Page 13 of Seeds of Love
He grins.That asshole, did he do that on purpose?
“Pass me your phone. I’ll text myself so I can have your number.”
As I pass it to him, his fingers brush against mine.
As he punches away on the phone, I can’t help but ask, “So if you’re not into this stuff, why’d you switch programs?”
Something flashes across his face—so quick I almost miss it. “Let’s just say I had a reality check this summer,” he says, his voice lighter than his eyes. “My family needs help, you know? Stability. And when Alfie wouldn’t shut up about the money in oil and gas and mining, well…” He shrugs. “Figured it was a safe bet. Plus, I’ve always aced science and math. How hard can it be, right?”
It’s difficult to resist lecturing him about the poor environmental practices in both of those industries. My inner eco-warrior is screaming, but something warns me now isn’t the time. Before I can probe further, Freddie’s easy grin is back in place, like a mask sliding into position.
“Anyway, how about we grab coffee tomorrow and you can tell me all about,” he glances at my notebook, “the fascinating world of soil erosion?”
I smile and look at my feet, nodding.
“See ya round, Lexie.”
I wait until Freddie’s out of sight before checking my phone, because I’m nothing if not a master of subtlety. My heart does a little jig when I see the message he’s left himself:
Meet tomorrow at CC’s Coffee—I’m buying
ALEX
THEN – FRESHMAN YEAR – OCTOBER
Piper’s out at some comp-sci party, probably discussing quantum computing over lukewarm beer. Meanwhile, I’m getting ready to meet Tara. She got me a fake ID, which took a great deal of convincing for me to use. Now? I kind of love the thrill of it. Don’t tell my mom. We’ll probably end up at a bar with her brother Troy and his friends. And Freddie.
Freddie Donovan. My constant opponent in class discussions and my unfairly attractive study buddy. Not that I’ve noticed how attractive he is. It’s just an objective fact. Like the existence of gravity or the melting point of ice. The entire female population of UMS has noticed, if the constant barrage of “How do you know Freddie Donovan?” is anything to go by.
We’re… friends now. Nothing more. Despite what Tara thinks, with her knowing looks and not-so-subtle hints.Please.
As if Freddie would ever be into me like that. It’s laughable, really.
Freddie has made it crystal clear that relationships are not important to him, and apparently the girls he sleeps with arecool with this. Last week, Ethan teased him that his latest hookup was starting to get into girlfriend territory. I swear I saw actual fear in Freddie’s eyes. I’m pretty sure he broke it off with her that same day.
My mother, in all her infinite wisdom (insert eye roll here), would say, “Honey, that’s clearly not the behavior of an emotionally secure, emotionally available man. If we ignore red flags, we’re behaving in a self-destructive manner.”
I want somebody to woo me, to want me and only me. I want a stable, nice, loving relationship. It’s a bonus if they love the environment too.
So Freddie is not a candidate. Clearly. Not that I’m even considering candidates. Or thinking about Freddie. At all.
My phone buzzes, jerking me out of my totally-not-thinking-about-Freddie thoughts.
U and Tara out tonight? I think we’re hitting frat row. Also, can u send me your notes from the frog lecture we had yesterday? Ur the best.
Frogs. The mention catches in my mind, and suddenly I’m ten years old again, creek mud squishing between my toes, the summer air thick with the smell of wild roses and Emma’s lavender shampoo. I still buy the same one just because it reminds me of her.
“Ally! Look what I found!” Emma’s voice rings out, crystal clear across the years. She’s standing knee-deep in the water, dark curls escaping her ponytail, eyes bright with discovery.
I splash through the shallow water toward her, my gangly ten-year-old legs struggling to keep up. Emma, at eighteen, seems impossiblygrown-up to me, a vibrant force of nature in cutoff shorts and a faded band tee.
“What is it?” I ask, peering into her cupped hands.
Emma’s eyes sparkle as she lowers her hands, revealing a small, bright-green frog. “It’s a gray tree frog,” she says, her voice full of wonder. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
I nod, mesmerized by the tiny creature. “Can I hold him?”
“Gently,” Emma instructs, carefully transferring the frog to my hands. “See how his skin is bumpy? That helps him climb trees.”
