enough time to finish writing my name at the top before a mottled hand ripped the booklet out from under my pencil tip.

“Time is u p , Miss Harlow.” I’d honestly have been happier if he taught in mime, then I wouldn’t have had to contort my upper body to avoid the spit from his dramatic over pronunciations.

He addressed the class.

“We’ll break for ten and go over the answers when you come back.” No one flinched.

“Or we could start now and fit in a review of supply and demand?”

Despite the sarcasm, I was sure he’d be more than happy to oblige.

Everyone seemed to feel the same, our chairs skidding against the floor as we jolted from our seats.

“And if you’re smart, you’ll be back by the ninth minute!” he called after us as he went to lean against the front of his desk.

“Um, Miss Harlow? Where do you think you’re going?”

I careened to a stop.

The remaining students filed around me into the great outdoors—or the quad.

Hey, it was better than nothing.

“Are you forgetting? You already had your break this morning when you were seventeen minutes late to my class.” He stroked his goatee.

“You’ll be staying and reading the syllabus.”

Sunshine slipped in as the last student left, teasing me with its warmth.

The door clicked shut, taking the buttery rays with it.

I scowled at the flickering frosted lights above my head.

“Yes, Professor.” I sat back down, letting out an exasperated sigh.

Mr. Hess stared at me with a tight-lipped smile.

Condescending ass.

I lowered my head and pretended to read, flipping the pages every now and then for emphasis.

It satisfied him enough that he finally left his post to write the next part of the lesson on the whiteboard, and I went back to my not-reading.

When the door opened, my ears perked up, and I shot a glance over my shoulder.

A guy with a fade and matching slit through his eyebrow crossed the threshold, carrying a disposable cup.

Steam billowed from the lidless top—there must be a café close by.

Dimples punctured his cheeks as he held in a smile, making me keenly aware of my own expression, which had slipped into a frown.

It took too much effort to correct my resting bitch face, so even though I wasn’t mad, it stayed.

A slender redhead wearing a fringe vest and rose-tinted glasses, with a fresh daisy tucked behind her ear, strode in behind him.

I bet she took a lap around the community garden—I had thought I saw tops of sunflowers during my mad dash through campus.

A pair holding hands came next, lips swollen, clearly fresh out of a make-out sesh.

One of the girls popped her collar to conceal a reddish mark stamped onto her neck.

My fingers drifted to the same area on my body, tracing the spot Javi had nuzzled into during Grad Night after wishing me a happy birthday.

I shivered, banishing the memory from ever resurfacing again.

That was fine, because an image of Ryder replaced him, lips suctioning the sensitive skin below my earlobe.

Oh my God. No. No…One wasn’t right, I needed two for this job, one on each side of me.

Javi reappeared and trailed simultaneous kisses…

I shook my head and the fantasy dispersed just as Mr. Hess cleared his throat to bring order to an already orderly class.

My faced burned. There couldn’t be a more inappropriate time for either of them to pop into my thoughts like that.

Intercepts. Origins.

Numbers. Numbers. Numbers.

I reached for the boring, formulaic, and not sexy at all to quiet the pent-up lust twirling in my gut.

Beet red, I slunk lower in my chair and wrapped my arms around my stomach, as if that could contain my questionable urges.

I never did get past that first sentence of the syllabus before the monotonous voice of Mr. Hess interrupted my daydream.

Well, if I needed a buzzkill, that right there did the trick.

At least his droning was good for something.

When twelve o’clock hit, I wasted no time, just up and walked out.

Mr. Hess’s final words faltered on his lips as the rest of the class joined me in leaving, his glare trailing me until I reached the sanctuary of the courtyard.

Taking a moment, I slipped on my headphones.

A balmy breeze tickled my bare skin and parted my hair, the fresh air fanning the nape of my neck.

The temperature must have risen to at least ninety degrees during that four-hour lockdown, and sweat was already dotting my inner elbows and knees.

I’d love nothing more than to ditch the rest of the afternoon and post up in the heat with Javi, but as my luck—or lack of it—would have it, duty called me elsewhere.

Work.

Nothing sounded worse than whipping up frappes at Kona Koffee.

Ugh, I wanted to be a customer , enjoying the day, the one ordering a complicated drink.

As if on cue, Javi texted me his sympathies with a selfie on the beach.

Damn him.

And to damn me even more, the ocean never left my field of view as I trudged towards the street, sparkling blue peeking out around corners of buildings and massive oak trees.

The bus pulled to the curb as soon as I got there, hissing as the brakes engaged and the doors squeaked open, revealing a compartment full of people packed like sardines.

I groaned at the idea of elbowing through the crowd just to spend the next twenty minutes standing, and swaying, and trying not to fall—especially on top of somebody.

But if I didn’t catch this one, I’d be late for my shift.

After tapping my metro card, I hopped onto the lowered platform, the automated swish of the door causing me to leap into the person in front of me.

Spotting an inch of free upper railing, I grabbed it and hung on for dear life as we barreled down Soquel Drive.

The molting eucalyptus trees struck the roof like a summer storm, leaves collecting in puddles near the gutters that departing passengers jumped to avoid.

As the steady traffic merged to go around us, twinges of jealousy curled my toes with every roof-racked surfboard that went by.

Closer to the city center, the hints of nature thinned out, replaced by streetlamps plastered in stickers reminding people to “Keep Santa Cruz Weird.” Art murals covered sidewalk power boxes with whales, starfish, and seals.

A man strolled beneath the shade of his pink umbrella, outfitted with matching pants and a feather boa.

A gaggle of tourists huddled at the crosswalk, squealing in excitement as they waited for the electronic signal to flash their cue.

A figure stood apart—still as a shadow, their face shielded by a hoodie layered beneath their leather jacket, indifferent to the animated gestures of the crowd around them, even after getting bumped into multiple times.

I was in a t-shirt that barely covered my shoulders, and I was sweating.

They must have been hot as hell.

My stomach lurched. Not with the bus, but at the thought of those forest green eyes that’d swept over every inch of me like a tide the other night.

I craned my neck as the bus bounded forward, hoping to catch a glimpse, until my upper body leaned so far into the aisle the lady across from me gave a very scornful ahem .

As I shifted back into place, the stranger flipped off their hood and an audible breath escaped me, like both of my lungs had been torn from my body.

Just another guy, wearing all black, walking around downtown.

The air stung my throat when I finally remembered to inhale.

I’d met Ryder once; there was no way I’d just start seeing him all over town.

In fact, I’d probably never run into him again.

And I didn’t need to.

Didn’t want to. I turned the volume higher on my alt rock playlist to drown out the restless beat of my heart—which worked so well I almost missed my stop.

I paused the song long enough to catch the final call, and with jelly knees hopped off just in time.

Keeping a low profile, I whisked through the entrance of Kona Koffee.

Espresso grinders, business conversations, and feverish typing adding a soundtrack outside my headphones.

Someone unrecognizable measured coffee grounds, poorly, spilling the grainy residue all over the granite counter.

Even though her back was to me, something about her ear gauges and the checkered ruby flannel tied around her waist seemed familiar.

She flipped a stained rag over her shoulder, ran a hand over the slick hair that crowned her bronde undercut, and spun to face the register.

“Ah, River. Meet your new co-worker, Shanley.” The store manager, Tom, emerged from out of nowhere.

He had a habit of lurking in the background and sneaking up on his employees, trying to catch them in fireable offenses.

Great use of time. “You’ll be training her today.”

The rubber mat I stood on became a glue trap, freezing me in front the Order Here sign, as I stared at the girl who happened to have witnessed my humiliating courtyard performance—starring one.

Icy blue eyes swept me up and down, a flash of recognition, and pity, lighting up her heart-shaped face.

I wanted to die or hide in a hole.

But I was at work, so I could do neither.