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PROLOGUE
Ruby
My roommate, Clair—nickname Sunny Delight—started it, and it’s all her fault.
“I just have a great feeling about today!” she chirped this morning, as I grabbed my backpack from its hook on my dorm room wall. Clair, who stands five foot nothing, was wearing a sunshine-yellow sweater and a cheerful smile.
“Don’t! Now you’ve set us up for doom!” I groaned at her, but it was too late. I know, I know. I’m overly superstitious, but I have my reasons. And I’m rarely wrong.
Now I’m walking towards my Classics of British Literature class with a storm of butterflies in my stomach.
I paste a fake smile on my face and wave at the students who are streaming down the cement-walled hallway. Most are not smiling. Summer session will do that. Unlike them, I’ve chosen to be here. They were most likely forced, hence the grumpy attitudes.
The Manhattan Institute of Arts and Technology is a fairly small college, and everybody knows everybody, for better or for worse.
I try to tell myself that my uneasy feelings won’t translate into reality. I’m sure it’s nothing. I love Professor Ito; I am only mildly annoyed that I always seem to end up sitting next to Nick Ruckman, the world’s thickest-necked and most conceited running back; and I have written a killer paper that is going to get an A plus.
Still, I hesitate at the door. The butterflies in my stomach swirl and dance.
My older sister, Rowan, insists that being superstitious is like believing in horoscopes. You see what you want to see. Like the day that I accidentally broke a mirror, and then nearly got hit by a speeding taxi that splattered both of us with dirty puddle water. She grabbed me by the arm and yanked me out of the way just in time. She stood there, dripping, insisting that this was actually good luck—I nearly got run over, but I survived!
I’m not convinced.
“Are you going to go in, or were you just going to stand there and stare at the door all day?” Becca Winchester shoves past me.
She pauses to cast one scornful glance at me. Becca always dresses like she’s auditioning for a reality dating show, and she isn’t impressed by my oversized T-shirts and leggings ensembles, or the fact that my wavy blond hair just blows wild and free, or my minimal makeup—if I remember to wear any.
Slender, glossy-haired, and made up with the precision of a social media influencer, she’s one of Nick Ruckman’s fangirl group, and apparently she thinks he likes me.
All I can say is, I seriously hope not.
I am done with dating. I recently had my heart run over with a bulldozer, then fileted and served up to me on a platter for good measure, by someone I once trusted and adored.
I am not good at romance. I’m good at classwork and writing poetry. I’ll stick to that.
“I was going for the staring at the door all day option; thanks for your concern,” I say, stepping to the side. That earns me a curl of her glossy pink upper lip.
I wait until Becca’s gone in, and then I take a deep breath and walk through the door. As I do, the familiar scent of Nick’s cologne fogs the air. My eyes start to water, and I blink hard. He’s right behind me.
I step out of the way, and he muscles past me and shouts out to his friend Kirk, “Bro! Last night was epic!” Then he stands there looking for a seat. All the seats around Kirk are taken up by jersey chasers.
I need to find a seat that’s not next to him. I’m not up for the olfactory assault today.
Looking for reassurance and a friendly face, I glance at the front of the room, where I know Professor Ito will be writing on the board with her yellow chalk. And I nearly trip over my own feet as I’m walking.
Professor Ito is nowhere to be found. Instead, I lay my eyes on Professor Alex Nass. He’s one of the college’s youngest tenured professors ever, at only thirty, with high cheekbones and a Byronic sweep to his thick brown hair. He’s published several successful poetry books, and every girl in the English lit program is in love with him.
I was one of them, once. And for a brief while, I thought he felt the same way about me, until he sent me packing with a barrage of cruel words and low-key threats. I’ve spent months crossing the campus quad to avoid him, and now I’m trapped in the same room as him, and suddenly I feel like Alice in Wonderland after she ate the cake that made her grow.
My stomach plunges right into my shoes.
He glances my way and scowls. I meet his gaze fiercely with a scowl of my own. I’m not going to let him intimidate me. Not again.
“Where’s Professor Ito?” I say loudly.
“Hello to you too, Ruby.” He narrows his eyes at me.
“Again, where’s Professor Ito? That seems like a simple question, Professor.” I put the teensiest bit of sarcastic emphasis on the word professor.
