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“But you said you talked to him. ”
“No, I didn’t. ”
She rolls her eyes. “You implied it, lawyer girl. ”
“We exchanged a few sentences. He wanted to make sure I was okay. ”
We’re on to drinks now. Bridget goes for the milk. I get myself a Coke with ice. “Did he say anything about why he did it?” she asks.
“No. ”
“Did you ask? Did you hear them arguing? Give me something here. Only you could act like West and Nate hitting each other and you getting whacked in the face is no biggie. Hey, where’s your sweater?”
Author: Robin York
“I had to throw it out. Blood all over it. And, no, I didn’t hear them or ask. ”
“That sucks. I liked that sweater. ” We swipe our cards at the checkout to put the food on our meal plans, and she starts walking toward the closest free table. Looking back at me over her shoulder, she smiles. “Want to know what I heard?”
“What?” I set my tray down on the table a little too hard.
Her smile falters. “You’re upset. ”
“No. ”
I’m not. I’m just … confused. Something’s going on, and these days when something’s going on, it’s rarely good. And if the something involves West and Nate, I’m very much afraid I don’t want to hear it.
We sit down. I brace myself. “Just tell me, okay?”
“I heard they were fighting about you. ”
Crappity crap crap crap.
“Who told you that?”
“Somebody in their class. They’ve got Macro together. ”
“Nate and West?”
“Yeah, and Sierra, you know her? She said that after class Nate made some random joke, and West got on his case, and it turned into an argument about you. ”
“What did they say?”
There’s a rock in my stomach, dense and hot. I sip my Coke, closing my eyes against the doomed feeling slipping over my shoulders.
“I’m not sure. ” Bridget’s tone is cautious. “Sierra didn’t catch all of it, only your name. ”
I push at my chicken with my fork, but I can’t even bring myself to cut it. When I put it in my mouth, it will taste like ashes. The burned-up remains of the life I used to have.
People talk about me. Not to my face, but behind my back? All the time. I’d made Bridget promise to tell me whatever she heard, because I need to know. It’s the only way I can be sure they’re forgetting, like I want them to.
I’m nothing special—just a normal-looking college girl. I should be able to fade into the background if I keep my head down. In a year, I’m hoping that barely anyone will remember this. Caroline who?
It’s not what I had planned, exactly. I’d thought I might shoot for student-body president my junior year, senior year at the latest. But I can table that ambition if I have to. I’d rather be anonymous than notorious.
“Sierra said it was kind of romantic,” Bridget offers. “He was defending your honor. ”
It’s such a preposterous idea—that I have honor. That West would defend it.
