Page 11 of Our Ruined Beginnings

He blows a sigh of what seems to be relief before his shoulders lower and he seems keen again. His head bobs, and I can see the cogs turning as his eyes dart to the door. “I can set something up. A couple of auto guys are on the team, I’ll get them to source me some scraps and a tire or two.”

My smile widens. This is perfect. There’s a reason Evan and I have been friends for so long. We easily get on the same page when shit matters, and he’s not afraid to throw his hat into the ring and join me on some reckless quest.

“I hope you know we’re gonna get into a shit ton of trouble for this,” he says.

“Will we?” I shrug, knowing that even if I wanted to take credit, there’s no way this school would dare outwardly punish a Taylor. Good thing I don’t want the credit. “Who said we set it up?” He purses his lips, curiosity flitting across his features. “I’m sure anyone who is asked what happens will be only too happy to explain how Harper Delaney went on a mad rampage. We were eating lunch in the courtyard at the only time it could have occurred.”

He claps, throwing his head back with a laugh at my fake kiss-ass voice. “Amazing. Going straight for emotional turmoil. Seems awfully cruel.”

“What, you think it’s too much now?” I cock a brow, daring him to tell me he does. Will he tell me to dial it back—that we can’t do it, not to Harper? But he doesn’t. He’s shaking his head before I’ve even finished.

“Absolutely fucking not. It’s not enough until she’s gone, right?”

“Right.” I bob my head and ignore the roll of unease that washes over me, pretending my chest doesn’t tighten at the thought.

Chapter Five

Harper

“CanHarperDelaneymakeher way to the dean’s office, please?”

The overly formal voice travels over the tannoy, and everyone in the class gawks at me as I flush. What a way to remain anonymous. As if I had any chance of that—they’ve all been “whispering” slurs about me to their friends since I sat down.

This is officially the worst first week ever, and I still have two days to go.

“Miss Delaney,” the lecturer calls, drawing even more attention that I really don’t need. I snap my gaze to the front of the room, my already burning face turning crimson as he taps his foot. “If you could hurry, please. One distraction is enough for today, don’t you think? And be sure to take your belongings, I can’t imagine you’ll be back for the remained of this lecture.”

The class titters obnoxiously, and I flush even deeper as I gather my books and stuff them into my bag. I hoist it over my shoulder and rush from the class, opting to go via the courtyard to feel the breeze on my overheated cheeks.

It’s funny—one of the reasons I was so excited to come to Maine is because of the cool air. Arizona is basically stifling heat all year round, and so, I’ve romanticized the seasons.

I wanted to wear a beanie and sip hot chocolate while the snow fell, watch the world come alive again as the days got brighter and longer. Lounge in the balmy summer before wrapping up again as the air chilled and the leaves crisped.

It’s one of the reasons I would’ve chosen DU—somewhere I could satisfy my seasonal pining. Now that I’m here, though, this seems to be the first time I’ve even noticed the thing I so badly longed for.

I hurry across the open space, enter the main building, and turn for what my phone map assures me is the dean’s office, if I’ve read it correctly.

Taking another corner, I’m relieved to see the curved walnut desk sitting in front of the ornate door, a gold plate on the wood confirming I’m in the right place. His assistant—one of many student volunteers on campus—gives me a double take before a slight sneer crosses his face, and I want to shrink into myself but don’t allow it. He’s wearing the colors of the soccer team. I should’ve expected the cold welcome.

“Forrester is waiting for you,” he says, turning his attention back to the open laptop on the desk in front of him.

Barely keeping back my eye roll, I rap my knuckles against the heavy door. I hold my breath until a muffledcome inechoes through the wood, then gingerly push it open.

My eyes dart around the room as I step over the threshold, taking in the paneled wood that covers each wall. The room reminds me of a sauna.

Who told anyone this much walnut was a good thing?

Bookshelves line two of the four walls, and the overly large desk sits in the bay window, light shining from behind Dean Forrester as he sits at it. It’s the first time I’ve seen the man in person, his graying hair looking far less full than the university brochures would have you believe.

I bite back a snicker at the thought. Whoever edited those pictures was a dab hand at photoshop, and it’s clear the dean took advantage of that—not only with his hair, but also with the protruding belly barely contained beneath the buttons of his pale blue shirt, and the large nose that takes center stage on his face.

“Miss Delaney,” he says, his tone cold and demanding. “Please take a seat.”

Plastering a smile on my face, I follow his instruction, cautiously perching on the edge of the chair opposite. I open my mouth, more than ready to get to the bottom of why he’s called me here, but before I get a chance, he leans back in his chair and narrows his gaze on me.

“I’m not sure if you managed to read any of the brochures we sent out over the summer, or the welcome pack you received when you arrived here, Miss Delaney, but are you aware we have a zero-tolerance policy regarding vandalism?” His thin lips purse.

My brow furrows, and my lips turn down. I was not aware of that specifically, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know those sorts of things are never tolerated in an education setting—especially not somewhere like DU. I’m also unsure as to why that’s relevant to my little jaunt to his office today. The only noticeable vandalism I’ve caused today—and, well, ever—are the childlike images I spent all my last lecture doodling in my textbook. Hardly a punishable offense considering I own the books.

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