Page 46 of Pucking Forbidden

I stare down at the screen for a second.

Julian: It was fine.

Hadley: Just fine?

Julian: Coach said I was dragging.

Hadley: Were you?

I shake my head.

Julian: No.

Hadley: Sounds like something someone who was dragging would say.

I snort. Sassy little thing.

Julian: Unbelievable. And you said I suck at pep talks.

Hadley: Rude.

I lean back into the couch, relaxing as the tension eases from my body. It’s so fucking easy talking to her, and it helps me feel less shitty about the email I just sent.

Julian: Get some sleep.

Hadley: You too. Try not to be too broody.

Julian: No promises.

I shake my head, setting the phone down. I stare up at the ceiling, thoughts of Chicago creeping back in. Was that really the right call? Of course it was.

I tell myself that over and over again, even as my heart twists painfully in my chest.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: PRETENDING

HADLEY

I fall into a school routine so quickly that it kind of freaks me out. I’m apparently so used to doing what I’m told that I didn’t miss a beat when I transferred to a new university half a world away from my old one.

Halfway through October, the truth about how much I still hate my major starts to eat away at me again. I wake up very early most mornings, before my alarm even goes off. For a few minutes I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself to get up. I can honestly say I'm happier in Colorado than I was in England. Between the girls and Julian, it's nice having friends and being close enough to them to do more than just FaceTime with each other. That said, the problem of my major has yet to be resolved, and I'm starting to lose hope. Sometimes I check the time and calculate how long I could stay in bed if I skipped just one class. I never do it. That would require a kind of rebellion I haven’t figured out how to have yet.

So I drag my ass out of bed and get ready for the day.

The apartment is quiet when I step out of my room. I drift into the kitchen, pulling my hair into a loose bun as I reach for my electric kettle.

“Good morning to me,” I mumble, flipping the switch. The machine hums to life.

When the water’s done, I make a cup of English Breakfast. I pick up my phone to mindlessly scroll through emails, notifications, and messages I don’t feel like answering yet. I open one of my class portals, stare at the list of assignments for a second, then close it again. It’s too early for that. Too early for anything, honestly. This teacher likes to post her assignments before that day's class, as if she thinks that helps. Honestly, it just stresses me out because I'm even more aware of the boredom I'm about to embark on for the day.

I understand everything the professor is saying in class today. That’s the frustrating part. None of this is hard for me. I can follow along, keep up, and do the work. I know what the terms mean, how they apply, how to structure an argument, and how to break something down until it makes sense.

I just don’t care.

Around me, people are typing on their laptops and scribbling in notebooks, nodding and asking questions. They all want to be here, and I stare down at my notes, heart sinking.

“Miss Sullivan?” the professor suddenly says, glancing in my direction.

I blink and straighten. “Yes, sir?”