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ruby

This is the best day of my life.

Okay, not the best. The best day of my life was the first day Lorenzo Rossi referred to himself as my best friend. So it’s not actually the best day of my life, but it’s the best one I’ve had in way too long.

I just landed a summer job.

I take a breath, the air already thick with summer humidity despite it not even being 9:00 a.m., and recall my new boss’s words: If you don’t mind the smell, the gig’s yours.

I don’t mind. Not at eighteen dollars an hour, which is just enough to slide me out of the grasp of my parents and their insistence I work for them this summer and live at home.

They’re waiting to hear how the interview went, certain I’d flop, just like they’re certain my taking a summer class will end in a failing grade and a wasted opportunity.

Much as I can’t wait to tell them they’re wrong, I’m saving that phone call for tomorrow.

Today all I want is to enjoy my victory and my freedom.

That’s what makes this day so sweet. I’ve landed plenty of jobs before: waitress, nanny, call center representative, lifeguard, front desk attendant, student marketer for an energy drink.

The list goes on. Those jobs I was only after because I needed some extra cash or because some friend I don’t know anymore talked me into applying.

But this job means freedom. Oh, and animals. Now I have it all.

I pull out my phone to give Lorenzo the news, but I’m greeted by a text from Brad asking how the interview went.

I forgot I’d promised to call him as soon as it was over.

I smile at his generous use of emojis. Brad is tall and handsome and has a great football-player body, but I think it’s his air of dorkiness that’s the real reason for my crush on him.

After a glance at the time, I settle for a text instead of a call to let him know I landed the job—Brad can be a little long-winded—and then hurry on to my Community Nutrition class.

I take the concrete path behind the student union and emerge into the newly redone section of Shafer University’s old campus.

Glass-facade buildings sit nestled among freshly planted shrubs and silver linden trees, which I can identify thanks to a campus tour during my brief membership in the horticulture club last semester.

A row of apricot-colored roses throws off a pungent tea scent, a pleasant reminder that even though I’m stuck attending classes all summer, my favorite season is finally here.

Professor Wythe gives me a long look when I walk into class.

I’m barely even late, and it’s only the second week of summer semester, early for a teacher to have turned on me.

I drop into the seat next to Bree, my only friend in class, right as her hand shoots into the air to answer a question.

Bree’s answer betrays not only the fact that she did the reading but that she understood it well enough to put it in her own articulate words and draw conclusions.

It was probably a mistake to start sitting with her.

Academically, I don’t really belong among the high-achieving, go-getter students at Shafer.

It’s no Ivy League school, but it’s prestigious enough that I wouldn’t have gotten in if not for the private school I’d attended being a feeder school and my father being the headmaster there.

He’s never confirmed it, but my dad hints at having pulled strings to get me in here. And Richard’s hints are never subtle.

“Look at Wythe,” I say quietly to Bree when class ends. “She’s still smiling about that answer you gave.”

Bree shrugs but looks pleased. “You want to grab coffee?”

“I can’t. I’m going to an info meeting for community garden club.”

“Community garden club? You’re not joining, are you?”

“Probably. Why?”

“Aren’t you in like four clubs already? You’re too much,” she says, borrowing a phrase from my parents. Though at least she says it with a hint of fondness. “How do you have time for all that?”

I tuck my laptop into my bag. “Easy when you never study.”

“Ruby,” Bree says in a disapproving tone.

“What? All I need to do is pass this class, not ace it.” Unfortunately, I’m already hovering on the wrong side of that binary.

“I’d skip gardening club if I were you.” She tosses her chocolate-brown hair over her shoulder and gives me a disdainful look. “Have you seen those kids? They’re such dorks.”

“Yeah, I forgot how cool us food science majors are.” There are a lot of Bermuda shorts walking out of the room.

She drops her shoulder and leans into me. “Not all of us. So how’re you liking the class?”

“It’s fine. Seems like as long as you show up, Wythe stays off your back.”

“I heard she gets tough after the first couple weeks. Especially for summer classes.” Bree smirks. Apparently our professor’s potential for savagery excites her. “Are you doing a summer internship?”

“Nope. Missed the deadline.” Also: didn’t care.

“It’s not too late to apply for fall. I just got accepted for the spice company internship!”

“That’s the one you wanted, right?”

“Yep!” She grins. “I’m so fucking excited. Everyone I know who’s interned with them has gotten into a great grad program or landed a job I’d kill for.”

“Well, you totally deserve it. You work your ass off.” Bree is double majoring in nutrition and food science and making both look easy.

“You should apply for something. Work experience is such a boost for your résumé.”

I shrug. “Plenty of food science jobs out there. I’m not planning on trying for some super-competitive career anyway.”

“What do you want to be?”

“Quality assurance tech probably.”

“To start out, yes, but what do you want to do after that?”

“We’ll see what happens. Maybe I’ll just stay there.”

She looks at me, surprise on her face. “Oh.” Clearly she’s never even considered such a mundane existence for herself.

“I’m late but congrats on the internship.” I don’t care that Bree is unimpressed by my goals. I’ve seen that expression too many times in my life, though, and I’m not letting it ruin this day. “See you tomorrow.”

But just as I turn, I catch sight of Wythe’s statuesque form at the front of the room. She’s looking right at me, and when I meet her eye, she says, “Ruby, a word please?” Her expression is cool.

Bree gives me a subtle warning. Damn her for always wanting to sit up front.

“Ruby, I’ll be brief,” Wythe says as soon as I reach her, not bothering to keep her voice low. “My class policies are strict, and I’m afraid you’re about to butt up against them if you’re not careful.”

“Class policies?”

“Three unexcused absences and you get a zero for the semester.”

“I haven’t been absent?—”

She holds up a manicured finger. “And tardiness of more than five minutes is considered an unexcused absence.”

This woman would get along great with my dad. I nod. “So I have one unexcused absence for being late today.”

“Correct. And it’s only week two of classes.”

I should be mature and say “thank you for the warning,” but the condescending energy she’s giving stokes my stubborn side. “I understand. That won’t be a problem.”

Her pause is a total power move. She’s certain I have a long list of unexcused absences ahead of me, and she’s probably right. “I hope not.”

“Thank you,” I force myself to say, and when she nods, I turn around and give an eye roll that I’m not particularly proud of. Old habits die hard.

That’s when I come face-to-face with another student waiting for Wythe’s attention. Surprise wipes my mind clean of my irritation with my professor.

It’s not the fact that I haven’t seen Allison Blair Lennox since December or that a semester studying art in Paris hasn’t changed her smug face one iota that surprises me; it’s that apparently she’s in my nutrition class.

The art major. Miss Perfect. Lorenzo’s ex-girlfriend. And now my classmate. All summer long.

I had such hopes for Allison when she went abroad spring semester: to fall in love with a handsome Frenchman, to land a modeling contract in Paris, to have her art discovered and hung in galleries all over Europe; anything that would get her out of my life without requiring a funeral.

Instead, she came back to Shafer to fuck with me again.

She gives me a disdainful look as I pass, those icy blue eyes lingering on my cheeks, which are probably flaming.

Of course the one person on campus who revels in my failures just had to be the sole witness to my little scolding.

I attempt to appear neutral, but it’s anyone’s guess what vibes my expression is giving off.

I’d love to hate Alli purely, but it’s not that simple.

As rude as she was to me, as stuck-up as she is, Alli was so good to Lorenzo.

She’s the only one of his exes who ever made me scared to lose him.

She knew how to love him with all she had.

And I know she has no intention of stopping.

With Alli behind me, I glance over my shoulder to see Wythe give her a warm, bright smile, as I’m sure all her teachers do. Alli’s quite the charmer when she wants something from you. But most people would be surprised to see what’s left when all that charm evaporates.

Stepping out onto Shafer’s bright, grassy quad, I take out my phone and find a text from Brad, saying we should celebrate my job by getting dinner together tonight.

I can’t help smiling. I never thought it would feel this good to have a crush on a guy who’s actually a nice person.

But I tell Brad I’ll need to take a rain check on our celebration.

There’s someone else I want to celebrate with first.