Private (Private 1)

first day at Easton, didn’t they?

“Hi.”

“Well, I met this one guy . . . ,” I said.

Was she waiting for me?

“Thomas Pearson,” she said flatly.

“How was practice?” she asked.

I blinked, surprised. Her tone had all the warmth of black ice.

“Fine,” I said. This was strange. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed

“I saw you guys talking,” she explained. She stepped away from

to do or say. I racked my brain and came up with a fabulously original the door, closer to me, as a few girls returned from field hockey question. “What team do you play for?”

practice, laughing and rehashing a play. I felt a flash of jealousy.

At Easton, everyone had to play at least one sport. Something

“Reed.”

about fulfilling a physical fitness requirement. I didn’t pay much

“Sorry,” I said. What was I thinking, letting my attention

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wander from the one person who had been nice to me today? The

“Really?” I said, sounding a little too excited.

one person whose attention I would kill for.

“I’d like to get to know you better,” she said. “We all would.”

“So, you like him?” Ariana asked.

So they had talked about me. Discussed me. Behind my back.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I said, even though my pulse raced at the The thought was disconcerting. After such a short time on campus, very thought of him. Thomas was gorgeous, no doubt. And intriguI already had people talking about me.

ing and funny. But he was also clearly a player. And I wasn’t totally But wait . . . did I care? This could be the beginning—the beginning sure I wanted to get involved with someone like that just then. Flirt of me getting everything I had hoped for. If they had talked about with? Fine. Get involved with? Another story.

me, great. Apparently they had seen something they liked. Though Ariana’s eyes narrowed. “Most girls can’t resist a guy like

what that might be, I had no idea.

Thomas Pearson,” she said. “He has that . . .”