Page 23 of Your Side of the Offense

I don't know what is going to happen if I see him in the class today. But I guess I need to get my big girl panties on. I can't avoid it. And at some point, I am going to have to learn that they exist, and I will see them often. Maybe it's great it’s Caleb and not the others.

7

SWEET JOCK GUY

Summer

I walk alone on campus, hurrying to my first lecture and make it just in time in to class, taking a seat next to the walkway in the center.

Students continue walking in. Most look fresh and energized, genuinely excited to be here, but there are a few sullen faces. If I had to guess, they are the ones taking the class again. It's crazy how you can almost see the difference between them.

Aside from looking visibly younger, you can gauge how many years a student has been here by the level of hope and the twinkle in their eyes.

The seniors look like this is a waste of their time and would rather be anywhere else; tired, uninterested and resentful.

Lord, may I never repeat a class. I don't want to be sharing classes with freshmen I’ll look down upon. So I can't drop the ball. I need to be on my shit, like high school. No slacking. I’ve got stay focused and study. Study. Back then when they weren't rocking my world, we were studying together…

I groan inside. Why the fuck are those memories still there? It's insane how everything reminds me of them somehow.

What’s it going to take to actually forget them?

A familiar cologne fills my nostrils and I look up. Caleb is taking the seat in front of me and I look back down. Fuck my life.

The professor walks in, setting his bag at the podium.

"Welcome students to Macroeconomics 101. I am Professor Brown, and I will be facilitating this class this semester," the balding black professor says.

The class starts and he takes us through what we can expect, as per the course pack, before the lesson. I try to focus on the contents of the material, but I can't help my eyes falling to Caleb's neck, specifically the tattoo of the hickey I gave him.

I remember how he woke up that rainy Saturday and called his tattoo artist friend to tattoo him that very morning. He was ecstatic. I thought it was insane, the guy who tattooed him thought he was insane, but his brother boyfriends understood. After that, we all got tattoos to commemorate our relationship.

The only four I have—I separated them between my two under-boobs—and theirs are on their chests over their hearts. They tattooed themselves in the Chinese character for summer. And I tattooed their initials in Chinese as well; JA on the right and CH on the left. JACH. More like jerk now.

I sigh inwardly. Idiot moves.

I need to find out how much to get it erased or covered. I could get away with it if the next guy doesn’t Google them, I’ll tell them it means one love or something. But I’ll be fucked if that person understands Chinese letters.

Fuck, I was such a stupid girl in love.

I definitely need to be watched next time I fall in love.

And now here he sits, knowing exactly what he is doing sitting in front of me.

"That's it, that's where we end today, students. Don't forget to check out your assignments on the portal. It’s best you get to those as soon as you can, and we will start that material next class. Till next time," the professor says, ending the lecture I hadn’t been listening to.

Well, fuck me then.

I start collecting my things as Caleb gets up from his chair to let the other students out. I do too. He doesn't look back, just walks out with his things. That stings a little. But whatever. I leave too. My next class is luckily in the same building, so I am not going far.

Caleb is waiting with a boy I don't recognize as I exit the room, and I should have known better than to think he would just walk out and ignore me. His eyes are on me as he says bye to the boy and walks my way. I don't stop walking, heading to the vending machine. I regret not bringing a water bottle. I need water.

"Hi, Bumble." He steps next to me.

"I am not bumble, Caleb." I hope I sound as bored as I am pretending to be.

"You will always be Bumble to me."

A surge of anger rises speedily in my chest, and I whip my head to him.

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