Page 22 of From Now On

Professor Hayden is standing at the front of the room, his hands clasped in front of him. “Miss Johnson. Mr. Morgan. How lovely of you to join us. Please take your seats.”

It’s 11:09—class starts at 11:10—but we both shuffle to our joint row quickly.

Once I’ve sat down and opened my notebook, I tap a pen against the spiral ring anxiously.

I’m not nervous for class. I’m nervous forafterclass.

Holly leans closer. I can tell instantly, because she wears a perfume that smells like some sweet fruit. Strawberries, maybe? I drove from her sorority house back home with the windows down—despite the snow—simply to clear the smell out.

Cherries, I decide. Holly smells like cherries. The maraschino kind that come in a glass jar of red syrup, so they’re extra sweet.

“Can I borrow your notes from last class?” she whispers to me.

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll give you my notebook after class.”

I won’t need it over break. And if it smooths things over with Holly, she can copy whatever she wants. I hate confrontationand unnecessary drama. And dating, I think. Right before I graduate wasn’t the ideal time to start up a relationship, anyway. I don’t know what Holly’s plans are after graduation. I didn’t ask—on purpose—because I was worried it was a question she might reciprocate.

Class passes quickly. Despite my classmates’ complaining about Hayden’s lack of materials—the only way you can study for one of his exams is by reviewing your notes—I don’t think any of them would deny that we learn better because of it. The girl sitting directly in front of me during one of my classes yesterday was playing Solitaire on her laptop the entire time.

But here, everyone’s hanging on to Hayden’s every word, worried the sentence they miss will be on the next test. I write nonstop, my wrist cramped by the time class ends.

Professor Hayden wishes everyone a good break, and then calls out a gruff “Hunter, stay back a minute?”

“Of course, Professor.” I zip up my backpack, hand Holly my notebook, and walk toward the desk at the front of the room. My grip on the strap tightens as I approach the podium he lectures from.

I know what this is about.

Predictably, Professor Hayden doesn’t bother with any small talk. “You haven’t responded to any of my emails,” he states as soon as I reach him.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You must have heard back by now.”

I nod. “Yeah. I have.”

He sighs, but his expression is sympathetic. “I’m your academic advisor, Hunter. I can’tadviseyou on anything, academic or otherwise, if you keep me out of the loop.”

I nod again. “I know.”

Truthfully, I shoved all future decisions out of my head and focused on hockey. That worked—until the season ended. Andskating with Conor and Aidan on weekends isn’t a commitment I can justify as an excuse.

It’s silent in the lecture hall. Everyone else hustled out of here, eager to start their break.

“I got in everywhere,” I admit.

Professor Hayden’s bushy eyebrows rise. He looks surprised. Impressed. And Hayden isn’t easy to surpriseorimpress. “Everywhere?”

I applied to some pretty competitive schools, mostly at his urging. They all waived the application fee, so that wasn’t a factor, and honestly? I didn’t think I would get in. I thought the decision would be made for me.

“Yep,” I confirm.

“Hunter. That’s incredible.”

“Thanks. I’m just— It took me by surprise. And everything with hockey…”

“Your season is over, correct?”

I hide a smile. “Correct.”

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