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Eleven

“And then, I put my number on his ticket and wrote him a note telling him to text me.” I slide my laptop into the pocket of my backpack, standing in mine and Rosalie’s little kitchen. “Not exactly a love connection, but real Kate Beckinsale from Serendipity .”

“But not a love connection?” Rosalie looks at me like I might be a feral animal.

“Calm down. Stop worrying about Callum Whitaker.” Man, that is a great name. A main male character kind of a name.

“I’m not worried about Callum Whitaker,” she says.

“Are you saying you’re worried about me?” I throw my backpack over my shoulders and eye her on my way to the door.

“I always worry about you, sweetie. I don’t want you getting your heart broken.”

“Rose,” I say. “Do you believe in the romcom remake?”

“Sure,” she says, but her faith is faltering. I can hear it in her voice .

“Then don’t stress. Every girl has to kiss a few frogs before she finds her prince.”

“I’m not sure that’s accurate,” Rosalie says. “How many frogs are you talking about?”

“Besides, Callum isn’t a frog. He’s now a friend.” I set my hand on the doorknob and puff out a breath of pent-up air. “A friend who kisses so magically that time pauses for one second just to let you enjoy it a little longer.”

“See.” She points at me. “This is why I’m worried. There was no magic with those other guys—which meant no heartbreak.”

“But no heart soaring either. Your heart can’t plummet if it’s never soared.”

“Fran,” she moans.

“If you were so worried, you shouldn’t have told him where I worked.”

“I told his friend! Not him!” she yells as I head out the door. “He had an extremely trustworthy face!”

“You’re right. Zev does have an honorable face. If you want?—”

“No, I don’t need a remake!” she yips. “I love you. I support you. I will support your loco journey to find love because you need to believe. But I will not be a guinea pig.”

“Rose, I know what loco means. I did take one semester of Spanish. Remember?”

Rosalie swallows. “Everyone knows what loco means, Fran. Just promise me you won’t fall for Callum Whitaker.”

I breathe and think, answering her honestly. “Soaring does lead to falling. But I learned long ago that I can’t be like my mother, Rose. I was meant to soar. We have wings, we just have to use them!” I study her worrisome face. “Be a believer, Rosalie. ”

“I think right now, I’m more worried that I understood everything you meant in that analogy. You’re rubbing off on me,” she says, but I need to rub off on her a whole lot more. Rosalie deserves her happily ever after too.

Don’t get me wrong. Rosalie isn’t anti-love.

She grew up in a happy home with happy parents—another example to me of what could be.

She knows love is out there for the taking.

But she’s awfully cautious with her heart, even more so with mine.

Robert Pattinson—the engineer, not the vampire—broke her heart, and she’s been timid about love ever since.

“I have to go,” I tell her. “I have my meeting with Ellington.”

Rosalie and I live twelve blocks from campus, a little less than a mile. The sun is shining. It’s seventy-six degrees out, so I’m walking to class.

My pocket vibrates with a knowing buzz, and I retrieve my phone. “You had me at hello, Callum Whitaker,” I say, peering at the screen. He texted. I whip around to the old woman sitting outside her plant shop. “He texted me!”

Her eyes dart up to mine, her gray brows lifting in surprise.

I wiggle my phone in my hand, but she doesn’t say anything.

I have a confession.

Oh, man, what a great first text. 11:48 a.m. A tremor runs down my spine. Rosalie might have reason to worry. Callum gives me the feels. I can’t explain it. I’m excited. My pulse is racing with anticipation, and I’m not even in the middle of a remake .

I quickly add Callum’s number to my phone, when another text pops up.

Callum Hot Lips Whitaker: I’ve been distracted… and struggling on the field.

Me: Still waiting for that confession…

Callum Hot Lips Whitaker: The night that we met. That first evening.

Me: The night you decided to throw caution to the wind and kiss the most beautiful girl in the room?

Callum Hot Lips Whitaker: Yeah. That night.

Callum Hot Lips Whitaker: Well, the very next day, I played the best I have in months. And now my team believes that you might be lucky for us.

Callum Hot Lips Whitaker: For me.

Lucky? Me? Who would have thought?

Rosalie would tell me to play it cool.

Cooool.

Me: Well. Well. Well. Does this have anything to do with your invitation to be friends?

Callum Hot Lips Whitaker: No. Honestly, Fran. You make me laugh. And Zev is right. I need something outside of work. I thought a new friend might be nice. A friend who isn’t my teammate.

Me: It is nice. Friends are very nice .

So are kissing friends… but we’ll talk about that later.

Callum Hot Lips Whitaker: I have something to ask you too. I want to be upfront and transparent about it.

Me: Now you’re asking me things. I love it.

Callum Hot Lips Whitaker: We have a game tomorrow night. The guys might show a little more faith in me if my “lucky charm” is there. And I wouldn’t mind having a friend in the crowd.

Me: Are you asking me out right after we decided to merely be friends?

I cross my fingers on both hands.

Callum Hot Lips Whitaker: I’m asking if you want to come to a game. I have two tickets, so you won’t have to sit alone. You could bring Rosalie. Or another friend. Or a date. But it’s just an invitation. For a friend. I’m not offended if you don’t want to come.

The man uses the F-word a lot. Friend, friend, friend. That’s okay. I like Callum. If he wants a friend, I’ll give him a friend.

Me: I’ll come. Where do I pick up the tickets?

Rosalie would say my text is too eager. But I’m excited. A professional soccer game? Watching Callum Hot Lips Whitaker? Yes. Please.

I’ll have to force Rosalie into going with me. I’m not sure how she feels about soccer. Plus, she’s a little concerned about my feelings for Callum.

He wants to be friends. She’s convinced I’m going to romanticize that relationship.

She’s worried with good reason, of course. We both know it. It’s my thing. It’s what I do.

But being Callum’s friend doesn’t equal automatic heartbreak—I’m convinced of that.

I look down University Avenue and start across the street, still pondering all the ways I’ll deny my romanticizing to Rosalie, when the bottom of my ten-dollar book bag gives out on me.

It’s lasted almost two years. I should be grateful…

only my psychology and English books, along with my computer, are now littering the dirty asphalt ground. In the middle of the road.

“Crap.” I crouch, lifting my computer from the blacktop and brushing the pebbles from its surface.

It took me months to pay off this computer!

I lift the lid, and it lights up. It lives.

My psych book pillowed its landing. Hallelujah.

I shut the lid and hug the thing close to my chest, my eyes crammed shut, praising the gods of the girls who must scrimp and save to afford every single thing for college from the minute to the grand.

My prayer isn’t quite finished when—I’m hit from the side.