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18 years old | Rina

I catch myself bouncing my foot again.

I know I'm doing it because the entire table is shaking from the motion, causing the coffee to dance in the cups set on it.

The girl seated at the end of the table eyes me again. This time, her look is a warning.

"Sorry," I mouth when I notice her scowl. She shakes her head and goes back to reading her book.

Sheesh. Midterms have everybody on edge lately. I ignore her and try re-reading the same paragraph I've been stuck on in my English Lit textbook for the past half hour.

I sigh, shutting the book, ready to just finally give in. I'm not passing this class. I can pretty much kiss my scholarship goodbye and everything my parents did to get me into this private college. Which, for my mom, was a lot.

I grab my backpack from the ground and scoop my book into my arms while simultaneously scooting my chair back.

"Oh shit!" Someone calls out behind me.

At the same moment, I feel an ice-cold liquid go down the back of my shirt. My very white t-shirt.

I instantly drop everything.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" A strong hand reaches down to help me grab it all.

"It's fine. I got it," I insist.

I glance up to get a good look at the guy who just ruined my perfectly mundane day by causing everyone in the coffee shop to look my way.

I instantly recognize him.

There are a lot of faces at this school. But his is one of those you can't ignore.

Keelan Landry. He's a freshman like me. And he already has quite the reputation around campus.

He studies me. "Do I know you?"

No. He definitely does not know me. Because Keelan is the kind of guy that everyone knows. And I'm the kind of girl who does her best not to be seen.

I shake my head. But then he looks down at the textbook on the floor and picks it up. "Huh, looks like we're taking the same class this semester. You in Keister's English Lit?"

"Mmhmm," I say, pretending not to know we have the same class.

One of the student workers comes out from behind the counter with a mop and bucket.

Keelan picks up my backpack and slings it over his shoulder as he rises, my textbook still in his hand and extends the other to help me up.

"I'm Keelan," he says as I slip my hand into his. He watches me with anticipation, surely waiting for me to reciprocate by offering up my own name.

I look down at my wet shirt, realizing it's not just the back that is soaked. I have a streak of iced coffee running down the front, showing off the color of my bra.

Keelan's eyes don't look down. A perfect gentleman.

"Rina," I finally say, reaching for the things in his hand. He pulls them away from me.

"Well, Rina, I think I owe you a new shirt." He motions toward the exit and moves in that direction. It must mean he wants me to follow him out.

"Oh, no, that's okay," I say, picking up my pace behind him. I look back at the coffee-tastrophe we left behind. The shop employee, who is reluctantly cleaning up the mess, offers up a scowl.

Clearly, I can't come back here to study.

Just as I turn back to face Keelan, he stops and I run into him.

He chuckles as I apologize profusely now.

"I'm sorry. I'm such a mess."

His eyes are warm as he looks me up and down and gently says, "You're the furthest thing from a mess, Rina. Come on."

Before I can protest, he's strolling out of the coffee shop and onto the buzzing campus.

"Where are you going?" I say, trying to keep up with his stride.

"I told you," he says, looking back at me. "I owe you a shirt."

He's walking in the direction of the on-campus arena. And as he does, random people call his name. Others give him fist bumps as he walks by.

I'm walking next to what feels like campus royalty. And I don't miss the fact that as we walk, eyes are now on me.

I reach for my ponytail and pull it tight, wishing I had worn something a little nicer if I knew I'd be in this predicament. But sweatpants and t-shirts are pretty much all I own. The only thing nicer would have to be borrowed from my roommate, who is astronomically more stylish than I can ever hope to be.

Keelan pauses just before opening the door to the arena and looks back at me. "You a hockey fan, Rina?"

"Uh… not particularly."

He licks his lips and quirks a smile. "Not yet, you mean."

He's so confident—it's kind of annoying.

I shrug as he pulls the door open for me. "After you."

But also nice. Most guys his age aren't just nice.

I walk in, hoping I don't run into any of his teammates. The hockey players at Austin State College are known for many things. And being gigantic flirts are at the top of that list.

My own roommate has fallen for their charms. She's been talking to one of the players and is smitten anytime she looks at her phone. She also refuses to let me know who it is, just in case it doesn't end up going anywhere. From the looks of it, though, she's loving the attention.

Keelan places a warm hand on my shoulder and must notice my hesitation. "You're with me. You're good." He winks. And I all but melt.

I hate that a guy can have such an effect on me. He walks me down the hall and to the entrance of the arena. I can hear the sound of blades gliding on ice. Someone else is here. Just great.

As we approach the rink, I see someone in front of the net sliding from one side to the other in quick bursts.

"Ryker!" Keelan calls out to the player with a wave.

The guy stops his movements and looks up at us.

"This is Rina," Keelan says, pointing at me. "She has a class with me. I need to get her a shirt. Watch out for her 'kay?"

Ryker's shoulders drop like he's just been significantly inconvenienced, but he slowly makes his way over to us.

He takes off his helmet, revealing a head of sweaty blonde hair.

"Hi," I say sheepishly.

He looks from me to Keelan. "Uh… what are you doing?"

I look at Keelan, too. What are we doing? Why am I even here right now?

Keelan sets my things down on one of the arena seats. "Don't let her run. I'll be right back." He ignores his friend's question and disappears into what I can only assume is a locker room.

It's cold in the arena. And my shirt is still very wet. I cross my arms over my chest and turn to Ryker, unsure of what to do or say.

"So, you play hockey, too?"

He cocks his head to the side and looks down at the very obvious hockey gear that he was just clearly practicing in. I fight the urge to facepalm at my lack of conversational skills.

"Occasionally," he answers sarcastically. "How long have you known Landry?"

His question comes across as almost accusatory.

"I don't know him," I say, narrowing my eyes.

"Hmm."

What's this guy's deal? I didn't ask to be here.

Just in time, the door to the locker room bursts open and Keelan comes out waving what looks like a jersey like a flag.

"It might be a little big, but at least no one will be able to see your bra," he announces triumphantly.

I look down at my chest. Red bra—fully noticeable under the arena lights. Shit.

"Thanks," I tell him as he hands me the thick fabric. I slip it over my head and try to smooth out my ponytail as the oversized jersey falls to my thighs.

"See?" Keelan says, motioning to the jersey. "Looks great."

I'm not into hockey. But something tells me that wearing any player’s jersey in any sport around campus automatically signals to others that you're probably in a relationship with them—or the president of their fan club. Both of which would not describe me.

But I'm now running late for my next class, so I'll have to do the best I can to cover his name with my backpack.

"Thanks, Keelan. I'll make sure to wash it and give it back to you in Keister's class tomorrow."

He throws a hand out, "Don't worry about it. I got plenty of them."

Ryker clears his throat. "You ready to practice or what?" He says gruffly.

Right. That must be my cue to scram. I pull on my backpack and grab my textbook. "Thanks again."

"Anytime, Rina. And hey," he says as I'm about to turn around. "You should come watch us play sometime."

I smile. "Okay."

"Okay," he says back.

I try hard not to smile. Because as unexpected as this interaction has been, it's kind of nice to be treated so well. For the first time since the semester started, I talked to a guy who made me feel something other than icky.

Keelan is kind. Cheerful. And… are those butterflies I feel?

I allow myself a quick glance over my shoulder, and the two players are deep in conversation about something. Keelan glances over at me before I open the doors, and he waves—that smile of his firmly in place.

I think I might like him. And that's saying something for me. I don't just let people in like that. But in the tiny bit of time since meeting Keelan, I feel hopeful.

And I get to see him again tomorrow. And he wants me to come to a game. I look down at the ASC Batties jersey with the number nineteen, big and bold on the front.

It feels good.

I notice some looks as I make my way to the first class of the day and Keelan's words ring out in my mind.

"You're with me. You're good."

I blush at the words.

The moment I walk into the class, I spot my roommate, Jennyfer Cobbs, in the back of the room. She's chatting with one of her girls from her cheer squad.

Her eyes flick up to me with a familiar smile on her face, but it instantly drops as I approach. The gum she's chewing practically falls out of her mouth.

"Rina… why are you wearing my boyfriend's jersey?"