So, I’ll do what any smart man would do—I’ll come bearing gifts.
Coffee, maybe. Or those overpriced, insanely sweet cookies she used to beg me to buy her from the local bakery closer to home.
As the rest of the class shuffles in, I can’t help but wonder what Madison’s class schedule looks like. Is she in the same building as me right now? She isn’t a morning person by any stretch of the imagination.
“Good morning, everyone. I hope you’re ready to dive right in. Seeing as this is the final or only math class most of you have to take, you should know what to expect.” The professor starts writing a few things on the board before handing a stack of papers to the front row, asking them to take one and pass it back.
Just as I get my copy of the syllabus, I hear the door open.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I slept through my alarm and–” I know that voice.
My eyes swing to the doorway. Anything the professor says barely registers, her words a blur, background noise to the only thing that matters.
Because standing in the doorway isher.
Madison.
She’s exactly the same and somehow completely different at the same time. Dark, wavy hair is twisted into a bun, like she threw it up without a second thought. An oversized sweatshirtswallows her frame, hiding what I hope are tiny shorts underneath. Long, tan legs I know by heart end in the same worn-out sneakers she’s probably had for years.
She’s effortless. Stunning. Mine—except, not really. She’s never really beenmine.
I just wished she had been.
My grip tightens around my pen, my jaw clenching as something thick and sharp knots in my chest. I used to be the one she’d walk up to first, the one who got her sleepy good morning grumbles and her late-night rants about anything and everything. Now, I don’t even know if she’ll look my way.
But God, do I wish she would.
Her head swivels my direction, her face turning completely pale. Word about my transfer has been all over the news throughout the summer, but it seems she’s still avoiding social media.
Madison stares at me, unblinking. I’d hoped her hatred of surprises had changed over the last three years, but it seems I was wrong.
And judging by the way she looks at me now, like I’ve just flipped her entire universe upside down—I was dead wrong.
2
MADISON
Ifucking hate surprises.
Waking up after I apparently snoozed my alarm one too many times? Hate it.
Having no pods left for the coffee maker? Hate it.
I'm a whirlwind of motion in my shared apartment—papers and textbooks scattered like the remnants of a storm, my clothes haphazardly piled in every corner of my bedroom. I fumble for my keys and bag as I hurry toward the door, only to pause when I step outside and see my car slumped in the driveway, a tire deflated and useless. Of course, I don’t have a spare.
My heart sinks further. Today of all days. With no option to drive, I grab my phone and call Lyla—my best friend, my roommate, and my saving grace on mornings like this. Everything I lack, Lyla has. She’s stunning, with flowing red curls and emerald-green eyes. She’s one of the smartest people I know, and, truly, everyone loves her. Her bubbly personality was something I despised at first, but now, I can’t picture my life without her.
We met three years ago during our first year at community college, when she dropped into the seat next to me in my Intro to Psych class and immediately decided we were going to be best friends. I gave her short answers, tried to keep things distant, butLyla? She didn’t believe in personal space—physicallyoremotionally.
By the second week, she was dragging me to study groups and forcing me to grab coffee before class. By the third, she was sprawled across my couch, flipping through my TV channels like she lived there.
And somehow, without even trying, she did, which is how we became roommates.
She never asked me to be someone I wasn’t, never pried into things I wasn’t ready to share. She juststayed.And before I even realized it, I had something I hadn’t let myself have in years.
A best friend.
Within minutes, Lyla pulls up in her blue sedan, the early light catching her concerned smile. “You’re cutting it close again, Maddy,” she teases, swinging the door open for me. As we race through the early morning traffic, I turn up the music, and we have a little rock out session to hopefully ease some of the first day nerves.
