Page 2 of Broken Hearts

“I was thinking the same. I mean, I did it to try to graduate early.” And to avoid drowning in self-pity. A grimace crosses my face at the realization. “It’s going to be tough, no doubt about that.”

She shrugs. “Nothing is stopping you from dropping a class or two if it becomes too hard. At least you tried.”

Her words lighten my mood further. Not every decision carries the weight of life and death, as I once faced on that bridge. “I guess I tend to go all in,” I concede with a sigh.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” she asks, finishing her coffee.

I tap the schedule. “Planning to scout out all my class locations. Don’t want any added stress on the first day.”

“That’s smart. Mind if I tag along?” she offers, and I can’t help but feel grateful for her company.

“Of course not. It’ll be nice to have company,” I say, and for the first time in a long while, I feel a flicker of excitement for the day ahead.

We are already dressed, ready to go, when Nessa comes out of her bedroom in nothing more than a T-shirt and underwear, her face full of sleep. I shiver, looking at her long, toned, bare legs, cold on her behalf.

She removes her headphones and frowns. “You girls know we don’t start classes before next week, right?”

Poppy chuckles and nods.

“So why are you ready to go at the crack of dawn?”

I scoff, looking at my watch. “It’s ten a.m.”

“Yes…” she says slowly, like we are missing something. “Crack of dawn.”

I shake my head. “We’re going to scout out the grounds. Do you want to come with us?”

“Scout the grounds?” She snorts. “Definitely not, but I’ll wait for you at the café on campus with a caramel latte and a croissant.”

“You have twenty minutes.” She nods, and she’s out and ready within the time, looking as fabulous as always in her black-and-purple dress. Her purple-streaked hair blends with the bold drama of her red lips and smoky eyes. Nessa is the embodiment of goth chic, and as much as I disappear in my middle-aged librarian outfits of long, flowy skirts and cardigans, she shines with her unique style and beauty. Our friendship, as unlikely as it seems, was sparked by our shared status as the first recipients of the Phoenix Rising Scholarship. This program, dedicated to giving people a second chance at college, brought us together. It’s an odd pairing, but I have this feeling that these girls and I? We’re in it for the long haul.

We walk to the coffee shop, Nessa’s platform boots clicking authoritatively on the pavement.

“Try not to get lost, overanxious grandmas,” Nessa calls over her shoulder, the smirk clear in her voice.

Poppy retorts with a grin, “Just don’t scare all the baristas away, Wednesday Addams.”

Nessa’s laughter floats back to us as she saunters off, the bell above the coffee shop door jingling in her wake. Poppy and I exchange an amused glance before we set off toward campus.

The heart of campus is busier than I expect, and people rush around us, but it should not be a surprise since the upper classes have already started.

We decide to start with Albert Hall, where most of my classes will take place. We are halfway through the main hall when Poppy’s stride slows, her gaze fixed on something ahead. Following her line of sight, I see a group of jocks, their laughter echoing across the hall. One of them turns, his eyes catching Poppy’s, and the recognition there is unmistakable.

As the jock approaches, a familiar tension wraps around Poppy, the kind that speaks of shared heartbreak and past battles fought alone. When he greets her with “Pauper,” it’s tinged with a familiarity that doesn’t belong here, not in the halls of Silverbrook.

I’m watching Poppy, ready to jump to her defense, but she needs no champion. Her stance is firm, unyielding—she’s no damsel but a warrior in her own right. It’s amid this silent standoff that Poppy murmurs a single word under her breath, “Ethan.”

The name hangs between us, a new piece of her puzzle. The air suddenly chills; I feel it before I see it—a presence that looms large and threatening, turning the ground beneath my feet to ice.

Another jock appears, wrapping his arm around Ethan’s neck, and my own past slaps me right in the face in the form of Cole Westbrook. My personal nightmare, cloaked in blond hair, chiseled muscles, and that ever-teasing smile. No one knows the darkness lurking behind those bright-blue eyes. I didn’t, not until it cost me my dream. My stomach tightens, a cold knot of anxiety that refuses to unravel. On a campus with over fifteen thousand students, I had to run into him in the first week.

Surprise flickers across his features, his smugness slipping. “Juilliard,” he breathes out, and my scar sears with a remembered betrayal, echoing one of the many nicknames he once whispered like a caress.

I keep my face blank despite the nausea I feel seeing him again. Your spirit is unbreakable; let your actions reflect that. Max’s voice fills my head, and I repeat this sentence over and over again.

I need out; I am not ready to face him. How much time will you need? The mocking voice in my head whispers Forever might never be enough.

“Come on, let’s go back,” I urge Poppy, pulling at her arm.

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