Page 8 of Don't You Pucking Dare

Lola: Just a rich snobby version of high school

Levi: Do you have time for me tonight?

Lola: You wish

Levi: I’ll call you

Lola: Not going to answer

Levi and I agreed that this wouldn’t continue once I started college. I didn’t think he’d break our pact so soon. I glance around, still feeling like I’m being watched. But no one’s around.

I can’t shake the feeling, but I pull out my books and pretend that I have homework to do before my next class starts.

Chapter 5

College is supposed to feel like freedom. That's what everyone says—your chance to reinvent yourself, to shed your past like an outgrown skin. But something about Blackridge feels more like a cage with each passing day.

Aside from yesterday, the next odd thing happens Tuesday morning. I'm organizing my desk before class, shifting through the pile of sheet music I was working on last night. Something feels wrong. The pages are too neat, corners aligned. It’s nothing like my usual organized chaos. Each measure is perfectly visible, not a single page dog-eared or slightly askew like I left them.

"Hey." My roommate's voice breaks through my spiral. She's propped on one elbow in bed. "Do you wanna go get lunch?"

"Did you..." I hold up the sheet music, feeling ridiculous. "Did you straighten these? Clean my desk?"

"Haven't touched your stuff." She yawns, then seems to really look at me. "You think I touched your stuff?"

"No, no. Uh, sorry. No, I don’t think that." I shove the pages into my folder.

"Well, do you want to grab lunch? We could go to the dining hall and check out what they make on Tuesdays."

I almost say no. The dining hall means people, means eyes, means that crawling sensation I can't shake. But Kiah's smile is genuine, and we live together. I can’t say no.

The morning air holds that perfect September crispness as we cross the quad. Students mill about, clutching coffee cups or books. Kiah chatters about her English professor's obsession with metaphors, and finally, everything feels normal. People smile at us as we walk past. A few wave. It’s nice to be acknowledged. Maybe I could fit in here and feel at ease.

Then I see the group of girls from my composition class, huddled by the library steps. The one who made the janitor comment spots me and stares. I square my shoulders, refusing to shrink. I wink at her before cutting the corner then I chuckle.

"What’s funny?" Kiah asks as we enter the dining hall.

I shake my head, glad that life here finally feels normal. "I just winked at the mean girl."

She grabs my arm, laughing. "That’s hilarious. I love it."

The dining hall is busy with students. The smell of tacos fill the air as we check in and grab a plate. We claim a corner table, and I position myself to see both entrances. Just in case the mean girl decides to walk in.

"I thought it would be tacos," I chime.

"Taco Tuesday." Kiah dumps hot sauce on her plate. "So, why do you already have a bully?"

I pick up the taco and take a bite, trying to focus on her voice instead of scanning the room.

"Because the professor played my piece on the piano and the claws came out." I widen my eyes and take another bite.

"Messed with the wrong girl," Kiah laughs. "God, this taco is delicious."

I laugh. "It is!"

This is just what I needed. Some time with a new friend at our new school. But that feeling creeps in again— like spider legs on the back of my neck. Someone's watching. My eyes dart around, but there are too many faces, too many angles.

"Okay, what's going on? What was that?" Kiah finishes off her taco, wiping the hot sauce from her lips. "You've looked around a hundred times in less than a second."

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