Page 2 of Anything (Mayberry University #1)

CHAPTER ONE

After the summer of doom and gloom I had, this campus might just be the distraction I need.

I enrolled before everything went down, so it’s not a Jonah or Forrest Gump situation.

More like Alice in Wonderland —I’ve tumbled into Mayberry University and its world of nicknames, traditions, and stories.

Let’s be real, change isn’t my strong suit, but I’m so desperate for different that I’m not even mad about it.

“Do they really expect me to sit at the same table all year?” Sophie assesses the table of guys behind me. “What’s with the cardboard sword fight outside? Are we supposed to know why the cafeteria is called Saga?”

“Frankly, I’m too scared to ask about the frog,” I say. Oops—I’m not with my old friends. I have no reason to expect they’ll recognize my Tangled quote.

Sophie claps with excitement. “Chameleon!”

“Nuance,” Mia finishes .

I mirror Sophie’s clapping. She’s contagious that way.

Maybe these girls will be different. Last year, my old friends dropped me as fast as my new friends embraced me—and for all the wrong reasons. After only a week and a half on campus, it’s hard to guess whether my suitemates will fall into one of those categories.

“I love inside jokes,” Ayumi says deadpan. “I’d love to be a part of one someday,”

“Yes! Ayumi!” Sophie says. “You would be an Office fan.”

“I heard the food service company was called Saga like decades ago.” Mia is brand new too—a junior transfer student rather than a freshman like us—but she already knows all the things and all the people.

“Administration’s been trying to make the students call it the Corner Cafe ever since they built this fancy building.

Clearly tradition trumps all around here. ”

“Clearly,” I say, and pan the room.

It isn’t quite the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but it’s actually nice in here, carpet and stone columns and hundreds of gleaming wood chairs.

No plastic seating or linoleum like the fluorescent cafeteria of high school.

I can’t blame Ayumi as she picks at the food on her plastic tray.

Fancy vibes aside, nothing tastes quite like it did at home.

The whiffs of antiseptic and fried food don’t help.

“The sword fighters were wearing purple, no?” Mia asks. “That’s Club, another dude floor.”

I try to stay focused, but my attention drifts again to the students pushing through the doors, friends hugging and chattering, guys high fiving across a table.

Students in red shirts leave the cafeteria line and head to the other red shirts.

Purple with purple. Yellow with yellow. Every color marks a dorm floor, and while not everyone is wearing their floor shirt, enough do that it’s easy to tell where each group sits.

I’m at the G1 table—Griffin Hall, first floor—with black shirts.

Floormates band together like schools of fish, often choosing to stay on the same floor all four years.

The whole floor pride thing is weirdly cultish, but also fun. Like a never-ending summer camp .

I thought college was supposed to fill my mind with knowledge about the world.

Maybe it will, but so far it’s been more about learning the rules of this alternate universe—what each floor is known for, why guys spray paint their friend’s stomach and throw him into a pond, when to use someone’s floor name versus their real one.

Still, it’s comforting to be wrapped up in this foreign reality.

I can choose who I am, have a fresh start, because not a soul on this campus knew me before.

I can be the Kit I want to be and not the Kit from last year.

My attention narrows at a pair of broad shoulders gliding from the orange-dotted table attached to ours.

Perfectly imperfect wavy blond hair frames a clean-shaven face.

Like a Greek sculpture dressed in a GQ spread.

He moves with a quiet confidence that should come with a theme song.

With a flick of his wrist, he returns his tray and floats toward the door.

The subject at my table has moved to classes this week, but my eyes are stuck.

Upperclassmen have only been back a couple weeks, but I’ve already heard enough about Noticeable Guy to know his name—Levi Whitaker.

Oddly, none of his fans have talked to him much.

You’d think a guy like that would have a list of exes as long as Taylor Swift’s.

The edges of my vision darken, snapping me out of my daze.

What is wrong with me? Drooling about the popular, powerful guy after last year? I know better. I hate that he’s pulling my attention. I hate him and everyone like him. I cringe and rub my eyes. Not exactly the ‘love your neighbor’ thing I should be doing.

I squint, forcing myself to see him clearly, objectively. His haircut, manners, and clothes—bought with the money I’ve heard he has in spades. His fit physique—earned with discipline. So this guy made himself into who he is.

It’s not fair. He can afford to position himself squarely in the spotlight.

He’s strong, not vulnerable, so he’ll never have the consequences I did.

He can protect himself. I hide my clenching fists before the girls notice.

I beat back my attraction to him, angry that my body refuses to hear my mind.

He’s arrogant, well known, sought after—a walking, talking Nope.

Guys like him cannot be trusted. I will never make that mistake again.

A guy from my differential equations class strolls in and claps Levi on the shoulder. Austin, I think. He’s bulky but guileless, treats girls with respect, and hasn’t paid me any attention. I’d guess he’s more guy’s guy than ladies’ man—a relief considering we’ll be in class together twice a week.

As they talk, Levi listens intently, twirling something in his hand.

Another guy walks by with fist bumps. “Samwise. Jeeves.” His voice carries.

Those must be their floor names—nicknames that stick with them their whole time at Mayberry.

Two girls follow. One calls to Levi with a suggestive look while the other giggles. Levi replies impassively and turns back to Austin, questioning him without words. Austin shakes his head, and they continue their conversation.

That dude has more red flags than a bullfighter’s arena.

Sure, he has a spotless reputation, but I know better.

Aiden’s reputation was just as misleading, or I never would have gone out with him.

That kind of power and popularity isn’t put to waste.

I stamp this verdict across the Levi Whitaker folder and slam closed the filing cabinet in my mind.

As if he heard the clang, Levi zeroes in on me. His lips part.

I whip my head away. Quick—what are my friends saying? If I could just make a relevant comment to look preoccupied. Something about the resident advisor on our floor?

“… so she somehow got her brother a spot on Flooders …”

I force a casual nod, but there’s no jumping in the middle of a Sophie story. Just one last peek? He’s pushing the door open and stealing a last glance at me too.

“Not you too, Kit.”

I yank my focus back to the table and contort my face to look innocent. “What? ”

Mia snorts. “The young blond Tony Stark, I assume.”

“Levi? He’s a snack.” Sophie’s eyes scan the room and snag on the boys at the door.

I shift in my seat and suppress a head shake.

“His pecs are visible through his shirt,” Ayumi says.

Sophie cackles. “I knew that was in there somewhere.”

Ayumi bristles. “I’m not saying I like him.”

“Sure you don’t,” Sophie taunts.

“I’m just saying …”

Ayumi needs a subject change too. I break in. “So tonight?—“

“Everyone says Levi is mission impossible,” Mia interrupts. “But you’re pretty enough to level a guy like that.”

That’s not how this works , I want to yell.

My heart pounds, but I tighten my filter and study her silently across the table.

Mia’s rich brown eyes match her creamy skin.

Tall, curvy, and fabulous—like a young Tyra Banks.

She’s clearly had a different experience with beauty than I have.

Then again, maybe she earned her grit the hard way.

“And she’s got that Miss Congeniality vibe,” Mia says.

Ayumi nods along, but Sophie purses her lips.

Mia looks to her. “‘She’s beauty and she’s grace?’ What, no singing?”

My stomach drops at Sophie’s expression. I can’t bear to have a repeat of last year. Any of it.

“Anyway, maybe you’ll be the one to catch his eye.” Mia leans back and considers me. “All that shiny hair, big blue eyes. You two are some kind of match.”

I bite my teeth together. Not a match. Not with him. Never.

“I’ve never heard of a guy shooting down so many girls.” Ayumi is barely audible in here. “You really are pretty though.”

I muster a polite smile. Most girls love hearing that kind of thing.

“Hair shmair.” Sophie tosses her Blake Lively locks over her shoulder like it’s a nuisance. “I’d kill for those hips. Must be nice.”

So she isn’t thrilled with the tall, thin, and athletic thing she has going.

I wish I were surprised, but this is standard procedure.

Girls don’t value what they already have.

And worse, the longer a girl has been gorgeous, the more she compares herself to others, like beauty is a curse that grows with time.

Something tells me Sophie has been cursed since birth.

Suddenly loosening, Sophie breaks into “Hips Don’t Lie” and draws glances from nearby tables. Her voice is so beautiful it pulls at the soul.

Mia moves her shoulders to the beat. “Something about that dude makes me want to knock him down a peg, prove he’s not untouchable.”

“How? Like play Hitch?” Ayumi nibbles a fingernail.

Sophie cuts her song short. “Ooh, I love Hitch .”

“Yeah …” Mia says. “Set him up to see what it’s like on the other side of the swooning.”

My fingers knot together beneath the table, squeezing until my knuckles ache. I hate being talked about like this. And I want less than nothing to do with that Levi guy. “You guys, just—no. I’m not going after him or anyone else.”

Three sets of eyes lock on me.

“On a boy- cott?“ Mia asks.

A bark of laughter from Sophie.

I straighten and take on a firm tone. “I had a bad experience.” Maybe that will shut it down.

“Go on,” Mia says.

“No. Thanks.”

Ayumi graciously brings up G1‘s movie night, and the subject finally drops. I sink into Saga’s hum of boisterous chatter, and my heart slows to a manageable beat.

I can keep myself safe this time. Step one is avoiding that Levi guy and anyone like him.