Multiples of three means I’m safe.
Kennedy narrows her eyes at me, and I notice the blue face paint on her cheek with Harry Butler’s jersey number on it. Harry’s another player I’ve awkwardly slid into a friendship with. He doesn’t really talk much unless Miles is dragging him into conversations or when Kennedy tries to challenge him to a dance battle.
“Yeah, sure you don’t,” Kennedy mocks.
I open my mouth to say something, to ask her what she means by that, but I think better of it. There’s no use trying to overanalyze another ridiculous comment that doesn’t mean anything.
I tap my knee with the pad of my index finger six times before pressing my thumb hard enough that I can feel it into the pocketthat forms in the crease of my knee. I wish my nails were slightly longer, sharper, just hard enough so I’d at least be able to nick some of my skin when I feel like this.
I take a deep breath and hold it for a few counts before exhaling.
This is the college experience, Dad, I tell him telepathically,trying not to have a panic attack at a hockey rink.
Somehow, just saying it in my head gets me to relax a little. This is fine. Everything will be fine if I believe it will. It’s just a hockey game next to people I tolerate. People do this all the time.
Scarlett takes a seat next to me, and a fresh and crisp smell follows. I can never pinpoint what she smells like, but she just smellsrich. It’s intoxicating. She doesn’t even look at me as she says: “Branson.”
“Scarlett,” I greet, turning to her as I smirk. “Twice in one day. Aren’t I so lucky?”
“Wish I could say the same.” She looks me up and down, eyes fixed on my jeans and T-shirt. “No tie. Are you finally experimenting with your wardrobe?”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m sure you are.” She surveys me again, like she’s storing all this information away for later. “You’re wearing a hat too. What’s up with that?”
I snort. “Someone’s curious.”
“Well, I apologize for trying to make conversation,” she huffs, crossing her arms.
For some reason, she seems genuinely pissed that I’m not entertaining her, and my chest jolts. After she told me to drop our conversation in the library, we didn’t talk for another hour before she got a text and said she had to go. I know that what I said must’ve got to her, but I thought she’d be in a better mood by now.
“I need a haircut,” I explain, and her chin lifts up. “And I’m sure Miles would’ve murdered me if I didn’t rep NU in some way. I’d much rather wear this than a jersey.”
“You’re right. Not everyone can pull one of these off,” she says, gesturing to her own jersey and the leggings she’s wearing. Her shirt is a few sizes too big for her, an oversized, casual look I’ve seen only a handful of times. She’s got her braided ponytail threaded through the back of a cap too. “Just some friendly advice—”
“Friendly? I didn’t know we were friends.”
“We’re not. We’re partners for a project that could determine whether or not I get an internship, so I’mtryingnot to be a total bitch.”
I nod slowly. “Right, of course, and you’ve been doingsucha good job at that so far.”
She glares at me. I smile. “Do you want the advice or not?”
“Please, go ahead. I’m sure it’s going to be fascinating.”
She takes in a breath like it’s taking everything in her to be nice to me for one second. I’m not exactly making it easy for her. “You don’t look half-bad when you’re not wearing that stupid tie. The backward cap suits you.”
I can’t help the shit-eating grin that crawls up my face. “Did you just call me hot?”
“When did Ieversay that?”
“I’m pretty sure I heard a sliver of a compliment in there.”
She huffs out a frustrated breath. “All I’m saying is that you look more approachable when you’re not wearing a suit. It makes you look less like a pretentious asshole with a God complex, until you open your mouth. Unless that’s the look you’re going for.”
“You see . . . A pretentious asshole with a God complex isexactlywhat I’m going for, angel.”
The lights in the stadium dim, but I don’t miss the way Scarlett’s neck flushes with anger. “I’m just trying to help—”
