I shake my head, feeling my cheeks flush hot. “He’s got a faculty meeting. Plus, we agreed to keep it on the down-low.”
Andie arches an eyebrow. “You’ve said that, like, twelve times and yet somehow you’re always glowing after lit class.”
I shoot her a look, but she’s not wrong. Iamglowing. I feel it in the marrow, in the crackle of every nerve, in the way I can see through even the most dense assigned reading as if it’s been translated just for me. Like everything makes sense for the first time ever. The world is the same, but I am not.
We settle back to our books, the only sounds the steady turning of pages, the low hum of the ancient heating system, and the occasional expletive as Andie’s pencil lead snaps. I lose myself in the text, highlighter gliding neon arcs across the margin, words sparking in my head. I jot a note, then another, constructing a mental cathedral out of quotes and arguments. I can almost hear Liam’s voice in my ear, the careful way he explained “symbolic density,” the way his lips moved when he was in full lecture mode.
I’m so far gone I don’t notice the shadow looming over our table until Andie’s pencil stops tapping. I look up, and there’s Dylan Tourneau, six foot three and all swimmer’s bulk, shoulders wide enough to block out the ugly overhead fluorescents. He’s in his team windbreaker, the one that makes every guy on campus look like an escapee from the US Olympic Training Center.
He’s not looking at me, at first. He’s looking at Andie, but only as a formality. Then his eyes find mine, the green in themso sharp it’s like someone turned the saturation knob to max. My stomach sinks. I’ve been not-so-subtly avoiding him, but obviously, that isn’t going to work now.
“Hey Simone,” he says. “Andie.” He nods, just once. “Do you mind if I steal her for a second?”
Andie glances at me, then at him, then at me again. “Sure,” she chirps, voice too bright. “I need caffeine anyway.”
She grabs her phone and her wallet, gives me a look—call me if you need saving—then floats away, leaving a faint cloud of vanilla perfume and a growing sense of dread.
Dylan slides into her seat, all elbows and knees, and leans in. He’s close enough that I can smell the chlorine baked into his skin. He doesn’t speak at first, just watches as I close my book and cap my pen.
“What’s up?” I ask, aiming for casual but missing by a mile.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he sets both hands on the table and drums his fingers, slow and deliberate. “I’ve been trying to get you alone for weeks,” he finally says. “You’re hard to track down.”
I laugh, but it sounds hollow. “I’ve just been busy.”
He leans in more, voice dropping so low I have to tilt my head to hear. “With him?”
The question lands like a punch. For a second I can’t breathe. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes narrow. “You think people don’t talk? You think nobody noticed the way Thomas looks at you in class?” He snorts, then shakes his head. “You’re smarter than that, Simone.”
My cheeks go cold. “You’re out of line,” I whisper, but it comes out weak.
He ignores me. “Look, I don’t care who you fuck. But just so you know, if it comes out, he’s done. They’ll fire him so fast you won’t even get to say goodbye.” His lips curl in what might be a smile. “And they’ll kick you out, too. Century College doesn’t do scandal.”
I want to punch him. I want to run. Instead, I just sit, mouth open, hands shaking under the table.
Dylan stares at me a moment longer, then leans back, the old smile back on his face. “I’m just looking out for you, Simone. We’re friends, right?” He winks, then stands, stretching like a cat. “If you ever want to talk—about anything—you know where to find me. But be sure to bring condoms because we’ll need them during our so-called chat.”
He leaves, the scent of chlorine and aftershave lingering.
I sit there, blinking, the yellow pools of lamp light suddenly feeling like interrogation bulbs.
Andie returns, two paper cups in hand. She takes one look at my face and sets the coffee down. “What happened?”
I can’t speak. My hands are trembling so hard the pen rolls off the table and clatters to the floor.
Andie bends down to pick it up. “Simone? You’re scaring me.”
I swallow. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I manage, grabbing my phone and stumbling away. I don’t head to the bathroom, though—I head for the stacks, deep into the warren of back rooms and silent alcoves, until I find an isolated area near the law journals where nobody ever goes.
I dial Liam, hands shaking, breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
He picks up on the second ring. “Simone? Hey babe.”
I can’t answer. I can barely keep the phone from slipping out of my hand.
He says my name again, this time sharper. “Simone.”
