Chapter 2 #2
His eyes flick to the side with a smirk before he flips his philosophy paper over to me—revealing an A minus. “I’m not looking for an easy A, Lila. Or to pawn off all the work on you.”
“It’s Isla.” I grit, with a vague memory of him saying my name correctly earlier.
Another smirk. “I know.”
Oh yes, you’d make a fabulous partner. Who wouldn’t want an arrogant jock needling them on purpose? Lucky me.
My dry sarcasm’s alive and well this morning. My voice…apparently, called in sick.
“So what’d you say, Isla?” he leans in slightly when he pronounces my name and I can smell his musky cologne.
I tug my backpack tighter over my shoulder. “Why do you want to work with me, then?”
He cocks his head like it’s obvious.
It’s not.
I won’t deny that I’m pretty. But I’m a weird kind of pretty. Face too round, hair too straight, and eyes so big I look startled half the time.
I almost never smile. And girls who don’t smile—according to dear Aunt Ruby—are not pretty.
“Look you’re new around here. You clearly don’t like people. And you don’t intend to sit around and B.S. for hours before we get any work done.” He glances back. “And, yeah, you’re not bad to look at, sue me.”
“Fine,” I grumble since I don’t have much of a choice. And judging by the grade on my first assignment in this class, it might not be such a terrible thing having Miles as a partner.
Even if his smirks give me the creeps.
I give him my phone number and ramble off unofficial plans to start after we get Dirk’s breakdown of the assignment.
Then I bolt down the hall before he can say another word and trigger the kind of spiraling my brain specializes in.
Four classes later, and one late afternoon shift at the library, I push into my dorm room, not the least bit surprised by the haze of weed hitting my senses, making my eyes water.
Olive and Chili, my roommates, are sprawled across the couch, air thick with smoke around them.
Their laughter dwindles down as I enter.
Chili, whose real name is Pepper, glances up, smirking. “Well, look who’s home before dark.”
She’s not wrong. I avoid coming here until I absolutely have to. But I didn’t have much choice today. It’s almost six o’clock and I need a private place for my session with Bree.
Our dorm room comes with two bedrooms, one large enough that it would easily fit two beds, and one slightly smaller for a single.
The resident adviser asked Chili and Olive to move into the larger bedroom, since it’s equipped for two, and I would be in the smaller one. It made the most sense.
Unfortunately, the two claimed to be “settled in” and had no intention of moving.
These two had me pegged from the moment I walked in. They knew exactly what they could get away with.
That’s how I ended up in the Shoebox.
An oversized closet they managed to shove my mattress and things into while I was out.
“Yeah well, some of us need to study,” I mutter as I step over the garbage on the floor, avoiding confrontation at all costs.
Especially after finding out that if I do complain to the housing center—and lose—I’ll be sleeping in the lounge chair on the second level of the library for the rest of the year.
Specific, I know. Because I’ve considered it.
Remember, this is the storm before our calm.
I step myself into my tiny room, holding my breath until I hear the door clicking closed behind me like a shield.
It doesn’t smell as horrendous in here as it does out there, and I’m starting to like my little nook. The overhead light on the slanted ceiling is flickering, so I’ll be changing the bulb soon. But the mattress and bedding is comfy, even if I do worry about the occasional spider.
I put on my headphones and fluff the pillow behind me as I settle in, then hit the link Bree sent me for our session.
A moment later, she comes on the screen.
Her eyes narrow and I can tell she’s taking in my surroundings, since it’s the first video call we’ve had in this room.
Thankfully, she doesn’t lead off with the question. “So group project, huh?”
“Partner project,” I correct.
She nods like she gets me. “Those can be tricky. Assuming she approached you?”
I pull on my bottom lip. “It’s…a he.”
Her brows jump and she doesn’t even try to hide it. “And how do we feel about that?”
I shrug. “He seems to be a good student, so I’m alright with it, I guess.”
She waits a beat. “Has anything other than working on this project with him crossed your mind?”
I roll my eyes. My not-so-subtle therapist is referring to the one thing I wish I hadn’t told her a few sessions ago.
The uncomfortable one.
Where I told her about certain…fantasies I’ve been having. Ones where I don’t clam up when someone comes near me. Ones where I embrace it.
I only scratched the surface with the level of detail of these fantasies, so all she knows is that I’m thinking about being intimate with someone. Being ready for that type of relationship.
Ready is a strong word.
Because wanting it and being ready for it—are different.
“No Bree, it hasn’t.”
She holds up her hands. “All I’m saying is it’s okay to let your mind wander to those types of…possibilities. Especially if he approached you?”
“He did.”
She smirks. “Is he good-looking?”
I grin back, but I don’t think I’m blushing. “He is.”
She nods once. “Are you nervous about spending time alone with him?”
“I don’t think so,” I tell her honestly. It’s larger groups that tend to get to me, but she already knows that.
“Well, good. Let me know how it works out,” Bree says, and I’m relieved we’re dropping the topic for now. “Since your goal here is to start fresh and really try to beat your anxiety, I think we’re ready for the first step.”
My heart rate kicks up. “First step?”
“Have you tried group activities before?”
“Not really. You know me, dry sarcasm is my go-to when I’m uncomfortable in group settings and people tend to be turned off by it.”
She purses her lips. “Intimidated, more likely. You’re quite good with your quick wit, that kind of humor isn’t always at the same level as most college-age kids.”
She doesn’t have to tell me that. I’m aware it’s a turn-off, a way to appear unapproachable and standoffish. I shrug, as if to say it’s just how I am.
“It’s perfectly fine to have your own personality. That’s your thing. You’re not just good at it, it’s your reflex, your shield.”
My…defense mechanism? I almost say, but I know Bree doesn’t like to use terms like that.
“Great, so I’m good! What’s the problem?” I ask, only half joking.
“The problem is that it’s all good if you’re around people you don’t care to see again. But what about those you have things in common with and want to be around?”
I huff.
“Friends. I’m talking about friends, Isla.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” I grumble.
“I’d like you to try and join a social circle. It doesn’t have to be the biggest one. Or even one that meets daily. Just a crowd of people you can relate to. Someplace you can blend in unnoticed at first until you feel it out, you know?”
“And what am I supposed to do there?”