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This is probably a preview of what’s to come, because I don’t expect my next stop will bring me any good news either. I’ve been dreading this meeting ever since my mother broke the good news to me. Good, in this case, is relative. Good for her. Absolutely shit for me.
The financial aid office is a short walk away. Once there, I pull the door open, go inside, and take a seat. And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Not that I mind too much. The longer I sit out here, the longer I can pretend my college career isn’t about to meet its unhappy end any moment now. And I won’t even go out with a bang. Just an unnoticed fizzle.
I thump the back of my head against the wall and close my eyes while I suppress a sigh.
It’s a fucking shame I’m not into arts. Or something where talent would be half the battle won and a college degree isn’t essential. But for as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a doctor, and I doubt anybody will let me cut them open just because I have a gut feeling I might be a prodigy with a scalpel.
The chair next to me lets out a loud squeak when somebody flops into it.
My eyes fly open.
I turn my head.
And meet the impossibly handsome, glorious, golden-boy smile of Ryker James.
Yeah, no, life really is just fucking mocking me right now, isn’t it?
“Thought it was you,” he says.
“Yup.” Short and unfriendly. I do try to be civil to Ryker whenever I run into him. I have a smidge of emotional intelligence swimming around somewhere deep inside me. Granted, not a lot, but enough to realize our shared history is not his fault, and I can’t despise him just because my father chose him and not me.
He wiggles a bit, trying to fit his tall frame into the rickety chair, and while he’s preoccupied, I take surreptitious glances to my left and catalog the changes since the last time I saw him.
His black hair is shorter than it was in February. The silvery gray eyes are as sharp as ever. He’s cleanshaven right now, as opposed to the permanent five o’clock shadow he was sporting the last time I saw him.
He’s lounging on the chair, long legs stretched out, ankles crossed, the picture of ease and relaxation.
Most people here look frustrated or worried. Not Ryker. It must be fucking wild to live like he does. To just be easily confident things will go your way in the end. To possess the easy charm of a person who’s certain about his place in the world.
Or maybe it’s just an act.
He’s always had a laid-back air about him, as deceptive as it might be in reality. I’ve seen him go after what he wants. The determination is almost obsessive once he sets his sights on something.
He bends down and pulls something out of the side pocket of his backpack, straightens himself, and holds a bag of peanuts and a granola bar out in front of me.
“Want one of these?” he asks, still with that easy smile of his. “The vending machine gave me a free granola bar.”
I almost laugh.
Of course.
Of-fucking-course.
“Not hungry,” I mutter.
I am.
It’s the principle of the thing though. I will not show any kind of weakness in front of anybody, but especially not in front of Ryker James. Yes, hunger counts as weakness. And yes, I have issues. Obviously.
He shrugs easily, tears off the wrapper, and chomps my granola bar down in two bites. People smile and greet him as they pass us while we wait. High fives. Shoulder claps. Fist bumps.
Ryker is that guy. The one everybody wants to know, or at least be in some way associated with. He should be stuck up. Arrogant. Annoying. Instead, he’s completely missed the brief. He’s ridiculously nice. Charming to an extent that should be illegal. Successful. One of the hockey boys. By all accounts a star in the making. First overall draft pick. Captain of the hockey team. And if that weren’t enough, he’s also funny and smart to boot.
