1. Trust issues? No. Survival instinct
Trust issues? No. Survival instinct
Willow Hill University looks exactly the same as it did when I left.
Stone arches lead to the path up the main steps, their dark windows catching the early morning sun.
Across the courtyard, a girl is ripping into an older man while he struggles with her luggage.
His hands shake as he loads box after box onto a cart.
Unbelievable.
I whip my head toward the check-in desk before glancing at the girl behind me. She looks friendly enough.
“Hey.” I nudge closer to her, only earning a raised eyebrow and a slap of her gum. “Can you hold my spot for like two seconds?” I ask, pointing to the man, who now looks as though he’s going to burst into tears. “I’m going to help him.”
She pops a bubble in my face. “You have one minute.”
I don’t argue. I jog over and grab the last two boxes from the trunk.
“Oh, miss, you don’t have to—”
“I know,” I say, stacking them on the cart anyway. “But I’m going to. Not that you aren’t capable, but it’s faster with help.”
Once everything’s loaded, he gives me a grateful smile as I head back. The girl in line taps her phone.
“Fifty-seven seconds.”
She actually timed it.
“I like to live on the edge.” I flash her a grin before reclaiming my spot.
Willow Hill is built on legacies, where last names are the sharpest key. Prestigious, powerful, and crawling with old money. Money doesn’t buy class, apparently.
“Lyra Sloane. Last call for Lyra Sloane!”
I’m pulled out of my own head by the impatience in her tone. I hurry to the front table, where a woman sits tapping a manicured nail on the folder. “Hi. Sorry,” I say, flashing a bright smile. “I’m Lyra Sloane.”
The woman barely looks up. Her bun is pulled so tight my scalp aches just looking at it. “A new student.”
My smile dims. “Not new. I took a gap year.”
“I see.” She doesn’t look like she sees. Her flat-lipped smile thins even more as she slides a manila folder toward me. “Then you don’t need a tour. Here’s your documentation. Room assignment: Cliffview Hall, 317. Do you need anything else?”
I take the folder with a shake of my head. “Um, no, thank you. Have a great day.”
Cliffview Hall sits at the edge of campus, ivy crawling up its brick walls and tall arched windows catching the light.
Inside, my shoes squeak on the freshly polished checkerboard floors, and every footstep echoes like the building is listening.
Room 317 is at the end of the hall. I swing the door open and pause.
“They really did shove me in a closet freshman year,” I mutter, stepping inside.
A full-sized bed sits beneath a wide window overlooking the courtyard, with the cliffs and ocean beyond.
There’s a dresser in one corner, a bookshelf in the other, a small dining table, and the basics of a kitchenette.
I’m already picturing what I’ll add, what I’ll change, and how to make it feel like mine.
My other luggage sits in the corner. I drop the folder on the bed and sit with a small bounce.
“Well,” I tell the room. “We’re back.”
I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I’m determined to make this year my best one yet. There are people I’ll run into who would have made me retreat into myself a year ago. Now the thought barely stirs anything inside me.
I grab my phone and text Roxy.
Me:
I made it! The rooms are huge. The only downside is that we have to share a community shower at the end of the hall.
Bestie:
I really hate leaving Sam. I feel pathetic. Look at me, the girl sad to leave her boyfriend. Kill me now.
She is referring to my brother. Yep, my best friend and my brother are hooking up.
I would probably be more disturbed if I didn’t see how happy they are together.
Sam is currently back in our hometown on leave before his next assignment, which somehow makes Roxy even clingier than usual.
While I was in Italy, Roxy was accepted into a medical program and started shadowing the staff at Sam’s base.
Me:
That’s sickeningly sweet.
Bestie:
Shut up. Wait, are there bathrooms in the rooms at least?
Me:
Yes.
Bestie:
Small victories. For this tuition, we should have butlers.
Me:
Large closets.
Bestie:
Perfect for your clothes addiction.
Me:
I call it a fashion statement.
Bestie:
I love it because then I can shop in yours without spending my money.
I’ll text you tomorrow. Your brother wants to do the dirty. Love you.
Me:
Fucking gross <3
With nothing better to do, I start to unpack, listening to music in the background.
Shirts go on hangers, drawers stuffed until they can’t hold more.
My jewelry and makeup lined up on the dresser.
I make a mental list of what I still need, then open the box of my favorite books and slide them onto the shelf by the window.
When I finally step back, the room looks like me. Satisfied, I grab my keys and purse before heading out to pick up the remaining essentials.
I wake to a loud pounding on my door, rather than the quiet calm I’d anticipated.
I ignore it and burrow further into the blankets until it happens again, sharper and more persistent than before.
What the hell? With a groan, I drag myself up, hissing when my feet hit the cold wood floor. I make a note to get a rug.
The girl jumps when I swing the door open, eyes going wide.
My brows pull together. Why is she staring at me like that?
It’s then that I remember I’m not wearing pants, just an old T-shirt that has seen better days.
Thank God I have on underwear—that would be one hell of a good morning.
My hair probably looks like I lost a fight with a tornado to top it all off.
“Uhh…do you need something?” I finally ask after the silence stretches a beat too long.
“Oh! Right, sorry…” She clears her throat, still looking slightly panicked. “I saw you were new.” She holds out a medium-sized box in Willow Hill burgundy and gold. My name is scrawled neatly on top.
“Who’s this from?” I ask, taking it.
“Me.” When I just stare at her, she quickly continues.
“I work in the admin office, and, well, I saw you were new and wanted you to get one.” It's then that I truly take her in.
Well-worn jeans and a tank top showcase her willowy frame.
She has delicate features, and her hair is a mess of dark-auburn curls I envy.
I smile at her, my mood brightening despite the abrupt wake-up call. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do this.”
She shrugs as pink tinges her cheeks. “It’s no big deal.”
I know what’s inside. The standard welcome box that freshmen get. Notebooks, pens, snacks, the whole thing. The gesture is still sweet.
I lean my hip against the doorframe. “Are you a freshman?”
“No.” She wrings her hands. “Sophomore. Working in admin was one of the stipulations when I came in as a freshman. I had to have an on-campus job.” She winces. “That was an overshare. Sorry. I’m Vienna. But my friends call me Vee.”
“Well, maybe I’ll see you around.” I start to back up, aching to crawl back into my bed. I feel it calling to me with every passing second.
She beams. “Yeah, hope so! See ya, Lyra.” She waves and rushes off.
The showers are nicer than they have any right to be.
Dark tile walls, deep-blue flooring, and there is even a window for natural light.
I let the heat scald my skin and exhale.
After Vienna came with the gift, I burrowed back under my covers for some more sleep, but my growling stomach was a wake-up call.
Now, after dropping off my bathroom tote and changing into some jean shorts and a T-shirt, that’s exactly where I’m headed.
When I enter, the noise hits me first. Voices overlapping. Dishes clinking. Movement. Bodies. So many people. Just breathe, Lyra.
I settle on a chicken rice bowl and add all my toppings before making my way to a long table in the back, where only a few other people are seated. I pause when I see a familiar face and slide into the seat across from her. “That’s a good book.”
Vienna’s head snaps up, startled, then a bright grin spreads. “I just started it, actually. I’m dipping my toes in more romance.” Her cheeks pinken.
I laugh. “That book is more than dipping a toe; it’s at least up to your belly button in hot water. But no judgment from me. I love reading.”
“Maybe we can trade suggestions sometime?”
“Sure.” This is good. Making new friends. Going on campus.
“So, have you gotten used to campus yet? With it being spread out, it feels like you're walking miles.”
It’s true. The university is large, sitting on an island, connected to the mainland by a single bridge. Cliffs and forest wall it off for miles, like it’s carved its own world on the edge of Oregon’s coast.
“I’m actually a senior. I don’t know why, but I think my record got changed to “new.” I went to Italy to study during my junior year.”
Her face drops. “God, I’m such an idiot! I gave you the welcome box.”
I shake my head. “It's fine—it’s more than fine—it’ll just help me organize better.”
She seems to relax at that as I take my first bite and moan.
God, this is good. We chat while we eat, and it feels like we’ve been friends for years instead of minutes.
I’m just taking my last bite when the room doubles in volume.
I glance over my shoulder, noticing several students in athletic jackets who just walked in.
That’s my cue to leave. I don’t want to run into Leo if I don’t have to.
“Let’s get coffee soon, and you can meet my friend Roxy,” I tell Vee as I stand and gather my things. “I have to head out.”
“Okay, sounds good,” she says, taking my sudden need to flee in stride.
I’m almost out the door when a large body topples into me, nearly taking me out in the process. I stumble back, shooting my arms out to grab onto something. Thankfully, they land on his jacket.
“Oh, shit, sorry,” he says, catching me. “I wasn’t looking where I was walking.”
I step back and look up. And up. “No wonder, considering you’re practically in the clouds.”
I’m not kidding either. This guy is not only bulky but also at least six-five.
He blinks, then barks out a laugh. “Wow. A tall person joke. How original. Never heard that one before.”
“Sorry,” I say, slipping around him. “Too easy.”
“Don’t worry,” he calls back, grinning. “At least I’m not in the weeds.”
I let my smile break free as I flip him off for good measure, and another laugh follows me out. Okay, Lyra. So far, so good.