In the silence, my mind drifts back to yesterday—Liam’s face, the taste of him, the way his hands bruised my thighs in the classroom. I touch my lips, as if I can still feel the pressure of his mouth, but all I feel is Chapstick and regret. I shiver, even though the room is way too warm for November.
The key turns in the door then Andie bursts in, red-cheeked and breathing hard, like she’s been running up and down the halls just for fun.
“Girl, are you alive?” she calls, slamming the door behind her. She’s wearing a miniskirt and leggings, a pink turtleneck, and a denim jacket so stiff it could stand up on its own. She’s holding a cardboard tray with two iced coffees, each dripping condensation onto the backs of her hands.
“I’m breathing,” I say, voice raw. I sit up, tugging my old Centennial swim camp t-shirt down over my hips.
Andie surveys the carnage of my bed, then plops herself cross-legged on my desk chair, shoving aside a pile of printouts and an empty La Croix can.
“You look like shit,” she says, but her tone is affectionate. “Are you hungover? Tell me you’re not still pining over the Professor.”
“Did you just bring coffee for yourself?” I ask, eyeing her tray.
She holds up the second cup, waggles it in my direction. “You want, or are you off caffeine again?”
I reach for it with a shaky hand. The plastic cup is so cold it makes my teeth ache. “Thanks.”
Andie peels the lid off hers and slurps. “So. Details. You bailed on movie night. Something happened, I can tell.”
I sip the coffee, letting the sugar and ice hit my tongue before I answer. “I have a date tonight,” I say, as casually as I can.
She almost chokes. “With who? Oh my god. Is it Liam Thomas? Again? Is this studying or for real?”
I bark a short laugh. “No. Not him. It’s—” I pause, embarrassed. “It’s Dylan Tourneau. The swimmer. He asked me out yesterday. Says he’s going to take me to the Olive Branch.”
For a second, Andie’s mouth goes slack, then she jumps out of her chair, coffee sloshing onto the rug. “Stop it. Shut up. The guy who everyone says is going to the Olympics? The guy every girl on campus is dying to date?”
I shrug, not looking at her. “I don’t know. I guess. I don’t follow sports.”
Andie is already at my closet, flipping through the tangle of clothes with her free hand. “The Olive Branch? That’s, like, a wedding proposal. Nobody goes there on a first date unless they’re crazy rich or want to sleep with you really, really bad.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s just dinner. He probably takes all his dates there. We were supposed to go to some swimming party, but I guess he didn’t want all his teammates watching us.”
Andie yanks out a powder blue minidress, then a slinky red top, holding them up for inspection. “You’re underselling this, Simone. You do realize what a big deal this is, right? Dylan Tourneau was on the cover of the alumni magazine last year. His abs have an Instagram account.”
I flop back on my pillow, trying not to think of Liam’s abs, which are less famous but way more interesting. “Why are you so hyped about this? It’s just a date. It doesn’t mean anything.”
She pulls her phone from her back pocket, thumbs furiously, then reads aloud: “Dylan Tourneau. Four-time conference champ, pre-law, family from Wisconsin, no siblings, never been seen with the same girl twice.” She looks up, triumphant. “You’re a unicorn, babe. You are stardust.”
I snort, then let the silence settle in. I want to care, but the only thing I care about is the slow-motion memory of Professor Thomas—how he looked when he told me we were “just having fun,” how he made it clear we weren’t serious. My mouth tastes sour, and I make a face.
Andie drops the phone onto my bed, then sits beside me, legs bouncing like a metronome. “Are you okay, really? You seem, I don’t know, out of it.”
I shrug, then risk the truth. “I just keep thinking about the Professor. Like, is that normal? Shouldn’t I be excited about this date?”
She leans in, her voice low and serious for once. “You had a thing. It was intense. Of course it’ll mess with your head. But Simone, Professor Thomas is not worth throwing your whole college life away for. I mean, that guy is old, whereas you could get a hot jock who’s young.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, but the words don’t stick.
Andie sips her coffee, then sighs. “You need to get out of your head. Put on something hot, go to dinner, and let Dylan worship you like the goddess you are.”
I stare at the ceiling, counting the little dots in the acoustic tile. “What if I screw it up?”
She laughs, shoving my shoulder. “Impossible. Just don’t talk aboutMoby Dick, and you’ll be fine.”
I smile, for real this time. “You’re the best, Andie.”
She stands, twirling a golden strand of hair around her finger. “I know. Now, let’s get you ready. What did you wear to your last date?”
