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But on the walk home, the night turned into a clusterfuck of epic proportions.
I was walking home with a couple of the other guys back to the Ice Box, the off-campus Victorian house that the top players on the team get to live in. On our way, we stumbled across some fight going on in front of one of the frat houses. A bunch of stupid underclassmen who’d had way too much to drink.
Being sober, since I was so caught up in talking with Zoey at the club that I lost interest in drinking, I decided I should step in and break things up before anyone got hurt.
In the process, two idiots tangled together slammed into me, and I lost my balance. I fell, landing in the worst possible angle, with all my weight against my phone which I had in my back pocket.
It got totally smashed.
I took it to the Apple store the next day to see if it was possible to repair, but no luck. Had to get a whole new phone. And even though I was able to recover most of my contacts and data because they were backed up on the cloud, Zoey’s text or number didn’t get saved. It was lost to the ether.
I held out hope that she’d text me again after not hearing from me for a while, but it never happened.
I clutch the fortune paper in my right hand. I’ve always teased Grant about taking these silly little messages seriously. We all have. But you know what? Maybe he’s not so crazy.
Maybe there really is something like fate.
On Halloween night, Zoey talked about transferring here next semester—well, now itisnext semester.
She could be here right now. She could be passing by the arena, walking home from a late afternoon class as we speak. Next time I look out my bedroom window, I could see her walking across the street. When I slide into a desk at the beginning of my first class tomorrow morning, she could be sitting right next to me.
At any moment, thatsomeone from my pastmaking anunexpected appearancecould beher.
Maybe it’s crazy, but I’m going to choose to believe this silly little message.
I’m going to see Zoey again. This semester. I can feel it. And when I do, we’re going to make up for three months of lost time.
5
ZOEY
“Sorry!” I shout for the fifth time in the last thirty seconds, hoping that I didn’t make the poor girl who I just ran into spill her coffee.
The next sorry spills from my mouth just five seconds later, as I turn a corner and have to do an awkward, embarrassing spin maneuver to keep myself from smacking straight into a guy who’s got his head down, eyes glued to his phone.
My lungs are burning when I finally burst through the doors of the building that holds my next class. Intro to Psychology.
I applied, got accepted, and picked out my classes for this semester when I was still back in Georgia. I was basically choosing classes blind, having next to zero familiarity with the campus.
Honestly, it never even crossed my mind that it would be a problem. As long as I chose classes whose beginning and ending times didn’t overlap, I just assumed that getting from one to the next would be smooth sailing.
I guess this is one of those lessons I’m learning the hard way.
My Statistics class went a couple minutes over-time, and my Psychology class is at the very other end of campus. I’m in a mad dash to get there on time.
Actually, forget abouton time. I’m in a mad dash to not be any later than I already am.
Once I’m in the building, at least there aren’t many students in the halls for me to run into as I frantically race to find my classroom.
Probably because they all made it to class on time, unlike me.
I pause to take a breath in front of the door once I finally find the room. Ugh, late on the very first day of the course. Embarrassing and pathetic.
Hopefully, I luck out and my Psych professor will be one of those younger, totally laid-back types who view class start times more like suggestions than set-in-stone rules.
I pull the door open, hoping to see a relaxed, recent PhD professor wearing a t-shirt, maybe with long hair, the classic informal softie.
What I actually see is anything but.
