Page 14 of Past the Broken Bridges

His brows rise. “Deep.”

Is it? I should ask him what he’s majoring in, but we approach the building I need. “Thanks for walking with me,” I say, stepping ahead of where he stops in front of Allen Hall. Unsure of what to do, I stare at the ground.

“If you ever need a ride to campus, let me know. Like I said yesterday, I live right downstairs from you.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he lifts his shoulder. “It’s not a bad walk here, but we get a lot of rain this time of year.”

Did he see me walking this morning? It was too beautiful to get a ride, not that I would tell my parents I opted to walk. The doctors told me exercise was good as long as I wasn’t overexerting myself.

Dawson already offered to give me lifts when he talked to Dad and me, and Dad thanked him before I could. I think that was his way of sayingthanks but no thankson my behalf.“I’ll keep that in mind. It was nice seeing you again.”

This dismissal makes him chuckle. “Yeah. It was nice seeing you too. I guess I’ll see you around.” He starts backing up, narrowly dodging a few students walking behind him. “If you ever want to hang out, I know a few good bars around. Doesn’t have to be just us. We could get a group together.”

I’ve never been the best at making friends. I used to think I was charming enough to draw people in, but after I started homeschooling, my social skills were only ever used in the oncology unit with women and men much older than me.

I think about my list.

Make new friends.

“I’d like that,” I say, rubbing my arm. “I’ll take you up on it.”

That big, doofy grin is back. “You do that.”

His tone is flirty again. Or, at least, I think it is. I’veonly had one boyfriend in my life, and that was in eighth grade. Brady Tompkins didn’t exactly have any game, but what thirteen-year-old would? And, technically, we only dated for a couple of days because I was worried my parents would somehow find out and ground me. Dad always told me I couldn’t date until I was thirty, and I thought he was serious back then.

When I open the door to my classroom a few minutes later, I find that I’m not the only person who likes arriving early. There’s a boy near the middle with his back turned to me, and a funny feeling buzzes under my skin.

Brushing it off, I study the space to find the perfect seat. Not in the front where the teacher’s pet sits, but not directly in the back either, where the professors probably write you off as the screw-off. The dark-haired boy has it right.

That tingling sensation moves up my spine, causing prickles in the back of my head when it settles into the edge of my skull. Warm. Calming.

When I drop my bag onto my chosen desk, the boy turns in my direction.

I gape when we lock eyes—his brown, a pretty color that seems familiar trapped behind a black pair of glasses.

I glare at him and say the first thing that comes to mind. “You owe me a taco.”

Chapter Six

Banks

The hangover is strong, but not enough to forget that I dickishly stole this chick’s food. Though itwasoutside in the cold, so I figured it was fair game. If I didn’t get it, the racoons probably would have.

As I give her a once-over, I realize Dawson got his wish. This girl is hot. Short, petite, with a good face. Even scowling at me. I’ve always had a weakness for blonds.

Rubbing my eyes, I lean back in my seat and stretch my legs out. I could pretend I don’t remember, but then I’d be a bigger asshole than I already have been. “You couldn’t have wanted it that bad if you forgot you ordered it.”

The way she stares at me is comical. She pushes a piece of her blond hair away from where it fell in front of her ocean-blue eyes. Another weakness of mine. It’s almost not fair. “I didn’tforget. They never said it was delivered. The app must have messed up or something.”

All I say is “Unfortunate.”

Turning forward, I open my ratty notebook and startdoodling in the corner of a fresh page. I think she’ll give up and sit down in her chair a few rows over, but she decides that we’re not done talking.

Her things drop directly beside me before she noisily pulls the chair out. The legs scrape against the floors, making me cringe at the horrid sound. The Motrin I took this morning did very little for the headache pounding in my ears, and she’s certainly not helping. If I didn’t think my father would somehow find out about my absence so early in the semester, I wouldn’t have come at all.

Unapologetically, she sits down.

I don’t pay her much attention despite the obvious way she’s gawking at me. Dawson basically called dibs on her the day she moved in. He even texted me about it. Didn’t say her name. Barely said anything other than she was blond, cute, and “totally into him,” which I have a feeling he exaggerated.

It doesn’t matter that she’s my type. I wouldn’t do that to my best friend. Especially after the unfortunate situation last time. “You going to take a picture, Birdie? It’ll last longer.”

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