Chapter Thirteen #2
But is he too busy for me?
Would I be too busy for him if the roles were reversed?
“It’s just a snag that comes with long distance,” I murmur to myself as I stare out the window, earning a concerned look from the driver up front.
I pretend I don’t see him and study the leafy green trees and lush mountains in the distance instead, approaching our destination with a mix of both excitement and a little bit of dread in my stomach.
However, part of the dread is lessened by the beauty of the University of Hawai?i at Mānoa.
Tall, leafy green trees stretch up toward the endless blue, making the entire campus look like the bottom level of a rainforest. All around me, students mill about, some in pajamas or hoodies, others in board shorts and flip-flops, all laughing and talking and joking and likely making plans for later that night.
The curved stone pathways snake in and out of the various entrances to the stone-faced classroom buildings, many with tall stone columns snaking up toward the sky.
It would take my breath away if I wasn’t already short of breath from panicking about whatever the worst-case scenario is about to be.
I thank the Uber driver as we pull up to the dorm, one of a cluster of towers nestled on the campus and overlooking the volcano—Diamond Head, that sleeping giant keeping watch over the island of O?ahu.
Around us, more tall tropical trees stretch into the sky, and there are even a few stray chickens clucking around on the street, pecking at crumbs on the ground and seemingly unbothered by all the students milling out.
The air smells like salt and a freshness that we don’t have on the East Coast, but no amount of beauty could cure the dread curdling in my stomach.
Not even the warm beams of sun caressing my cheeks as I study my surroundings.
I check my phone for Jack’s address again and look up at the corresponding tower, making sure I’m in the right place.
Students are clustered everywhere, some with backpacks slung over their shoulders as they head off to class, others shuffling past in more pajama pants and hoodies, undoubtedly heading to a very late breakfast. There are even a few striding past in athletic gear, armed with water bottles or yoga mats, ready to get some sweat sessions in.
The campus itself is its own tiny ecosystem of a million different personalities and voices and students.
And somewhere in that building in front of me, one of them may be about to break my heart.
The only snag I can see is that the front door looks like you have to scan in to enter.
A student occasionally strides up to the door and taps a plastic card against the reader, the lobby door clicking open in response.
I clutch my phone in my sweaty palm as another pajama-clad guy scans in and holds the door open for a petite girl with a messenger bag behind him.
It strikes me that, if Jack ignores my final call, this is how I’ll have to get into the building—trespassing.
I cross the fingers on my free hand as the line rings and rings and rings, feeling all sorts of awkward and embarrassed to be hanging around the front of the building but not going in, like a total weirdo.
Hi, you’ve reached Jack Cameron—
“Ugh!” I let out a frustrated shriek of annoyance and consider hurling my phone into the cluster of bushes across the path but think better of it in case Jack decides to call me back. I stamp the rubber sole of my sneaker on the pavement instead to expel the anger.
“Are you waiting for someone?” The inquiry comes from behind me.
I spin on my heel, mortification seeping into my pores.
The tall, golden boy in front of me definitely witnessed my mini temper tantrum.
He has long, loose curls, lit gold by the sun, and mossy green eyes that study me curiously.
It takes me a second to register the large, waxy thing he has propped up against his cargo shorts and fitted white tank top—a surfboard.
“I…” My mouth opens and closes, refusing to form words. “Yes?”
The corners of his eyes crinkle playfully at my squeaky voice. “That sounds more like a question than an answer.” He’s noticeably taller than me, the surfboard only making him look more like a giant. Or a sea god. Or Poseidon himself.
While part of me can’t stop ogling this golden boy right in front of me, I can practically hear Tyler’s relentless teasing in my head.
You’re on your way to reunite with Mr. Two First Names, crossing the entire continent with turbulence and your ex-boyfriend, and it’s Poseidon that ends up being the roadblock?
I fantasize about shoving Imaginary Tyler off the wing of an airplane before finding my words again. “Yeah, I’m, um…I’m waiting for my friend to come let me in so we can work on a project.”
He nods and flexes his tanned fingers around the surfboard, seemingly accepting my answer. “I see. What dorm do you live in?”
Put on the spot, I try to run through the other dorm building names I saw etched into the signs on the drive in here, but I come up blank. “I—”
Poseidon seems to notice my discomfort, his tanned glow paling a little. Still, he laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be a total weirdo. You looked like you had something going on.”
“Nope, nothing,” I shoot back in a voice that very clearly screams, Yes, everything. He starts to turn away and lean down to shoulder the surfboard, but he eyes me warily.
“As long as you’re sure.”
Olive, you idiot, this is your chance. “Actually, well—it’s kind of a long story, but my friend is taking a long time to come downstairs, and I really have to pee before we head to the library to work on this project, and I don’t think I can wait—so I should probably meet her up there and use the bathroom before she comes all the way down here to meet me and we have to double back, you know—”
“Relax, dude.” Poseidon chuckles and sets the surfboard against the wall, fishing around in his pocket until he produces his ID. “Don’t have to make it a whole thing. Could’ve just asked.”
I watch him tap the ID against the reader, which lights up green in sync with the click of the lock disengaging. “Thanks. Appreciate it.” And then, because I’m a bumbling idiot with word vomit disease, the lie keeps going. “Girl stuff, you know? Periods wait for no woman.”
His face screws up in disgust. “Er…yeah. Good luck with all of that.” Clearly not in the mood to continue the conversation, he throws his surfboard over his shoulder and heads off down the path, stopping to give me another creeped-out look before he goes.
But none of that matters, because my sneaker is currently wedged in the lobby door, holding it open. Which means now there’s nothing preventing me from getting inside and going up to find Jack.
And I still can’t determine if my stomach full of butterflies is from excitement or dread.
“Three-five-three. Three-five-three.” I keep muttering Jack’s room number under my breath as the elevator coasts to the third floor, the butterflies building as I envision the details inked in my planner, poised and waiting for ease of reference: 353.
Where my boyfriend lives, and hopefully is right now.
I didn’t even think of a backup plan for if he isn’t here—that’s how determined I am to fix this. Fix us.
But first, I have to know what I’m fixing.
As the doors ding open and release me, I can’t help but think back to what Tyler said on the plane, his face morphing into an expression of anger when he found out about Jack’s radio silence.
Anyone who knows even a single thing about you would know you’re too great of a person to ignore.
He’s an idiot if he can’t see that. When we were dating—
I stop the replay right there. When Tyler and I were dating, things were fun but not permanent. This is the boy I’m aiming to be with long-term, and it’s an entirely different situation.
Going down the hall, I see 349…351…353. I stop in front of the door, leaning my rolling suitcase up against the wall. The door to Jack’s room is cracked open, and voices float out from inside.
“…telling you, that’s not the way he explained the formula.” I recognize Jack’s measured voice, a mix of friendly and frustrated. “I could’ve sworn he taught it to us differently.”
“And I’m telling you,” another, noticeably higher, voice says, “that this is the way he explained it would be on the test, so this is the way we should practice it.”
“Okay, Professor.” There’s a teasing lilt in Jack’s tone that makes my stomach turn. “Whatever you say.”
Even though the crack in the door isn’t big enough for me to see through, the twinge in my gut confirms my fear—there’s a girl in Jack’s room.
And to top it off, it sounds like they’re bantering playfully, instantly sending my mind spinning in a million different directions of who this girl could be, her connection to Jack, what they’ve been doing together, if she even knows who I am.
Is she the reason Jack has been ignoring me?
I’m still standing outside the door like a creep, garnering strange glances from students who are making their way down the hall and observing the weirdo girl with the suitcase who very clearly is eavesdropping on whatever’s going on inside room 353.
It was one thing when an entire continent and the Pacific Ocean separated me and Jack, because at least then I could chalk up my worries to being paranoid or far away.
Just not used to having a long-distance boyfriend, let alone one who is older than me and already in college.
The half-open door taunts me and I shift from foot to foot, wringing my hands and delaying the inevitable. Whatever waits behind that door, even if it’s my worst fears come to life, is better than the anxious worry of the in-between.
At least, that’s what I’m hoping for.
Unable to take the anticipation any longer, I squeeze my eyes shut, say a prayer to the gods I’m not sure I even believe in, and nudge the door open.
It creaks loudly, announcing my arrival.
I wait one second, then two, and then step directly into the doorway to see what waits for me on the other side.