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Tucker

The scent of coffee smacks me in the face when I walk into Broad Street Beans.

Students dressed in Strickland University shirts occupy most of the tables.

A few people are wearing shorts and sandals with socks.

I analyze every person as I pass through the crowded space, searching for a girl wearing a green shirt.

Sam is not here.

By the window, a group of girls gather around a table too small to fit all of them.

One notices me, and when she does, the rest of their heads snap in my direction.

I give a quick wave and keep moving toward the back of the shop, where there’s an open table set further apart from the rest, right next to the restrooms.

I drop my bag to the floor and sit, hoping no one comes over to ask questions.

Everyone on campus knows me or at least has heard of me.

It’s hard not to gain unwanted attention when your dad is a famous hockey player.

Because of that, no one can know I need a tutor.

My academic history is one of the best-kept secrets on my team. And now, Sam could expose my secret.

Thirty minutes pass, and I flip through the social media apps on my cell phone. A sliver of hope passes through me when a girl in a green shirt steps into the café area with a tray. And that hope fades the second I realize she works here.

What should I do? Is she testing me to see if I’m worth her time? If that’s the case, I will sit here all damn day and night just to prove her wrong. I like a challenge.

I answer a text and comment on a few Facebook posts. Irritated about Sam blowing me off, I open the Strick Net app on my phone to send her a message. I was a dick toward the end of our conversation, but we had a deal. She should have been here by now.

PuckMe_69

I’m here.

You’re late.

Are we still on for today?

Seconds turn into minutes without a response. I’m about to leave the coffee shop when a blonde wearing a green Broad Street Beans polo sits across from me. She stares at me in horror as our eyes meet when she realizes I know her, too.

But I don’t know her as Sam.