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If anything, he appears happier. “I choose door number two. Make me pay, Shorty. Do your worst.” He braces himself with a cheerful grin, as if he thinks my sneak attack will come right now. When he’s ready for it.
Amateur.
“Don’t worry.” I turn on my heel, heading back toward the stairs and praying that Alexis and Mitchell found somewhere other than the dorm to hang out. “I will.”
6
NATHAN
My fingers tapimpatiently on my leg as the elevator crawls upward. Shorty always beats me on Wednesdays, so I know she’ll be sitting there when I turn the corner. Maybe she’ll glance up from her notes and give me one of those searing glares she’s perfected. They definitely burn, but I doubt it’s in the way she’s hoping they will.
And if she’s in The Spot, then she’ll stick around. Not like yesterday. Maybe it was stupid to goad her with that sign. If anyone had seen me put it there before I hid behind a bookshelf to wait for her, they would’ve thought I was as mature as the elementary school kids I want to teach.
But her reaction was worth it. All up until she walked out.
I hadn’t wanted her to leave.
But today, she’ll stick around. Today, I’ll be able to pretend like I’m the one put out. Maybe she’ll even take her revenge—whatever that entails. Growing up with a brother I regularly got into fistfights with, I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever Shorty throws at me.
And maybe I’ll finally find out what her real name is.
The elevator bell dings, and I suppress my grin, trying to keep a neutral face. But my effort is pointless.
The Spot is empty.
I peer around, as if Shorty will spring out from somewhere, maybe with a water balloon aimed at my head. That would be priceless. But the floor is quiet.
Slowly, cautious as a gazelle approaching a watering hole, I walk toward the chair. I even go so far as to slide my bag off my shoulder and sit down, all the while braced for a sneak attack.
Nothing comes.
I beat her to The Spot on a Wednesday. What should’ve felt like a triumph actually bums me out.
What if she shows up and then turns back around to leave again?
I consider moving over to the uncomfortable wooden chair, but I don’t want to give up our game yet. Theno longer silentwar is my connection to her.
Instead, I stand up and head for the stairs. Going up one floor, I wander around the stacks, killing time.
Giving her a chance.
After twenty minutes, I figure even if whatever class she was in ran long, she should be in The Spot by now. Excitement thrumming through my veins again, I jog down the stairs and burst through the door, figuring she’ll like it if it looks like I was rushing, attempting beat her here.
But all the eagerness drains out of me when I turn the corner.
Still no Shorty.
Giving up the pretense of letting her win, I settle into the lounge chair. I only take one book out of my bag, hoping that if it appears like I might leave at any minute, she’ll decide to stick it out when she eventually shows up.
Problem is, she never does.
I stay for three hours, one more than I normally do, and no sign of her. Disappointment spears through me when I accept that she’s a no-show and load my textbook back into my bag.
Tomorrow, I’ll slowly walk over from my class. Maybe she’ll beat me, and we can have our next battle then.
But Thursday comes, and when I get to The Spot, it’s empty again. Hours go by with me sitting on my own. Every slight sound has my head whipping toward the corner, waiting for her to jog around it, scowling at me and revving for a fight.
Again, she never makes an appearance.
