Page 13 of All Your Pucking Secrets

“What degree are you studying?” His breath gusts over my ear and goose bumps race down the back of my neck.

“Back. Off.” My pen snaps, and I gasp. I hadn’t realized I was clutching it so tightly.

“Here.”

I glance sideways. Tyler is holding out a pen. It’s an expensive one, with a brand name along the side, inlaid with what looks like gold. Because who wouldn’t have a gold pen?

With a sigh, I take it from him. He doesn’t seem to need it and I do, so it only makes sense. For a moment, I’m tempted to steal it just so he’d feel some of the frustration coursing through my veins, but then I’d be stuck with a reminder of him, so it’s best if I don’t.

I resume notetaking until Tyler’s foot nudges mine.

I’m tempted to stomp on it.

“How’s your mom?” he asks.

I don’t react.

“Does she still live in Charlesville?” he persists.

I glare at the front of the class, refusing to turn toward him.

“Ignoring me won’t make me go away, Echo. I told you; nothing can drive me away from you again.”

At this, I huff. Drive him away? As if he wasn’t the one behind the wheel when he left me in his dust.

Everything bad that happened to me during our fateful senior year was because of him.

Well, everything except The Incident.

Even I can admit he had nothing to do with that. Nevertheless, his presence brings me back to that time in my life. To the days and weeks I’d dearly love to escape.

His shoulder bumps mine. “You okay? You don’t look great.”

“I’m fine,” I snap, loud enough that several people turn toward us. One shushes me.

His questions continue for the. Entire. Lecture.

“Hey, Echo, why won’t you tell me your major?”

“Hey, Echo, have you been back to Charlesville recently?”

“Echo, are you still in touch with anyone from school?”

And on and on and ON.

By the time the closing minutes of the lecture are upon us, I’m ready to stab him through the neck with his fancy pen.

I’m struggling to listen to the professor, who’s saying something about a group assignment.

“…teams of four, randomly assigned. You’ll find your team in the class page on the university’s study app.”

I automatically reach for my phone and open the app.

“The group assignment is worth thirty percent of your final grade,” the professor continues.

Damn. That’s a lot. I hate group assignments. It’s so easy for one or two people to be stuck doing the majority of the work while the others reap the rewards.

I scan through the class list until I see my name. Beside it is the letter S. I scroll to see who else has an S beside their name. The first is someone I don’t know. And the second…

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