Chapter 3
Mia
Exactly seven minutes after I opened the door to my new room, my hands are washed, grass-stained jeans, musty shirt and beat-up sneakers switched out for my new dress and new-to-me Doc Marten boots, and I’m staring at my anxious reflection in the mirror.
I’m ready to go. But for some reason, I can’t move.
And it’s not just because my knee is still throbbing.
‘This is what you came for,’ I remind mirror-me, stern and determined. ‘You’re smart and capable, you deserve to be here, and you’re going to go out tonight and make friends. These people don’t know you. They have no reason to dislike you. Everything is going to be great.’
Almost halfway to kind-of convinced, I’m about to walk out the door when my phone starts to ring, an insistent chirping alert assigned to my mom’s cell.
‘Hello?’
I answer right away, immediately panicky. Something must be wrong, we just spoke an hour ago when I got off the train at Hemden. And two hours before that at Paddington station in London. And an hour before that when I landed at Heathrow.
‘Honey, it’s me,’ Mom trills. ‘Are you at school? Did you find your room?’
‘Yes, Mom.’ I squeeze my eyes shut and step away from the door, perching on the edge of my bed. ‘Everything is fine.’
‘Just fine?’
‘Great,’ I correct myself. ‘Fantastic, incredible, could not be better.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, honey,’ her voice wavers down the line. ‘Please forgive your mother for worrying about her little girl when she’s a million miles away.’
‘It’s only four thousand,’ I say softly and Mom chokes back a pained laugh.
‘Right, you’re practically around the block.’
I reach for the silver bracelet that never leaves my wrist, a sweet-sixteen gift from Grandpa Meyers, and roll the links between my fingers. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just tired, I didn’t mean to snap.’
‘Sure you are, baby,’ she coos, all calm again, like I’m the one overreacting. ‘I know you have better things to do than check in with your mom right now. You found your room, okay?’
‘I did.’
‘And you got something to eat?’
‘I will.’ I stand and watch myself gnawing on my thumbnail. ‘I was just on my way when you called. I met this girl, Alice, and her friends? They invited me to hang out. I think we’re going to get dinner.’
‘Alice? Alice who?’
‘I don’t know, I didn’t get her last name,’ I say with a smile. ‘Even if I did, I really don’t think you know her. I’m a million miles away, remember?’
‘As if I could forget,’ she sniffs. ‘Okay, you’d better let me go. You don’t want to be late, Mia, you can’t be making a bad impression on your first day. Make sure you get something green on your plate at dinner, you hear?’
‘Yes, Mom.’
‘And your daddy says hi.’
I frown at myself, wondering if that’s true.
‘Tell him I said hi back.’
‘Okay, baby, call me before you go to bed, I want to hear all about your evening. And honey, try to have fun.’
Mom ends the call before I can tell her that’s exactly what I’m attempting to do, and the screen of my phone changes from a heavily filtered portrait of my mother, back to a photo of the whole family: me, Mom and Dad, my older brother, Kane, and our little brother, Hudson.
A collage of strained smiles and Sunday best, taken last Christmas.
I slip the phone into the pocket of my dress, fully anticipating another call within the hour, and check my reflection one more time.
Just in case anything has changed in the last two minutes but nope, still the same.
For better or worse, nothing about my appearance has altered since I was sixteen.
Same five feet and five inches tall, same storm in a B cup, and the same boring blue eyes and brown fishtail braid and bangs.
I shake my arm to bring the heart-shaped clasp of my bracelet to the inside of my wrist then wipe away a speck of crumbled mascara, practising my personal pep talk one more time. I’m ready. It’s time to go.
But when I open my door, instead of taking the first step into my new life, I slam face first into what feels like a refrigerator.
Staggering backwards, hands cupped over my stinging nose, my teary eyes flutter open to see the immoveable object in the middle of the hallway is not a kitchen appliance.
It is in fact a person. And not just any person.
Ethan Taylor, captain of the Marshall College soccer team, is standing right in front of me.
Only he can’t be. Ethan Taylor, captain of the Marshall College soccer team, is supposed to be at Marshall College, not Hemden University.
I scrunch my eyes tightly shut then open them again and hope against hope that I’m either mistaken or lightly concussed.
I don’t care which, as long as I’m wrong. But no, he’s still there.
‘What the hell?’ I exclaim, nose throbbing worse than my knee and my mind racing.
‘Yeah, apology accepted,’ Ethan grunts, dusting off his arm as though I could’ve caused him some kind of damage.
Hardly. I bounced off his body like a butterfly off a bison and it’s a wonder I don’t have a broken nose to show for it.
Two almost-injuries in one afternoon? Must be a day with a Y in it.
After examining his crisp white T-shirt for possible damage, he turns his attention back to me and I suck in a sharp breath.
Even if he wasn’t campus-famous for his skills with a soccer ball, Ethan would still be One Of Those Guys.
Up this close, he’s gorgeous. Not beautiful like Oliver, but there’s no disputing the fact that he’s very handsome, in a more obvious, conventional kind of a way.
Easily over six feet tall with broad shoulders and emerald-green eyes that zero in on me like I’m the only girl in the world, and when his full lips break into a beaming grin, I damn near fall down on the spot.
Again.
‘Wait a second,’ he says, those green eyes narrowing with recognition. ‘Don’t I know you?’
Pinching the bridge of my smarting nose, I shake my head.
‘No, you don’t.’
And it’s the truth. He doesn’t know me. I’m one hundred per cent certain he couldn’t guess the first letter of my first name, not even for one million dollars with a flame thrower pressed against his temple.
‘Pretty sure I do.’
He’s still staring, biting his bottom lip like he’s trying to place me, and I feel heat rushing to my cheeks. What is happening? How is it possible that he’s here?
‘Shit! I do know you!’ Ethan declares cheerfully. ‘You’re the librarian!’
And with that, all the blood drains out of my body.
Besides arriving at Hemden and finding out the campus had been overrun with giant, man-eating alien capybaras, this is the worst thing that could’ve happened to me.
‘The librarian’ is exactly why I’m here.
I thought I’d put an entire ocean between myself and that nickname but here’s Ethan Taylor, come to hand-deliver it to a whole new student body.
Which makes sense since it was his girlfriend who came up with it in the first place.
The memory of the moment still makes me shudder, when I walked into Renaissance Poetry 201, first day of sophomore year, wearing a cute new outfit I’d agonized over – a plaid mini skirt and oversized wool sweater combo I loved so much – only for Breanna Kershaw to ask if I was cosplaying as a librarian.
And like all unwelcome nicknames, it spread like wildfire, stuck like glue, and I’ve been ‘the librarian’ ever since.
This cannot be happening.
‘You’re the librarian,’ Ethan says again with way too much enthusiasm. ‘From Marshall. You used to tutor my buddy, Gabe? In English?’
‘Nope, not me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He snaps his fingers and points at me, laughing.
‘Nah, if I wasn’t sure before, I am now I’ve clocked the accent. That’s pure South Cackalacky, baby.’
He sticks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, still yapping at me like he isn’t the enemy. Or at least sleeping with the enemy.
‘So, what are you doing here?’ He leans against the wall, casual and comfortable, two concepts I haven’t experienced for at least the last seven years.
‘Talking to you?’ I press a hand against my forehead to test my temperature. No fever, I’m not delirious, this isn’t some horrifying hallucination. It’s actually happening. What is he doing here?
‘Well, yeah, I figured that much out on my own. I mean why are you in the guys’ dorms?’
‘They’re not dorms, they’re halls of residence,’ I correct, wincing at the priggishness of my own voice. Altogether too librarian-like. ‘And it’s not like Marshall, they’re co-ed.’
‘Fuck yeah!’
To my horror, he holds up his hand for a high five.
‘Absolutely not.’
Arms falling down by his side, he tuts. ‘Can’t believe you’d leave your roomie hanging. Wouldn’t have thought you were that kind of girl.’
‘Like I said, you don’t know me,’ I reply before the rest of his words filter through the fug that is my brain. ‘Wait, what do you mean roomie?’
Ethan chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. ‘That’s right, neighbour. Looks like we’re sharing a dorm for the rest of the year. Sorry, a hall of residence.’
No way.
If Ethan Taylor had applied for the junior year abroad program, I would’ve heard about it.
Admittedly, I wasn’t exactly the keeper of extracurricular activities at Marshall, but it’s a small enough school and word travels fast, especially when that word involves the captain of the soccer team leaving the country.
Besides, there were meetings, interviews, endless applications.
You couldn’t just decide to switch schools on a whim, there was a whole process that took up most of my sophomore year and half the summer, and Ethan had not been at a single in-person meeting or online orientation.
If he had, I might not be staring at him now like I’d never seen a human being before in my life.
‘You’re studying here?’ I make myself say, even though I don’t want to hear the answer because what else could it be?
‘That’s right.’
‘At Hemden?’
‘For a librarian, you aren’t very smart.’
‘That’s because I’m not a librarian.’
‘Well, not to scare you but I heard the academic requirements here are kinda intense so that’s still something to think about.’
It’s too much. I’m supposed to be with Alice, soft launching my new life, not being patronized by someone who has probably had his GPA massaged by every soccer coach since kindergarten.
A thoughtful look clouds his face, full lips pinching into something doubtful as his brows draw together.
‘You really didn’t hear I wasn’t back at Marshall this year?’
‘No,’ I reply, astounded by his arrogance. ‘Not all of us are subscribed to the Ethan Taylor daily newsletter.’
He brightens. ‘There’s a newsletter?’
‘I have to go.’ I push past him, marching to the front door, my nose and knee still sore but not nearly as sore as my pride. I’ll figure this out later.
Oblivious to my minor meltdown, Ethan follows, half a step behind me as I hit the stairs, like he’s automatically invited.
‘Where are we headed? You think they card around here? I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink. Hey, were we on the same flight over? I flew in from Charlotte last night, direct flight to Heathrow—’
I can’t take it anymore, the close proximity, his cosy idle chat, acting like the whole world hasn’t been turned upside down.
Because it hasn’t, not for him. This is just another day of Being Ethan Taylor, the universe bending to his will as usual.
As soon as my foot touches the ground floor, I spin around to face him, one hand still clinging to the warm wooden banister and Ethan towering over me from the second step.
‘Look, Ethan …’ I begin and he grins back at me like a happy puppy dog.
‘Ha, you know my name. I knew it was you.’
‘Look, Ethan,’ I repeat myself, searching for the best way to handle this.
Deadlines I can do but when it comes to talking to people, I’m not good on the spot and all I can come up with are worst-case scenarios.
If I’m too friendly, he’ll want to tag along.
Too mean and he could easily ruin my year at Hemden before it begins.
Either way, if Ethan comes with, Alice, Jenna, Oliver and the others will all meet the librarian instead of Mia, and I’ve travelled four thousand miles for nothing.
There’s only one other option, I realize as I take in a deep, calming breath. Tell him the truth.
‘The thing is, I came to Hemden to get away from Marshall,’ I say slowly, watching his forehead furrow with confusion. ‘And I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone here about the whole librarian thing.’
To his credit, he seems genuinely puzzled.
‘Why?’
‘Because!’ I throw up my hands as though that one word is a complete sentence, but his expression doesn’t alter.
‘I’m trying to start over,’ I say, choosing my words carefully.
Don’t be so vague he blows you off, don’t be so vulnerable you give him ammunition.
‘I’m sure there are things you’d prefer to leave behind in the States, aren’t there? ’
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I can hear myself laughing.
What a dumb thing to say. He’s a spoiled little rich kid.
What might he be happier to move on from, that enormous Range Rover he drives all over campus or his D1 sports star status?
Maybe his super-hot girlfriend? But then an unexpected shadow passes over his face and the laughter dries in my throat like ashes.
I’ve hit a nerve. Ethan’s easy smile meets a sudden death, replaced by something so obviously painful, I immediately want to ask what’s wrong.
But I don’t. He isn’t my friend and I’m sure, whatever he has going on, he doesn’t want the librarian pitying him.
‘Just do me a favour,’ I say, backing away towards the front door. ‘Please don’t tell anyone about my old nickname.’
He shrugs, shoulders pinched up around his ears, all traces of discomfort vanished.
‘Sure but … what am I supposed to call you?’
And just like that, my empathy expires.
‘How about my name?’ I suggest.
‘Uh, yeah, no problem.’ He lets his shoulders drop, an awkward smile inching up one side of his annoying, handsome face. ‘Only, I don’t know what it is.’
‘Exactly,’ I reply, storming out through the door, leaving Ethan Taylor and the librarian behind.