Especially since there’s always that one pretentious asshole who shreds everyone else’s work.
“It’s masochistic,” Priya declares, narrowing her eyes. “You better believe I’m calling him Professor Bates every chance I get. No more of thisCall-me-Davidbullshit. First names are reserved for cool ass profs.”
“Preach,” I say, laughing as the stream of jostling bodies carries us out the front door of Windsor Hall and down the stone steps. “Any idea what you’re going to write about?”
She shakes her head, dark ponytail bouncing. “No. You?”
I could write about my sexcapades, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever put my name on them. I’d never live it down. Not even on a campus with forty-thousand students.
“No clue.”
“Well, whatever you decide, don’t sweat it,” she says, hitching her bag up on her shoulder. “I’ve got your back during critique.”
“Thanks.” Gratitude wells up from the pit of my stomach and I want to hug the stuffing out of her, but that would probably be weird, so I just say, “I’ve got yours too.”
“Cool.” Priya steps off the sidewalk into the grass, letting a couple of wide-eyed freshmen with an enormous campus map pass by. “If you want a second opinion before class, you can email me your pages.”
“Only if you send me yours.” We did the same thing last fall, swapping feedback and tightening our pieces before sharing them with the class. Priya’s a solid writer and doesn’t need my help, but having her as a crit partner was a lifesaver. “You still have my email?”
She nods and we say our goodbyes, Priya heading toward the library while I head for Daily Grind.
I have time to kill before my next class, and it’s too nice to be cooped up inside pouring over textbooks.
Besides, I’ve got all weekend to catch up on homework.
And the essay from hell.
My stomach clenches, but I can’t tell if it’s from the essay or hunger. The way my day is going, it’s a toss-up. I overslept this morning and had to haul ass, leaving no time for breakfast.
That’ll teach you to schedule an 8am class on a Friday.
I text Haley and she agrees to meet me for coffee—aka survival juice—because her next class doesn’t start for an hour.
The September sun warms my face as I cross the Oak Grove, tucking my phone into my back pocket. The leaves are starting to turn and bursts of crimson and amber dot the canopy above, where squirrels race along the tree branches collecting acorns. Despite their efforts, the sidewalks are littered with fallen nuts, and I’m careful not to step on any.
Mainly because I don’t want a repeat of last year.
Who the hell twists an ankle slipping on acorns?
The nurse at the student health center hadn’t voiced the question aloud. She didn’t need to. Her eyebrows had said it all.
But that was last year. This year I’m going to kick my bad luck—and my virginity—to the curb.
When I slip through the door of Daily Grind, the nutty aroma of fresh ground coffee welcomes me like a long-lost friend.
Haley’s already in line with a dozen other caffeine deprived undergrads.
“Busy morning,” I say, joining her at the back of the queue.
Most of the tables are occupied by students sipping lattes, devouring textbooks, or tapping away on tablets. I have no clue how they can work in this environment. It’s not exactly noisy, but between the quiet hum of conversation, the indie rock spilling from the speakers, and the glorious whirring of the grinder, it’s not exactly quiet either.
Haley makes a noncommittal sound, eyes glued to a copy of The Collegian.
A beat later, she laughs, the campus paper rattling in her hand.
“Oh, my God. Quinn... this headline.” A grin splits her face as she holds up the article she was reading:Jockblockedby A. Ginger. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Probably because you were too busy fantasizing about said jock.” I glance around to make sure no one’s listening. While I was busy documenting my failed attempt to get laid for the school paper, Haley spent most of Sunday drooling over Cooper’s abs and forcing me to look at training camp pics featuring his sweat slick body. It was counterproductive, to say the least. “Keep your voice down. I don’t want anyone else knowing I wrote that article.”
