Chapter 2
WREN
Day one of my college life has been a disaster of epic proportions.
So much for a smooth arrival. My first class this morning was overenrolled, so by the time I got there, all seats were taken.
I was unceremoniously shooed off to a secondary class, but that meant I had to backtrack halfway across campus.
To add to my mortification, by the time I got there—sweaty and red-faced from damn near jogging the whole way—I had to walk in front of everyone, with fifty sets of eyes on me. Fifteen minutes late. Bury me, thanks.
Once I sat down, I spilled water down my chin, getting it all over my sweater. Clearly, I can’t even accomplish something as simple as not gushing water everywhere like a fountain.
To top off a crapper of a day, I dropped half my sushi while trying to stuff my mouth in the five minutes I had before my midday class.
To be honest, the sight of splattered sushi almost made me cry. Forget spilled milk, the sight of seaweed and smoked salmon on the sidewalk had me ready to start sobbing.
I need chocolate and my body weight in Brie to make it all better.
Lark:
Are you gonna go to Finch’s game this weekend?
Me:
Undecided.
Lark:
Come oooon. He’s vice-captain this season, you gotta show up and represent the Murphys.
Me:
But there are crowds, and you know, the whole ‘it’ll only inflate his ego’ thing …
Lark:
A sweeter, more supportive sister never existed.
Me:
Hey, I get to bust his balls. Just because he’s in the pros now doesn’t mean he’s immune to sisterly critique.
Lark:
I think he’d love to see you in the stands. It means a lot to him that he’s been handed VC. He’s worked so hard to get there.
Me:
Prey on my weaknesses, why don’t you? You know I love that idiot.
Lark:
So, you’ll go? Get a photo to send me so I don’t feel like you two have abandoned me completely.
Me:
Fine. But I’m not touching him after the game. You know how sweaty and gross he’ll be.
Lark:
That’s only because it’s Finch and he’s our brother. I bet you wouldn’t be saying that if it’s a photo op with any of the other players.
The squad is looking stacked. They’ve picked up some serious talent in recent seasons. Gardiner, Masoe, even Renfro.
Me:
They need to hire you in some capacity. I swear to god, you know more stats than half the players probably do.
Lark:
Says the queen of studying stats herself. I only learned from the best.
Either way, put in a good word for me with the management. *wink face*
Glancing up, I breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of pink geraniums and wicker chairs. The perfect balm to my craptacular day.
Pushing open the door, the place is about half-full with the afternoon crowd.
Scattered between the wooden tables, students tap away on laptops with their headphones on.
A couple snuggles together over by the fireplace, fingers intertwined, and one of them steals a little kiss, making his boyfriend blush. Adorably so.
The coffee machine hums and jets of steam whine as milk is frothed. In among it all is a rich scent, something new I don’t remember picking up the other day when I was here. It’s a little herbaceous, like hiking in the wilderness and crunching fallen leaves beneath your shoes.
“Hey, what can I get you?” A bright-eyed girl with a cute pixie cut dyed electric blue pokes at the register. She flashes me a smile of recognition after being here yesterday and the day before. I suspect we’re going to be well acquainted by the end of the semester.
“An industrial-strength hot chocolate, to go. Biggest you’ve got, please and thank you.”
She gives me an apologetic wince. “First day of the year is always on the rough side. It gets better, I promise. Extra marshmallows?”
“Load me up. And I certainly hope so. It’s been a day.”
“Consider me no therapist, but I can guarantee a deluxe hot chocolate will solve like 99 percent of your problems.” She pulls out her pen and yanks the lid off with her teeth, hovering expectantly over the cup. “What name?”
I love that they get it here. The tiny details that make this campus more Omega-friendly than a lot of places.
She knows I don’t want to risk my name being called out in front of a room filled with strangers.
It’s a microscopic thing, but I appreciate the fact that she understands how important those little safety steps are.
No way do I want to broadcast my personal information unnecessarily.
“Bambi.” I jerk my chin in the direction of the cup and watch her write it down.
“You got it. Grab a seat, we’ll call you when it’s ready.”
“An angel. Thank you.” I pay and then settle into a chair at an empty table, scrolling my phone while I wait.
From the looks of the group chat with Nikita and Gabbie, they’ve each had a similar sort of day to mine.
There’s a photo of the interior of our fridge, and it’s stocked with three bottles of rosé, a wheel of Brie bigger than my head, and what looks like a fancy collection of olives, dips, and cold cuts.
“Order for Bambi!” a voice calls out from behind the counter, and I’m in the middle of replying to my roomies when my life-saving extra-large hot chocolate vanishes from under my fingers.
I’ve hardly reached out when a massive hand swipes my drink.
Not today, motherfucker.