Page 2 of The Backup

We file out of the aisle, squeezing past the hordes of screaming fans. My legs feel like lead, and the cheers behind me are just noise now.

I avoid Joe that night. It’s not hard; there’s a big party at Joe’s frat house, where all the "cool kids" will be. Me? I need time to process everything.

So, being me, I head to the library with Jacklyn.

My dad always told me, “When life gets tough, don’t lose focus on where you want to go.”

I’m an Econ major, and the GMAT is looming. Business school is the goal—Harvard, maybe Stanford, or even Texas. I don’t know yet. But I’ve got straight As, and I see no reason not to shoot for the best.

Jacklyn and I settle at a long oak table, our books sprawled out for our Principles of Marketing class. I’m trying to read when a huge sigh escapes me.

“You okay?” Jacklyn nudges me.

I shrug. “I keep reading the same line over and over.”

“Yeah, I feel that. I’m thinking about grabbing some late-night food. Want me to grab you something?”

“That’d be great. How about a wrap?”

“On it. Want to come with?”

I shake my head. “Nah, I’ll chill here. Keep an eye on your stuff.”

“Good idea. Thanks.”

Jacklyn gets up, and I flip my hoodie over my head, burying myself in my book—not that I’m actually reading. Avoidance is my current coping strategy. Confrontation? Not my thing.

Just then, a tall guy steps into the study hall. He’s wearing gray sweats, a hoodie, and large headphones over his shaggy brown hair. Glasses frame his clean-shaven face.

He’s cute. An observation I might not have made before this morning’s bombshell.

I try not to stare, but something about him feels familiar, though I can’t place him.

Our eyes meet for a second before I look down, accidentally catching a glimpse of his sweatpants.

Okay, I’m not a perv, but it’s hardnotto notice. Let’s just say, it’s…impressive.

I bury my nose in my book again, though I’m still not reading a word.

“This seat taken?”

I look up to find the tall man in gray sweatpants standing by the table, one headphone off his ear.

“Uh, no. Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

He pulls out a textbook and notebook, then sits down, his headphones back on. For a few minutes, I pretend to study while my heart pounds.

“Hey.”

I glance up. He’s looking at me now, his headphones hanging around his neck.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he asks.

“I was thinking the same thing. What’s your name?”

“Asher Knox. You?”

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