Page 20 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I
Paisley Grove
Idon’t loosen up until I'm inside our suite. With a sigh, I bend over and clutch my knees. Did that really just happen? It almost seems unreal. I literally ran into Hercules Valentine. He looked good, too—more handsome than I remembered. I never knew he was a runner. I’ve run on that track numerous times. Why am I just now seeing him?
“Hey,” Dandi says.
I jump, startled, and quickly turn to her. She’s standing at the counter, munching on a Pop-Tart.
I stand up straight. “Hey. You’re up early.”
“And you look like you were chased by a werewolf.”
I snort. I finally feel the soreness of colliding with a man Hercules’s height and build. “Something like that.”
“Oh, were you with Boyles?”
I roll my eyes. “No.”
“Why the eye roll?”
“No. It’s not Boyles. It’s worse.”
Dandi’s flicks her eyebrows as if she’s ready to hear some juicy gossip. “Worse? Do tell.”
I actually do want to sit down and tell her all about Hercules Valentine, but every moment is precious. My first class starts in less than an hour. I have to read over my paper for my second class. Then I have a project meeting with a group. And on top of all of that, Professor Holzinger, the instructor of my third class, warned of a possible quiz today. It’ll be worth ten points. Basically, I don't have time to powwow about Hercules Valentine, or Boyles, with Dandi.
“Maybe later.” I head to my room. “Gotta shower and get to class.”
Moving down the short hallway, I run into the reason Dandi’s up this early. He has red hair and is putting on his shirt. I’ve never seen this one before.
“Hey,” he says, smirking.
I smile tightly. The sight of him makes me tired of almost three years of random guys walking in and out of our dorm. My parents won't allow me to have an apartment—not on their dime. I've been thinking about making apps for smartphones to make money. Every time something like this happens, I get closer to doing just that.
There’s no time to seethe, though. Fortunately, another John or Kevin or Dan isn’t in the bathroom. That's happened before, too—I'm running late, and some random dude is jerking off in the shower or taking a dump.
After showering, I put on a pair of warm jeans and a thick sweater under my bomber jacket. I grab my book bag and one of those Pop-Tarts Dandi made earlier and guzzle down a cup of coffee, which she made too.
“Thank you!” I shout.
“You’re welcome, bookworm!” she replies from her room.
I’m out.
Four hours later,I’m in my project meeting. It’s been hard trying to concentrate today. Boyles’s distance, compounded by my running into Hercules, has really thrown me off balance.
I wonder, though… is that all it takes? One look at Hercules, and Boyles isn’t so important anymore?
Speaking of Boyles, it’s yet another day that I haven’t heard from him. My project meeting is for my philosophy class, an elective that I forced myself to take. Jillian, a mousy girl who thinks the classroom is a fighting pit—she’s always racing to raise her hand to answer questions, whether she knows the answer or not—is going on about a cultural theorist named Jean Baudrillard. She’s explaining hyperreality, and even though I’m checking my cellphone for messages, I’m following her every word.
“Paisley?” she asks.
I look up. “Yes.”
“Am I boring you?”
“Not at all. I like the idea of evaluating emerging technology with Baudrillard’s theory of hyperreality. I even have some ideas.” Then I articulate a list of products we could textually analyze.
Truthfully, I’m showing off. When it comes to classwork and academic studies, I—like Jillian—try to never miss a beat. Why can’t relationships with the opposite sex be so easy?
