11. now
now
Iam not the kind of person to text in class, but desperate times require desperate measures. Beneath my desk, I type out a quick message:
Any chance I’m dead? Because I feel like I’m in Hell, but I don’t remember dying.
Hayden’s response comes almost immediately:
you seemed fine when you left this morning
unless you got hit by a car in the parking lot
do you think there’s cell reception in hell?
I try to muster even the smallest of smiles. Nothing. Zilch. My face is stuck in a twisted grimace of shock and disgust. It started when Atlas walked into my class—Advanced Functional Piano—fifteen minutes ago, and I’m certain it’ll last until the end of time.
I glare at the back of his head, three rows down from me. If I knew how to shoot a spitball, I might try it. Since I don’t, I spend the entire class ignoring my professor and wondering what I did in my past life to deserve this never-ending torture. Another text from Hayden comes through:
you’re really going to leave me hanging??
Atlas is here
yeah, i know
No, I mean HERE. Like, in my class.
what?! are u sure?
I’m looking at him right now.
do u think he was there last week?
As if I would have missed him. I don’t know how tall Atlas is, but he’s well over six foot.
He’s easily the tallest person in this room, not to mention the hottest. A college athlete has no business being in Advanced Functional Piano.
Atlas probably isn’t even in this class.
I don’t know how he got my schedule, but he’s obviously found it and is using it to disrupt my final sliver of peace.
I shake my leg so hard the guy sitting next to me nudges me with his elbow. He glances pointedly at my leg, and I force myself to stop moving. I finally send a response:
There’s no way he’s a music major.
My mom would have told me. I’d worked hard to avoid news of Atlas over the years, but there’s no way she wouldn’t have mentioned our overlapping studies. Other things slipped out all the time. His college. His most-recent racing times. The last time he’d been home.
Another text from Hayden:
you also thought there was no way he’d be in aberlena sooooo
I’m still reading it when someone clears their throat.
Loud and obnoxious…like a professor demanding attention.
I flip my phone face-down on my desk like the guilty delinquent I am.
Professor Rick is staring at me, and so is the entire class.
It’s a small group, only nine of us, but that’s more than enough people to make me feel like an idiot.
Last week, Professor Rick told us to call him by his first name.
He’d smiled at me when I explained my passion for music and my hopes of becoming an elementary school music teacher.
He isn’t smiling now. I keep waiting for him to say something, but he only stares and stares, right along with the rest of the room.
“Sorry.” I fidget in my seat and force myself to meet his condescending glare.
“If you want to play on your phone instead of listening, that’s fine.” Professor Rick sits back on his desk and crosses his ankles. “Don’t forget you’re here to learn—you’re only hurting yourself.”
I force myself to nod. My face is on fire, and even once the lesson starts again, my insides feel like tangled yarn.
Most professors don’t care if people use their phone.
The fact Professor Rick does is more proof that my life is a cosmic joke—and that, without a doubt—Atlas is making everything worse.
He’s the reason I needed moral support anyway.
He’s the reason I wasn’t paying attention in a class I’m genuinely interested in.
By the time the lecture ends, my blood feels six degrees too hot.
I’m being burned from the inside out, and it’s destroying any rational thought.
All I can think about is Atlas, Atlas, Atlas, and the way he’s wormed back into my life.
Approaching me at Phoebe’s wedding. Changing schools. Showing up in my class.
I expect him to loiter outside the door for me, but by the time I slip outside (strategically with other students, to avoid a patronizing chat from Professor Rick), Atlas is already several paces ahead. He’s with one of the girls he’d been sitting near.
I recognize the smitten look on her face. It’s the same one I wore from ages ten to sixteen.
“Atlas!” I try to shout, but his name is barely above talking volume. The nerves are eating me again, clamping down on my vocal chords. I’m about to try again, louder this time, when he abruptly turns.
His cheeks are pink from the wind. He doesn’t look surprised to see I’ve followed him, but he doesn’t smile either. He waits for me, a curious expression on his face, as I cross the open field. The girl waits too.
“I need to talk to you,” I say. Then, with a pointed look at his new fan, I add, “alone.”
“I’ll catch up with you later.” Atlas offers the girl a warm smile, and she just about melts into the grass at his feet. With a quick wave, she turns and continues for the cafeteria building. I wait until we’re alone before crossing my arms and stepping closer.
“What the hell are you doing, Atlas?”
“Before you interrupted?” His lips tilt with infuriating amusement. “I was walking to get some lunch. Did you want to join?”
“You’re copying my schedule now?” I ask, ignoring that stupid little smirk. “Stalking me to Aberlena wasn’t enough? You had to enroll in my classes, too?”
That earns me a full grin, and my heart flips. It’s a muscle memory, a reflex more than anything else. Despite everything Atlas did, there’s a disconnect between my logic and my emotions.
“I’m a music minor.” He looks down at me with such fondness I want to knee him in the balls.
“You weren’t in my class last week.” I squeeze my arms tighter around myself, and it’s the only thing holding me together.
I don’t let myself dwell on the fact Atlas is interested in learning music.
Years ago, I was the one who got him into it.
“Obviously you had to learn my schedule first. Should I expect you in Music Theory with Rhodes tomorrow?”
He laughs, the same over-the-top way he used to. It’s deeper now, but it’s the same, goofy sound I used to write songs about.
“No. I’d started in the beginner class—that’s all my minor requires.
I requested the change. I wanted something more challenging, you know?
” When I don’t respond, he sighs. “Look, I swear I didn’t copy your schedule.
I know you’re annoyed I’m here, but I promise I’m not planning to disrupt your life. ”
Too late, I think bitterly.
“Okay. So you’ll drop the class?”
“No.” He tilts his head, eyes dancing with amusement as he looks over me. “Is my simple presence that distracting?”
He’s phrasing it like I’m the delusional one. As if I moved colleges from two states away and then started attending his classes. Not just that, but he’s acting like I’m distracted because I’m smitten. Because I can’t help but drool over him if he’s in the same room.
“You’ve already ruined my life,” I snap. Because I’m too exhausted for this coy back-and-forth. “What more do you want, Atlas?”
His expression shutters, just for a second. When I blink, the look of devastation is gone, and I’m convinced I imagined it.
“I’m going to stay out of your way.” He glances over his shoulder toward the cafeteria building.
I realize then that the girl he’d been walking with is standing by the door.
She’s playing on her phone, but it’s clear she's waiting for him. “When you’re ready though, I have something to give you. Phoebe found it. I guess it was Nat’s. ”
My throat goes dry.
How dare he say her name?
How dare he use something of hers against me?
How dare he wait this long before mentioning it?
“Let me see it.” I stick my hand out.
“I don’t have it with me,” he says. I must make a face because he holds both hands in surrender. “In my defense, I didn’t realize I’d see you today. Or that you’d want to talk to me.”
“Want is a strong word.”
“You’re kind of mean, Violet Elizabeth.” He laughs again, but it’s softer than before. Impossibly, his accusation sounds like a compliment.
“When can I pick it up?”
“Atlas!” His class buddy is walking toward us. She gestures with broad arm strokes for him to hurry up. Apparently, her tactic of playing it cool was taking too long.
“I’ve got to go,” he says, walking backwards, watching me. “Text me, Violet. I’m at the same number.”
With one final, infuriating smile, he turns away, leaving me alone to wonder what he could possibly have.
When can I pick it up?
Atlas’s text comes through, labeled under the name I gave him so many years ago: The Traitor.
Whenever you want. I’d give you my address, but somehow you already have it.
“I don’t know.” Hayden lays on our couch, all the throw pillows scattered across our rug.
She’s got a tennis ball—from where, I have no idea—and she’s throwing it up at the ceiling, deftly catching it when it comes back down.
“This feels like a bad idea. What if you go over there and he seduces you?”
I roll my eyes. I’m sitting on the counter, eating a bag of dill pickle chips and reading Atlas’s text for the sixth time.
“I’m serious,” she says. “It’s been a few years since you guys were close. Maybe you’ve forgotten the power of those green eyes. You might end up naked before you’ve made it through his door.”
“I’ve already talked to him like three times, and I’ve yet to take my clothes off.” I lay my phone on the counter and tip the bag of chips up, pouring the crumbs into my mouth. Chewing, I continue. “You’ll just have to trust me. There is zero lingering attraction for that man.”
Hayden makes a small, disbelieving sound.
“Look, I know I haven’t told you what all went down between me and Atlas, but it was bad.”
“Actually, you’ve told me almost nothing about what happened. All I know is that you guys were best friends, started hooking up in middle school, and then he pissed you off so bad you immediately went no-contact.”
“We weren’t—”
“Did he cheat on you?”
“I already told you he didn’t.”
“Did he show his friends your nudes?”
“What? No.”
“Did he break up with you for no reason and then sleep with the mean girl who once told you your breath smells?” When I only glare in response, Hayden spreads her arms. “Well, I don’t know, Vi!
You’ve given me nothing to work with, and I’m struggling to see what could’ve been so bad. You could just, I don’t know, tell me?”
“It’s not…it was about Nat, okay? It’s part of why she disappeared.”
“Oh my god. Did he sleep with your sister?”
I wad up the empty chip bag and attempt to throw it at Hayden. The wrapper is far too light though, so it falls pathetically at my feet.
“I was just asking!” Hayden giggles.
“I’m not worried he’s going to try to seduce me, and I’m even less worried it would work if he did. I’m only worried that he’s going to hold this over me. That he’ll dangle whatever-it-is that he has over my head but never actually give it to me.”
“You think he’d do that?” she asks, and despite barely knowing him, she sounds skeptical.
“Only one way to find out.” I hop off the counter and tuck my phone into my pocket. “Are you up for an adventure?”