Page 39 of Beyond the Lines
“I’m not hiding,” I say, my chin resting on her shoulder. I should pull away, because we’re making a scene, and everyone is watching, but I don’t want to.
She looks up at me and raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Well, admit it or not, Irefuseto let that jerk ruin your year before classes even start!”
Despite myself, I crack a smile. “You’re annoying.”
“I prefer ‘charmingly persistent.’” She squeezes me tight. “Look, I get it. The guy pulled a dick move. But you can’t let him—or your brother—dictate where you go and what you do. Whether you decide to get back on the horse, or on the cock?—”
“Em!” I squeal, laughing.
“Horse, then…” She grins. “Just try not to let it ruin everything else for you, OK? There are awesome classes to look forward to… you’re basically my bestie now…”
“I know.” I sigh. “It’s just… I really liked him, Em. Like,reallyliked him, when I told myself I wasn’t going to do the boy thing for a while. And now every time I think about that night—first night of college—all I can see is how fake it was. How he sat there talking about art like it was his whole world, when really…”
“When really he was just trying to get in your pants?”
“When really he was just trying to be something he’s not,” I say.
“OK, that too.”
“And I fell for it. Just like I fell for Chris’s whole ‘soulful traveler’ act.”
Em studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “Come to the game, OK?”
I hesitate. “No face paint?”
“No face paint.”
“And no signs?”
“Cross my heart.” She makes an X over her chest. “Though I can’t promise Marnie won’t spend the whole time looking for Trevor.”
“If I hear one more word about his ‘rock-hard ass’…” I groan. “Although at least she’s moved on from his ‘soulful laugh.’”
“It’s a date, then!” Em smiles. “You better get to class…”
I nod, reach out, and give Em’s shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks, Em,” I say.
I head off, and I’m still thinking about Em’s words as I walk across campus. It’s a beautiful day, and in any other circumstance, I’d be pulling out my sketchbook to capture the way the sunlight filters through the tree branches.
But right now, I’m too preoccupied with not being late to my first life drawing class. It’s the class I was most looking forward to this semester, and if anything can blast me out of my misery, it’s this, and there’s no way Declan can ruinthis, at least.
Focus on school, my mind chimes in, helpfully.On art.
I check my phone.
Shit.
I’m cutting itclose.
I pick up my pace, my messenger bag thumping against my hip as I speed-walk across the quad. The art building should be… right… there? No, that’s the music building. Or… nope… that’s an admin wing…
Damn it.
Despite Mike’s tour the other day, and all the walks Em has dragged me on, I somehow manage to get lost. The campus isn’t that big, but between the collection of identical red-brick buildings and the winding paths, it’s like a maze.
My heart races as I finally spot the right building. And, a minute later, I burst through the doors. I’m headed for room two-oh-four. Second floor. The elevator would take too long, so I take the stairs two at a time, my bag bouncing wildly.
I skid into the classroom, slightly out of breath, to find every easel taken except one. The professor—a tall woman with silver-streaked hair and paint-splattered jeans—is already speaking, and she stops when she spots me.
