Chapter 4 #2
“You'll survive. You seem resilient.” I close my laptop and start stacking my notes. “Anyway, I was just about to head out. I can't be late.”
“We have so much time.” He leans back, completely unbothered. “Class isn't for another—“
“I'm an early bird, Micah.” I give him a look. “Some of us like to arrive before the professor.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.”
I'm already reaching for my bag when he gets to it first, swinging it over one shoulder and his own backpack over the other like it's nothing. I watch him for a second before I say anything.
“I can carry it.” I reach for the strap. “It's heavy.”
He gives me a look. “Sophie.” His eyes shift to the bag, then back to me. “Have you seen these arms? You really think this is heavy for me?”
I'm almost certain he flexes on purpose. I give him a flat look.
“I'll survive.” He turns toward the door like it's already settled.
We leave the library and head toward Intro to Comm—the only class we have together. He walks beside me, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks, my bag hanging off his shoulder like it weighs nothing. His effortless confidence is still there, softened now by the smile he hasn't quite let go of.
“You really couldn’t stop staring, huh?” he says, voice light but with an unmistakable edge of teasing.
I blink, caught off guard. “What?”
“Wyatt. You kept sneaking looks like he was some kind of celebrity.”
Heat climbs into my cheeks. “I told you I wasn’t staring. He just looked out of place. That’s all.”
Micah raises a brow, grinning. “Out of place because he’s too distractingly attractive?”
I bump his arm lightly with my shoulder. “Yes, but don’t worry. I prefer you.”
His hand flies to his chest in mock sentiment. “I’m honored.”
“He’s too handsome, it’s overwhelming,” I say, trying to sound casual. “You’re easier to be around.”
His smirk flickers, like he wasn’t expecting that. “Wow. Not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”
“Up to you,” I say with a shrug, trying to hide a smile.
We reach the building, and he opens the door for me.
“You know,” he says as we head down the hall, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this early to class. You’re a terrible influence.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
As we step into the lecture hall, I veer toward the back. “Have a good class,” I say, heading toward my usual seat—third to last row, farthest from the door.
Micah frowns. “What? You don’t want to sit with me?”
I pause mid-step. “Oh—I just assumed you’d sit with Grant. Or Ella.”
I don’t know why I added the last part.
He grimaces. “Ella? I barely even know her.” Then, without hesitation, he follows me and drops into the seat beside mine like it’s always been his.
I haven’t sat next to anyone in class in a while.
Maybe since last semester in my Public Speaking class, next to a guy I may or may not have developed a small crush on after we were paired together for a project—coincidentally.
Apparently, that’s how these things start.
But we haven’t kept in touch once the class ended, so there’s that.
I figure the same thing will happen with Micah once this semester ends.
“You sure you want to sit this far back?” I ask.
He leans into the chair like he’s claimed it. “Perfect view of the board. Comfortable distance from the professor. From now on, this is my seat.”
My cheeks flush.
A few minutes later, Grant strolls in, all swagger and amusement. His grin stretches when he spots us and he takes the seat one over from Micah, leaving an empty seat between them. He tosses me a wink.
Declan arrives next, slipping into the seat in front of me. “Hey, Sophie. Micah. Grant.” He nods in greeting. “Are we sitting with our group today?”
“Uhm…no. But feel free to join us,” I offer quickly.
Then Ella walks in.
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t even acknowledge I’m here. She breezes past Declan and Grant and goes for the seat between him and Micah. But before she can sit, Micah reaches for Grant’s backpack and drops it into the empty chair.
Ella huffs and settles on Grant’s other side instead.
“Word at the house is you and Hailey are over,” she says, tone sharp.
Micah doesn’t even look at her. “There was never anything to be over.”
She lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah? So you just hand out your hoodies and screw girls for months just because?”
Oh.
I don't know why I feel surprised. It's not like I expected Micah to not have a history. I mean, look at him. It has nothing to do with me. I barely know him. I just shift slightly in my seat and mind my own business.
I can feel Micah tense beside me.
Grant leans forward, clearly enjoying himself. “Ella, don’t act like you give a shit about your friend. You’re probably thrilled he’s single—not that he ever wasn’t. You’ve been trying to crawl into his lap since freshman year. Don’t pretend this is about her.”
“Fuck you, Grant,” she snaps.
He grins. “Funny. You were a lot nicer to me last year when you were moaning my name. Oh right, but then I found out you were also hooking up with my teammate—how’s Peterson, by the way? Still convinced you’re girlfriend material?”
She mutters something under her breath before straightening up and tossing a glance our way. “What are you all doing back here, anyway?”
Then she finally notices me. “Oh, hey, Sylvie,” she adds with fake sweetness. “Cute hoodie. Another Westcliffe one? Must be so proud to go here, considering your entire closet seems to be school merch. First in your family to go to college?”
I stiffen. I should be proud. I’m doing what I need to survive. This hoodie was ridiculously cheap with my employee discount—basically free thanks to the tiny defect. But still, I can’t help but feel an unwelcome shame.
But she’s not done. “A couple of my sorority sisters are cheerleaders. Want me to ask if they need a new mascot? I think you’d make the perfect Westcliffe Lion. That is the ultimate goal, right?”
Micah slams his laptop shut, the sound echoing like a slap.
“That’s enough,” he snaps. “It’s freezing in here, and it’s almost October. Look around. You’re the only one half-naked in this entire lecture hall.”
I touch his arm, gently. “Hey. It’s okay.”
His chest rises and falls, nostrils flaring, but when his eyes meet mine, some of the tension in his shoulders eases.
Ella lets out a dry laugh. “Aw, what’s the matter? Sensitive, much? If you want to see me fully naked, all you have to do is ask.”
Before he can snap again, I gently squeeze his forearm.
Grant leans back with a groan. “Ella, the fuck is wrong with you? Peterson not giving you enough? God, it was such a peaceful morning before you walked in.”
Before she can snap back, the professor enters and the room quiets. I glance once more at Micah beside me, uncertain of what any of this means.
But one thing is clear. He’s stepped in for me more than once now, and somehow, I feel safe with him. The feeling is unfamiliar—so unfamiliar, and I’m not sure if I should trust it.
MICAH
The lecture drags on, as usual. Professor Brightman runs through the week’s slides like even he wants to get out of here, then finally gives us the last thirty minutes to meet with our groups.
Declan suggests we figure out a time to meet outside of class next week, so we can work on our presentation slides.
As the group throws out days and times, I notice Sophie checking her calendar again and again—each time with a slight crease in her brow.
Her schedule looks slammed, and that’s coming from me.
Sophie hesitates, then quietly says, “Would it be okay if I just emailed my part? I don’t think I can make it any of those times.” She doesn’t elaborate or give excuses.
“That works. Honestly, I can’t make those times either,” I lie. “Everyone can just email their sections to me. I’ll compile everything and run through the edits. I’m familiar with this topic, anyways.”
We decided on the Exxon Valdez oil spill for our crisis communication disaster for this presentation. I did a paper on it for my Business Ethics class last year, so I don’t mind taking on the load.
Ella immediately cuts in. “Seriously? We’re all busy, Sophie. You’re not the only one. And you’re just a sophomore, right? Don’t act like your time is more valuable than ours.”
The air sharpens. I meet her eyes, unflinching. She’s been watching Sophie and me all class—quiet, calculating, simmering. I’ve had enough.
“And what exactly are you so busy with, Ella? Sorority mixers? Shopping for another see-through costume? Working your way through the hockey team—or is it the football guys this week? Hard to keep up. Maybe it’s all those doctor’s appointments. I bet they’re starting to pile up.”
Her mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”
“I said what I said,” I reply, voice flat, unbothered.
Grant, clearly trying to diffuse the tension, says, “Alright, alright. Declan, we’re emailing Micah our parts by the end of next week, yeah?”
Declan nods quickly. “Sounds good. Thanks, Micah.”
I lean back in my chair, jaw tight, eyes still on Ella. She doesn’t say another word. Good call.
After class, Sophie starts quietly gathering her things.
“I can drive you home,” I offer casually, slinging my own bag over one shoulder. The words come out easier than I expect. I just don’t want her walking alone.
She glances up, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “It’s okay. I have to head over to the bookstore now, and I have a few classes later today.”
I open my mouth to offer again, maybe just walk her there instead, but then it hits me—shit. I have a call with my dad. I glance at the time.
I realize that I would have missed this weekly call without a second thought if Sophie had accepted my offer for a ride. What’s wrong with me?