Chapter 2
I wonder if the town name came after the university or the other way around. Who can tell when the campus takes up the entire zip code?
It’s cold and windy in Northwind. And here I was expecting rugged beauty, lots of nature, clear skies, distant snowy mountains, and earthy smells.
Then again, I haven’t traveled much outside of campus grounds in the last three weeks I’d been here.
A lot of rain though.
I suppose I should take comfort in it rather than bitch internally like a spoiled brat. It’s not like I’m used to sunshine and roses—nor do I prefer it. I’d take any excuse to stay hidden under a raincoat and speed walk through the streets.
If I’m honest, Northwind is exactly the kind of place I would’ve dreamed up three years ago. Big enough to disappear into. Open enough to breathe.
And, from a safe distance, the people don’t seem half bad either.
I arrived one month after the start of the semester and catching up sucked every ounce of energy out of me. Not to mention my new part-time job at the student library.
The dean of admissions set up my work-study immediately after interviewing me over the phone and finding out that housing would need to be on a payment plan.
The most they can give me is twenty hours a week. It’ll cover the room if I’m careful, but after that? I’m pretty much living on ramen and break-room coffee.
It’s kind of ironic. I’ll spend more time working to pay for my dorm than actually being in it. Most nights, it’s just been a place to sleep.
Still, this is good.
This is healthy—or so Bree says. A fresh start.
If you don’t count the pizza pockets I’ve had four nights in a row. And the secondhand weed inhalation from my roommates.
On the bright side, no one knows me. No one pities me here. No one is whispering about my father being a criminal or spreading random variations about how my mother died. Or if I secretly have access to the millions my father allegedly stole.
Spoiler alert: I do not.
Bree’s right.
Northwind is my chance to start over. To find out who I am outside of what happened to me. It’s what Dad wants.
They say your past doesn’t define you, but I’ve spent years letting mine shape me—turning me into someone awkward, anxious…afraid. Smaller than I was ever meant to be.
Sometimes I think there’s a version of me locked somewhere. The one who doesn’t blink away at eye contact or overthink every breath in a conversation. I catch flashes of her every so often.
That Isla is bold and unafraid, hungry for something that feels a little…dangerous.
Adventurous.
Reckless.
She wants to feel something raw and real. Something that doesn’t fit inside the lines I shaped myself to live inside.
I refuse to be the new freak in town. I will find a way to blend in. To make friends. To feel alive for once.
But for now…this Isla, needs to blend in. Hard to do when you’re the newcomer, but now that I’m three weeks in, maybe I can just be another face on campus.
Just another Northwinder—that’s what they call the students. Northwinders. Like we’re proudly born and raised here.
I’m okay with that—a new identity. At least for now.
The website says that eighty percent of the school population is from Montana and if there’s one thing I’m usually good at, it’s spotting the odd duck out.
The ones that don’t belong.
The ones so obviously different, they draw attention.
I say usually because these guys are giving me a run for my money.
It’s been kind of hard to pick out the “out of towners.” Guys in hoodies, the occasional baseball cap, spotless sneakers. Girls in leggings, oversized sweatshirts, and beach waves with perfect highlights.
I’m not all that different in my attire. But the rest of me gives off major goth vibes. Dark hair that falls like a straight curtain around my shoulders. Green eyes and a soft sloped nose—both my mothers. My skin glows like hers most mornings too, but my cheeks aren’t as rosy.
Except when I’m flustered.
I finally reach Perkins Hall and head up the stairs toward the doors, struggling with the slider on my umbrella to get it closed.
When I finally do, I freeze at the entrance, knowing the herd I’m walking into. Perkins is the busiest building in the mornings. It’s like they hold every class on campus here between eight and ten.
In… two… three… four.
Out… two… three… four.
I repeat it four times, keeping my focus forward and my pace steady. Just another body in the flow.
The counting isn’t a daily thing. The need for it comes and goes, but when it hits, it claws at me—like my own body reminding me that I’m not as calm as I pretend to be.
But at least the hallways don’t feel like they’re closing in on me. I’m making record progress over here.
Clusters of students lean against the half-tiled walls and crowd around benches lining the hallway. I catch pieces of conversations as I pass.
Today’s hot topic, apparently, is last night’s hockey game. The brutal loss, the mediocre college team that crushed us—names of players, goals reenacted.
And some app the girls keep buzzing about.
I smile to myself. Even as my heart breaks a little at the unfairness.
How carefree and ideal their lives seem.
Nothing like the dysfunction I come from.
Bree reminds me that no one’s life is perfect. Everyone hides parts of themselves. It’s what you choose to let people see and what you choose to carry silently that matters.
By the time I slip into my philosophy class, I’m three minutes late. There’s one empty seat left in the back, and three up front. Naturally, I start toward the one in the back but then think better of fading into the shadows again.
Fresh start.
No more hiding.
Glancing to the side, I slip into the one up front.
Professor Dirk seems to dismiss my tardiness, giving me an approving nod for my seat choice today.
When he turns around, I release a sigh of relief. But a part of me wonders if I give off that don’t talk to me, I’ve got anxiety vibe. And that’s more humiliating than being called out in class. I sink back into my seat.
A guy sitting on my left snickers, turning his gaze from me to the book in front of him.
If there’s one thing I hate more than pity, it’s people laughing at me. Yes, my insecurities are high, but I’m working on them.
“Glad you’re entertained,” I mutter as I reach into my backpack for my own book.
The sarcasm thing again.
The guy only smirks wider, turning away like he’s too cool to bother with a comeback.
Professor Dirk walks along each aisle with a stack of papers. “I was less than impressed at the level of work handed to me last week for the Meaning of Authenticity.”
I hold my breath as I flip my paper. B minus.
He grumbles a bit more, questioning the level of high school education these days and pulls up a new slide on the screen. “I don’t know if I have the patience or the hairs on my head left to read through more garbage.”
Ouch.
I glance at my paper again. Granted, I don’t remember how good it was given the amount of work I had to catch up on for all my classes, but I wouldn’t call it garbage.
“But,” he continues. “I might fathom half. So I’m pairing you up. Scratch that. Pair yourselves up, starting now. And choose wisely, make arrangements and for god’s sake, take your damn time on it.”
He explains the new partner assignment and I barely hear any of it.
I have to work with someone?
This is gym class all over again. No doubt Professor Dirk thought this through and knows there’s an even number of us to pair up.
I hear a girl somewhere behind me whisper, leaning over her desk to the guy who snickered at me earlier. “Hey Miles, want to pair up?”
I don’t look up from my desk, figuring I’ll just wait it out until the teacher has to partner whoever’s left.
Miles glances over his shoulder. “Sorry, but Isla and I are pairing up on this one.”
Heat flares up my neck as I turn to the guy. Seeing as I’ve been taking a seat in the back until today, I haven’t noticed him before. He’s not…terrible looking, I suppose. Light brown hair, hazel eyes, cocky smirk. I could easily see how Blondie behind me would want to pair up with him.
But I’m no fool.
I’ve been here before. The cool kid chooses the nerd so she does all the work and is too meek to argue about it. But I haven’t been here long enough to be qualified as a nerd. For all he knows, it’s my garbage paper that set Professor Dirk off in the first place.
The girl spares me a glance. “Are you sure? I’ve got a dorm room all to myself. We’d definitely have time…and privacy.”
Her own dorm room? While I’m stuck sharing a tiny unit with two roommates who seem one inconvenience away from evicting me themselves?
Miles glances back at her before pinning his attention on me. “I’ve already got a partner, Emma.”
I don’t want this guy as my partner. I don’t want a partner period. The last thing I need is some cocky sleaze thinking he can get me to do all the work and take the credit.
Then again, wouldn’t I prefer that over one-on-one work sessions?
“Not interested,” I mutter to grin-boy.
He chuckles but still doesn’t give Blondie a look back.
“Alright,” Professor Dirk’s voice rises over the chatter. “Email me your partners by the end of the day. And by Thursday’s class, I want a bullet point outline of your paper with the final due in three weeks.”
Three weeks? How big is this damn project?
“I’ll be sending the details this evening with examples on how to split the assignment. Don’t hold off until the final moment. I’ll know.”
Great.
After class, I step out into the hall feeling off balance. I’m expecting my anxiety to go into overdrive but when it doesn’t, I almost panic. Like I’m suffering from some…delayed reaction.
No. This is fine. I can work with another human for a class project. It’s not like I haven’t done it before.
I’m aware of Miles creeping up behind me and spin abruptly, holding my hand up to set some distance. “Alright listen. I don’t know what you think, but I’m not doing all the work and giving you credit. Just because I’m quiet, doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”