Chapter 2
RHIANNON
I’ve checked my packing list four times, which is a perfectly reasonable number of times to check a list before a remote research trip. Five would be excessive. Three would be reckless. Four is the Goldilocks zone of preparedness.
I pull out my packing list again and take another look. Tara, my friend who is a senior and a genius, is perched on the counter by the sink, legs swinging, her pink Converse catching the fluorescent light as she gestures wildly with a candy cane.
She’s been helping me out with my lab reports since we work in the same lab. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without her this semester. Someone has taped a paper snowflake to the window in the lab. Festive.
“So Alfie’s planning this whole Christmas thing,” she’s saying, her voice bright with excitement.
“Ice skating, cooking, the works. I haven’t seen him properly since August and I am dying, Rhi.
Like, actually perishing. I miss my man.
It’s cute though because he’s all Scrooge-y, but he knows I love the holidays, so he’s making an effort. ”
“That is cute.”
“Okay, so I need your opinion on something very important.” She hops up onto the counter, her sparkly Christmas sweater catching the fluorescent lights. “Alfie wants to go ice skating on Christmas Eve, but I’m thinking we should do a sort of hot chocolate bar crawl instead. Which is more romantic?”
I highlight “thermal underwear” in yellow—essential—before answering. “Both sound perfect. You’re going to have an amazing Christmas.”
“Unlike someone I know who’s going to be in a cabin in the mountains collecting rock samples.” Tara leans over to look at my spreadsheet. “Is that what you’re packing? Do you really need to remind yourself to pack underwear? God, you’re just like Alex.”
“Organization is key to successful fieldwork.” I add a few more items: headlamp, extra batteries. “And I won’t be collecting rock samples. I’ll be doing geothermal monitoring. Temperature readings, water samples, pH levels—”
“Over Christmas. Yeah, I know.” Tara’s expression softens. “Rhi, be honest with me. Are you excited about the science, or are you excited about not going home?”
I set down my highlighter. “Can it be both?”
“It absolutely can. I’m just checking.” She swings her legs, nearly knocking over a beaker. “Because avoiding your family at Christmas is totally valid. Especially when your family keeps trying to push you back together with your emotionally manipulative ex.”
“He wasn’t—” I start automatically, then stop. “Okay, yeah. He was. Sort of.”
“Thank you! Growth!” Tara grins, then sobers. “But seriously, you’re not a bad person for not wanting to go home. You know that, right?”
I nod while biting my lip. My phone is face-down on the counter. All the messages on there. From my mom, from Matthew, from Mrs. Harrison—Matthew’s mother—who apparently thinks it’s appropriate to text her son’s ex-girlfriend about “clearing the air.”
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly. “My mom says I’m being selfish. That family should come first. That I’m throwing away important relationship over ‘one rough patch.’”
“A rough patch? Rhi, that man—”
“I know, Tar.” I pick up my highlighter again, just to have something to do with my hands. “I know. But sometimes I wonder if I’m overreacting. If I’m being dramatic. If I should just go home and face everyone and prove I’m fine.”
“Are you fine?”
“I’m getting there.” I look at my packing list, at the map of field sites Professor Bam gave me. “And I think I need this trip to get there. I just don’t want to see him yet. I know he will try and convince me to get back with him and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to refuse.”
“That just makes you a person with boundaries. Which is healthy.” Tara nudges my shoulder. “Your mom will survive one Christmas without you. And seriously? Maybe she needs to learn that she can’t guilt you into doing things you don’t want to do.”
“You’re very wise for someone wearing a sweater with a sequined snowman.”
“I come in several modes, all of them fabulous.” She hops off the counter, grabbing her pink backpack.
“Okay, I need to go pack for my romantic winter getaway with my hot fiancé. You need to keep packing for your science adventure where you’ll be completely bored with professor Bam and your thoughts and no distractions—”
---
The lab door swings open, and Professor Bam rushes in with her messenger bag overflowing with papers, travel mug in hand, wild curls escaping from what was probably once a bun.
“Rhiannon! Perfect! I’m so glad I caught you!” She sets her bag down with a thump. “Hi Tara, shouldn’t you be on a plane by now?”
“Leaving in two hours. Just saying goodbye to my favorite junior.” Tara winks at me. “Text me updates? I want to hear all about your wilderness adventure.”
“There won’t be very good cell service—”
“Then carrier pigeon. Smoke signals. I don’t care. Stay in touch.” She squeezes my hand. “And, Rhi? Stop feeling guilty. You’re doing what’s right for you.”
After she leaves, Professor Bam sits on the counter Tara just vacated and gives me a look I can’t quite read.
“So,” she says, “about the trip.”
My stomach drops. “Is something wrong? Did the grant fall through? Do you need to cancel?”
“No, no! Nothing like that. The trip is still on. The data collection is crucial; we’re all set.” She pauses, and her expression shifts to something I can’t quite read—apologetic, maybe a little uncomfortable. “But there’s been a small change in plans.”
“Okay?” My chest tightens. Small changes are never actually small.
“So, remember how I was going to accompany you on this trip? Be there to help with protocols, make sure everything went smoothly?”
Oh no. “Yes?”
“I can’t.” She actually looks apologetic. “My boyfriend—well, fiancé now, as of last week—” She holds up her hand, showing off a ring I hadn’t noticed. It’s tasteful. Expensive-looking.
“Professor Bam! Congratulations!”
“Thank you! I’m very excited.” She waves her hand dismissively, clearly uncomfortable with the attention.
“But that’s beside the point. Alejandro—that’s his name, he’s from Milan, absolutely wonderful, you’d love him.
Anyway, he’s planned this whole surprise Christmas trip for us.
Flying to Italy on the twentieth, his family’s villa, very romantic.
And I said yes before I figured out what to do about the field work. ”
My heart sinks. If she’s not coming, the trip is off. Which means no data, no paper, no passing grade, no scholarship, no—
“So the trip is cancelled,” I say flatly.
“No! That’s what I’m trying to tell you. The trip is still happening. You’re still going.” She pulls out her phone, scrolling. “I had a few sudden meetings yesterday and I got a yes almost immediately from a student who really needs the extra credit.”
A student who really needs the extra credit. Translation: someone desperate enough to give up their Christmas.
“Who?”
“Carter Wolfe. He’s in your cohort, right? I thought you might know him.”
Carter Wolfe.
It was the fall of freshman year, right when I’d first arrived at University of Mountain Springs. Matthew and I were “on a break”—his idea, not mine—because he was furious I’d actually left for college instead of staying local like he had.
He’d somehow made it my fault that I wanted an education, that I’d go to parties with my roommate even though I never drank, never did anything except try to make friends and feel like a normal college student.
He’d text me constantly: Who are you with? Why are you out so late? Don’t you care about us? So when we went “on a break” two weeks into my first semester, I’d felt guilty and relieved in equal measure.
And that’s when Carter Wolfe had walked into Introduction to Earth Sciences—all confident stride and easy smile—and I’d let myself feel something that wasn’t weighted down by Matthew’s expectations.
It was stupid and shallow and entirely based on the way Carter’s eyes crinkled when he laughed, but it had felt like freedom.
Like, maybe, I could be the kind of girl who could have a harmless crush on a cute boy without it being a betrayal.
Of course, Matthew and I had gotten back together a month later, and I’d buried the crush deep. But it had never quite gone away.
My brain spins out for a second, flickering through a rapid-fire montage of every interaction I’ve had with Carter Wolfe over the past three years.
Freshman year, Introduction to Earth Sciences. We’d been paired for a group project worth twenty percent of our grade. I’d been excited—ridiculously, embarrassingly excited—because Carter Wolfe was gorgeous and charming and I’d had the most pathetic crush on him.
Our first meeting: he’d shown up twenty minutes late with coffee and apologized so charmingly that I’d forgiven him instantly. “Sorry, I’m terrible with time. But I’m great with presentations if you want to handle the research?”
Our second meeting: he’d forgotten about it entirely. Texted me three hours after we were supposed to meet: shit sorry, frat thing ran late. tomorrow?
Our third meeting: never happened. He had “a family emergency” that I later saw on Instagram was actually a ski trip.
I’d done the entire project myself. The research, the analysis, the presentation, the works. Stayed up until 3 AM three nights in a row to get it done.
We got an A.
He’d caught me after class, that devastating smile in full force. “You’re amazing! I knew you’d nail it. Thanks so much for carrying us, uh...” He’d actually snapped his fingers, trying to remember my name.
“Rhiannon,” I’d said, my stomach sinking.
“Right! Rhiannon. Seriously, you’re a lifesaver.” He’d squeezed my shoulder like we were buddies and walked away, probably to meet up with his fraternity brothers or charm his way through some other girl’s life.