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He smiles. “Aside from struggling with the door, no.”
His gaze dips down, checking me out. He’s cute and seems nice.
I shouldn’t stereotype, but I doubt he plays hockey—or is on any sports team. He reminds me a little of Walker, unfortunately, with the same slightly nerdy, put together demeanor. Earnest reliability I thought was a good idea. That seemed like a safe bet.
“You’re a math major?” he asks.
“How’d you know?”
“Because the only class meeting at nine is Abstract Algebra, and I’ve never met anyone taking it for fun.” He grins. “I’m Theo, by the way. 110 is at the end of the hall.”
I follow him.
“I’m Rylan,” I say, glancing at the posters on the walls as we pass them.
All senior thesis presentations, I’m assuming. Something I won’t have to worry about until the fall.
“That’s a cool name,” Theo says.
“Thanks.”
“So, where did you transfer from?” he asks.
“BU, technically. But I spent the fall abroad at Oxford, so this is my first semester on campus.”
Theo whistles. “Oxford. Fancy.”
He’s definitely getting the wrong impression about me.
Oxford was fancy. I’m not. I was there on a full scholarship that covered tuition and housing. What it didn’t cover was eating at the expensive restaurants and buying the designer clothes most of the other girls had the resources for. I found amazing bargains at thrift stores and begged off from most meals, saying I needed to study. Honestly, it was exhausting.
“Rainy,” I tell him. “Weather was worse than Somerville.”
Theo laughs. “Someone already broke it to you about the weather, huh?”
“Alongtime ago. I grew up here.”
He looks surprised. “Really?”
I nod. “Really. Where are you from?”
“Des Moines.” He pauses. “Iowa.”
I smile. “I know where Des Moines is.”
“You’re in the minority of people I’ve met, then.”
My grin grows. The more I talk to Theo, the less he reminds me of my ex.
Theo pauses outside of the door numbered 110, gesturing for me to walk in first. I thank him. A rare gentleman.
The lecture hall is smaller than I’m used to. Only three rows of stadium-style seating, ascending from low to high. There are no individual desks, just one long stretch of wood with chairs spaced every few feet.
A middle-aged man with graying hair is sorting through a large stack of papers. About ten students are already seated, several of them greeting Theo and smiling at me. I head toward an open section at the end of the middle row, dropping mybackpack on the ground and then leaning down to pull out a notebook and pen.
I’m relieved when Theo takes a seat next to me. I’ll have someone to ask questions of if I need to.
A few more students hurry in right as the giant clock above the whiteboard hits nine exactly.
