Page 14 of Anything (Mayberry University #1)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“No cookie today?” Levi asks.

He’s been asking to walk me back to my building sometimes, which I try not to overthink.

But, you know, I do. Downton Abbey will start in the lounge in a bit, so we won’t be hanging out tonight.

These occasional walks back are the only time I get him to myself.

Keeping my cool is my full-time job for every one of the five minutes.

Don’t freak out. Don’t act like a weirdo.

Don’t gawk. Don’t randomly quit walking.

“They only had oatmeal raisin left.” I wrinkle my nose.

He chuckles. “No equal opportunity?”

“Not for cookies. Plus, Saga’s lost their magic after I had this incredible brownie a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I think that was the best brownie I’ve ever had.”

“Good to know.” He sends me a sidelong glance. “What are you up to tomorrow night? ”

“Nothing with Sophie, but I always have work to catch up on. She keeps me busier than I should consent to.” I love my schoolwork and need my sleep, so my recent habit of staying up late practically every night is a hundred percent to see him.

Pride flickers in his eyes—I’m busted.

“Could I distract you from your work and take you on a date?”

My heart rate takes off like it’s trying to win the hundred-meter dash. Sadly, I don’t know how much of it is because I’m happy to be asked—so happy—or because my brain is warning my body of danger.

How could I even make a date work?

Alone with him? Really shouldn’t. Riding in his car? No way. One touch from him already sent me spiraling—twice. Why does he have to be so devastatingly attractive? He’s making my confusing life even more complicated.

My shoulders drop in disappointment. How do I even begin to explain?

I shake my head in reply and try not to spiral.

Seriously mixed messages. Sorry, pal. I could probably walk somewhere or do something on campus, but I shouldn’t suggest that.

It would be too much to admit to my strangely stringent requirements.

And I don’t want to give him the impression that dating him is an option. Would. If. I. Could.

“We could study?” he says. “Very friend-like. At Common Grounds?” He sends the most adorable questioning face—soft and hopeful and not pushy at all. Also, he basically read my mind, which maybe should freak me out but instead gives me all the warm fuzzies.

“Okay.” And by that I mean Absolutely yes, I’m dying for a date-adjacent activity with you.

This should be fine—it’s harmless enough. But I need to stop smiling so much. Crinkles form at his eyes and do nothing to slow my heart rate. No need for aerobic exercise. Talking to Levi is all I need to maintain optimal heart health.

“Is six alright? We play at eight. ”

Words are unwise at this juncture, so I bob my head in response. I start a risk mitigation plan—Pay attention to how I feel. Have an excuse ready if I need to bolt. Travel light. Sit far enough away to avoid accidental touches. No skirt or dress, in case I go fetal.

It’s complicated being me, but this is worth the risk. It’s so worth it.

Flats on, I clutch my laptop, planning to do my easiest homework at Common Grounds.

I can’t expect to have much focus with Levi sitting nearby.

Not sure if my computer will short-circuit from his magnetism, but there’s a great chance my brain will—a pity because he’s super smart, and I want to show him I can keep up.

One step out of my room, I freeze in front of the mirror over the sink.

Like Jasmine covering up to go out into Agrabah, I’ve longed to hide under a hood and tunic every day and be invisible again.

Safe again. I’ve felt nothing but bitterness toward that reflection for months.

I blame it for the pain and fear I’ve had to bear.

The desire to like what I see there is warm but itchy. Like a wool sweater.

I wedge the laptop into the corner of the countertop and brush my hair guiltily, as if I’m betraying myself.

I vowed I was finished jumping through the hoops I did last year—looking my best to play popularity games for girls who would compliment me and then tear me to pieces when I turned my back.

Why did I try to please them? I won’t again.

I don’t anymore. I allow myself the luxury of wearing clothes I love, but I don’t fiddle with my hair or do my makeup anymore.

I don’t want to impress girls who will hold it against me, and I don’t want to impress guys who will get the wrong idea.

I straighten the button-down tucked into my shorts, avoiding my own gaze.

Digging out the mascara from my bag under the sink feels like crossing a line, but I swipe it on anyway.

The devil on my shoulder says it’s super normal to want to look good for a not-date with a guy who leaves an electric charge in his wake.

It says I’m not being weird—I’m finally being reasonable.

But the angel insists Levi’s interest is only skin deep, in how he can benefit.

Or maybe the angel and devil are switched.

The confusing girl in my reflection bites her lip.

Am I being stupid again? I really don’t need some guy to be content. I only need you.

I don’t think I hear anything back.

Well, this is a friend thing. Friendships are good. I’m doing it. I drop the mascara back in in the bag and draw in a courageous breath.

At Common Grounds the back of Levi’s head is easy to find. He’s working on his laptop in an armchair, leather backpack on the coffee table. His careless blond waves defy his put-together ensemble as always.

He cranes around and brightens. How bizarre that I’m the girl meeting up with the elusive Levi.

Like I’m going on a date with Tad Hamilton.

Everyone says he doesn’t do this kind of thing.

If I could only get to the bottom of why he’s making an exception.

No—I’m easy breezy. This is just a friend thing.

Just some studying and coffee with a friend made of lean muscle and sunbeams for hair, radiating confidence and intelligence like it’s his full-time job to make every girl on planet Earth swoon. Friends, yep.

Leg crossed wide, he holds up an iced mocha with whipped cream like a prince on his throne. He remembered my drink and arrived early to have it ready for me? Such a gentleman. A princely gentleman.

I take my place in the armchair next to his and accept my coffee, avoiding his fingers.

“I got you decaf since it’s nearly your bedtime. Was that right?”

I chuckle. “Basically. Thank you.”

A guy in a red floor shirt with cracked black letters swaggers across the room. “What it do, Jeeves?” He does a double take when he sees Levi’s with me. I know. Weird, right?

“Hey, bro,” Levi says. “Is A2 ready to get crushed tonight?”

“Puh. Must be dreamin’.” He sends me a dude head-tilt.

I raise my hand in a wave, but he’s already past us. “New year, new Jeeves,” he murmurs.

“That’s Dontrell Wayne,” Levi says. “Best receiver on campus. He could’ve played college ball, maybe pro.”

“Why didn’t he?”

Admiration fills Levi’s eyes. “He wants a different kind of life.”

“You have your work cut out for you tonight,” I tease.

“I do. Will you be there to cheer me on?”

“Maybe.” Okay, definitely. “What are you working on?” I motion to his screen.

“Writing a paper for Jesus class.”

I grin at the nickname. Austin told me they’re taking “Life and Teachings of Christ” together. “Sounds like a worthwhile endeavor.”

“Very.”

“Do you bring your Jesus backpack to Jesus class?”

It takes him a beat. “Oh, Jesus in The Chosen ?” His wall of reserved facial expressions cracks behind a laugh.

“Maybe it was subliminal messaging that made you buy it,” I joke.

“Absolutely. I want to be exactly like Jesus.”

Exactly like Jesus? I lose all self-control and sink into his eyes like quicksand.

“If only Jesus gave out extra credit for impersonating him,” he says.

“Are you willing to wear a tunic around campus?” I swipe a hand around his current impeccable outfit. “Doesn’t seem like your usual vibe.”

His voice lowers. “If I thought he cared it would be worth it. Anything for him, you know?”

“Completely.”

He really loves you, huh?

“Will you be whizzing through some math homework?” he asks.

I blink. Homework. Math homework. “Yes.” Oh, it was a compliment. I tuck my hair behind my ear and formulate some words. “Calc III plots.”

“Good times.” Mischief appears in his eyes.

“Uh-oh. The Cheshire Cat wants his smile back.”

“Well, I have a confession to make. I brought Chick-fil-A.”

That explains the comforting smell wafting around. I bend toward him. I haven’t had a Chick-fil-A sandwich since I visited Mav at work last summer.

He dons a faux-serious expression. “It’s not a date. We’re just in a coffee shop.”

I roll my eyes for effect, trying not to grin, and set my things down on the coffee table.

He reaches for the bag stashed in his backpack.

Crash . A metal chair falls on the tile across the room. An awful slam echoes.

Black. Toxic clouds fill my body with unreality, with terror. That night in April yanks me back.

Barefoot. Slipping. Mud sticking to my legs. Rain. Sweat. Oil in the air. Asphalt jabbing at my feet. Faster. Bile rising. Gas station lights—can I make it? My dress tears. A door slams. Tripping. Scrambling. Faster. He’s right behind me.

When I return to reality, I’m in a ball on my armchair. I can’t choke down the torrent of tears about to fall. I try to breathe, to calm down. I can’t. My chest tightens until I might break apart. I have to hide. I have to get out of here. Now.

“I’m sorry.” The tears will escape any second.

I jerk my phone and laptop to my chest and speed walk around my chair to avoid Levi.

He stands, alarmed. I relinquish my attempt at normalcy and run through Common Grounds, all the way to my room.

I hear Sophie, but I shove my door closed behind me.

Ayumi startles at her desk but doesn’t say a word when I hide under my duvet like a kid afraid of monsters.

How can I be this fragile? Why can’t I fix this? Losing my ever-loving mind over a single noise? It’s absurd, awful, unlivable.

I knew this was a risk. I knew better than to think I could handle it. Time alone with Levi? Of course it was too good to be true. And now I have proof that I’m as broken as ever.

Why? Why can’t I just be normal? Please fix me. I don’t want to be broken anymore. I don’t want this to be my life.

For those who love me, all things work together for good.

But how can this be good?

Fifteen minutes later, Levi texts. I wipe away the mascara—shortest-lived makeup ever.

Are you alright? Can I do something to help?

Yes. No, thanks.

I left your coffee and Chick-fil-A on the bench by the door in case you want them.

He did?

My thumbs hover over my phone. What do I even say?

That’s so sweet, thank you.

I’m really sorry.

Dread and humiliation coil in my chest and cling to my ribs. I brace myself for the inevitable questions.

No need to apologize, Kit. I’m glad you’re okay .

What? I stare, reading the words until they blur. This gentle, understanding response bonds me to him more than any date could have. I shake my head, overwhelmed.