Who Breaks First (Clearwater University)

I don’t have to like him—in fact, I can hate him—but it doesn’t stop some primal part of me from wanting him.

“I’m definitely late now.” I give a little shake of my head as I look up at the sign on the door that reads 110.

“It’s totally okay,” Leslie assures me. “I’m sure all the professors understand when you’re late on your first day. Tell them you got lost.”

“That’s what I was going to do,” I say with a smile. “And thanks so much for… helping me.”

I try not to give away that she saved me from Trent, West, and Reese, but there’s a look of recognition on Leslie’s face, like she’s been trying to hold off talking about it this whole time but just can’t anymore.

“Hey, who were those guys?” she finally asks.

I look over to the classroom door again. I can easily make excuses and say I have to go.

“Just old friends.” I shrug evasively. Shit. Why can’t I just say it? Why can’t I just admit what was going on? Honestly, I don’t know whether I can trust Leslie yet, and what’s more, I don’t want to push her away so soon.

“Ah.” She nods, her brows still drawn together. “I couldn’t tell if it was, like, sexual tension, or just dislike.”

“What do you—? You mean, with all three of them?” I blink.

“Uh, yeah. All three,” she replies, looking at me like it should be obvious to anyone who witnessed our exchange.

I glance down at the ground, my cheeks flushing. I barely even talked to them. I’m not surprised she could read my body language during our little encounter and figure out I dislike them, but I hate that she picked up on the insane response my body has around them—and realized that the sexual tension was with all three of them. If that isn’t mortifying, I don’t know what is.

“They’re just old friends. Some things went down.” I speak casually, trying to make it sound like no big deal. But from the look in her green and blue eyes, I can tell she’s on to me. There’s a wisdom in her eyes, even though they’re so whimsical looking, and I have a sinking feeling there isn’t going to be a whole lot I can get past her.

“I need to go,” I finally say.

“For sure. I’ll see you later, okay? Maybe we can have lunch in the quad.”

“That would be awesome.” I nod enthusiastically, thinking that some kind of distraction at lunchtime is just what I need.

As Leslie and I say goodbye, I open the door to my Applied Psychology class and say a little prayer. There’s something really ironic about trying to lie to a psych teacher, isn’t there?

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I mutter, looking over to where the teacher is standing. He’s a rather handsome guy, I have to admit, even though he is older. Is it just me, or is everyone at Clearwater University attractive?

“Ms. Holloway?” he asks, looking down at his sheet of paper.

“That’s me!” I reply with awkward enthusiasm.

“Have a seat.”

Shamefully, I look down at the paper with my room assignment to remind myself what the professor’s name is.

“Thank you… Mr. Johnson,” I finally say, seating myself. Scott Johnson is his name, and if you ask me, he’s going to be a great teacher. He looks at me warmly, thoughtfully, and suspiciously. Yep, Mr. Johnson can see right through me too. Or am I just being paranoid?

“This class will cover the basics of Applied Psychology,” Mr. Johnson continues, seeing that he has the class’s attention once again. “And we’ll examine how we can use this teaching in our everyday lives.”

As Mr. Johnson continues to expound upon the basics, it occurs to me that this class might be a blessing for me, because it will help me analyze Trent, Reese, and W

est, and the effect they have on me. But is analyzing and rationalizing enough? It’s like the power that they have over me is more physical than anything else. And not just because they’re bigger and more physically dominating than me, but because my own body betrays me when they’re around.

Can that really be rationalized in order to tame it? I’m feeling doubtful.

More importantly, can psychology help me to take control of my own life and grab that fresh start I’ve been praying for?

I open up my textbook and take out a yellow notepad, more determined than ever to make something of myself here. To do well. To show I truly do deserve a place at Clearwater U.

As the lecture continues, I hang onto Mr. Johnson’s every word as though they’re pearls. I take notes, chew on the back of my pen, and try to focus.