1. Chapter One #2
“Good morning, Aurora,” Diana, the coffee shop owner, greets me. Without waiting for me to order, she pours my usual, hands me the cup, and wipes her damp hands on her apron. After adjusting the headband in her short red hair, she enters my order into the register.
“And a blueberry muffin, please,” I say as I pull my card from my wallet.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart. We just ran out,” she says, tilting her head to the side and glancing past me.
I turn to follow her gaze and notice a large, beautiful blueberry muffin sitting on the corner of the other student’s table. Seriously? I blow out a short, frustrated sigh, not bothering to look at the other baked goods. “Then that will be all.”
I tap my card, waiting for the green light. “How’s Jonah’s knee?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the minor disappointment.
Diana rolls her eyes and crosses her arms under her chest. “That husband of mine thinks he knows better than his doctors. He’ll get me to an early grave, this man. I’m telling you.”
Despite her harsh words, her eyes soften as she leans across the counter to straighten the bags of dried fruit on display. “Are you sure you don’t want something else to eat? Maybe an egg sandwich, or a chocolate croissant? You know, Aurora—”
“You can’t survive on coffee alone,” we say at the same time.
I give her a toothy smile. “I know. Please tell Jonah I’m thinking about him,” I say and head back to Layla’s table as another student walks through the front door.
“And… done,” Layla declares and shuts her laptop with a satisfying click.
I scoot onto my chair. “That was fast.”
“I knew what I wanted to say, I just needed to type it up.” Layla’s words come out quickly, as if they’re suspects running from the police.
I pointedly pull the almost-finished cup away from her.
“Hey…” Noticing my movement, Layla grabs my hand. “I’m fine,” she says dismissively, chugging the rest of the coffee in one swig. “No muffin?” she asks, looking at the cup in front of me.
“No. He got the last one,” I say, nodding sharply toward the student behind us who’s intensely focused on the notes in front of him, the muffin cast aside, forgotten and unimportant.
“Don’t let it ruin your day,” she says, squeezing my hand. I quickly nod in agreement but cast another glance at the unappreciated muffin.
After catching up for a few minutes, as we do most mornings, we head out.
“Connor and Javi were talking about going out tonight to celebrate all of you graduating.” Layla holds the door for me. “I can’t believe I’ll be the only one of us still in school,” she says begrudgingly as we step outside into the heat.
“Sounds fun. Anywhere specific?” I pull out my phone, my heart sinking a little as I refresh my email. Nothing new appears, but I archive the unread email from that questionable journal before pocketing the phone.
“Connor mentioned there’s a club on 4th and University they wanted to check out. Apparently, it’s really upscale. You know it gets him all worked up whenever there’s exclusivity for him to prove he belongs.” Layla yawns into the crook of her elbow. “In any case, he said he knows a guy.”
I gasp and place my hand on my chest. “Connor knows a guy?” I repeat, feigning surprise. He’s always bragging about knowing people and approaches his whole life as one large networking pool. Also, it sure doesn’t hurt that his mother is the mayor.
The streetlight changes as Layla begins to walk away. “I’ll text you the info!” she calls out. Waving to her, I inhale deeply and head to the education building to drop off my final paper.
Later that night, on our way to the club, the city lights blur through our rideshare’s window.
The driver slams on the brakes, jolting both Layla and me forward and nearly sending our heads into the seats in front of us.
This seems like the appropriate ending to the most turbulent ride of my life.
The older guy has been zigzagging through the streets, running red lights, and swirling around corners like he’s auditioning for a Fast and Furious movie.
With the loud ’90s music, the over-sprayed cheap cologne, and the nonstop hitting on Layla, I wonder how he doesn’t have a one-star average.
I hunch in my spot and check my email again, while Layla is busy fending off another blatant advance. The app refreshes for what feels like the longest three seconds of my life. No new messages. I sink even deeper into my seat.
Why haven’t they sent out the placement announcements yet?
Panic threatens to build, but I push it away as I step out of the car.
Just focus on celebrating with your friends. They will email you soon.
Looking up, I see the long line of people waiting to get inside the club. As if in response, my feet ache in protest of the uncomfortable high heels Layla convinced me to wear. But when I spot our friends by the entrance, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Javi waves us over, while Connor motions for us to hurry as he continues speaking with the bouncer, a young woman holding an iPad. Behind her stands a large, imposing man who clearly serves as the muscle of the bouncer-ship.
“You’re late,” Connor greets us flatly as he ushers Layla and me into the club.
His clothes are perfectly styled, and his blond hair is meticulously gelled, not a strand out of place.
He might make it look effortless, but one shared glance with Layla confirms we both know he spent a lot of time achieving that look.
“Hey, you promised no authoritative Connor tonight,” Javi teases, moving his shoulder-length ponytail to the side before he bends down to kiss us each on the cheeks.
“Fine. I’ll be fun Connor tonight,” he says reluctantly. “Looking good, Layla,” he throws over his shoulder.
I freeze in my steps, flinging my hands up in the air. “Geez, thanks, Connor,” I deadpan.