Page 1 of Penalty Shots

Prologue

18 years old | Rina

Icatch myself bouncing my foot again.

I know I'm doing it because the entire table is shaking from the motion, causing the coffee to dance in the cups set on it.

The girl seated at the end of the table eyes me again. This time, her look is a warning.

"Sorry," I mouth when I notice her scowl. She shakes her head and goes back to reading her book.

Sheesh. Midterms have everybody on edge lately. I ignore her and try re-reading the same paragraph I've been stuck on in my English Lit textbook for the past half hour.

I sigh, shutting the book, ready to just finally give in. I'm not passing this class. I can pretty much kiss my scholarship goodbye and everything my parents did to get me into this private college. Which, for my mom, was a lot.

I grab my backpack from the ground and scoop my book into my arms while simultaneously scooting my chair back.

"Oh shit!" Someone calls out behind me.

At the same moment, I feel an ice-cold liquid go down the back of my shirt. My verywhitet-shirt.

I instantly drop everything.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" A strong hand reaches down to help me grab it all.

"It's fine. I got it," I insist.

I glance up to get a good look at the guy who just ruined my perfectly mundane day by causing everyone in the coffee shop to look my way.

I instantly recognize him.

There are a lot of faces at this school. But his is one of those you can't ignore.

Keelan Landry. He's a freshman like me. And he already has quite the reputation around campus.

He studies me. "Do I know you?"

No. He definitely doesnotknow me. Because Keelan is the kind of guy that everyone knows. And I'm the kind of girl who does her best not to be seen.

I shake my head. But then he looks down at the textbook on the floor and picks it up. "Huh, looks like we're taking the same class this semester. You in Keister's English Lit?"

"Mmhmm," I say, pretending not to know we have the same class.

One of the student workers comes out from behind the counter with a mop and bucket.

Keelan picks up my backpack and slings it over his shoulder as he rises, my textbook still in his hand and extends the other to help me up.

"I'm Keelan," he says as I slip my hand into his. He watches me with anticipation, surely waiting for me to reciprocate by offering up my own name.

I look down at my wet shirt, realizing it's not just the back that is soaked. I have a streak of iced coffee running down the front, showing off the color of my bra.

Keelan's eyes don't look down. A perfect gentleman.

"Rina," I finally say, reaching for the things in his hand. He pulls them away from me.

"Well, Rina, I think I owe you a new shirt." He motions toward the exit and moves in that direction. It must mean he wants me to follow him out.

"Oh, no, that's okay," I say, picking up my pace behind him. I look back at the coffee-tastrophe we left behind. The shop employee, who is reluctantly cleaning up the mess, offers up a scowl.

---