Fading Out (Living Heartwood 3)

I hurriedly stuff the last of my lunch into my mouth, still chewing as I jump up to leave. Unlike Gavin, who gets his shit worked over pretty hard, the professors are a little more slack on me. Doesn’t mean I don’t get a good ass chewing from time to time.

Just recently, Professor Collins took an interest in me, requesting I work an extra half hour before class to improve my writing skills. It’s the reason why I now eat lunch in the boring cafeteria rather than at Jack’s Bar Wench downtown with the rest of the team. I have less than five minutes

to make it to her class.

On my way out, I glimpse the new girl once more. Poking sadly at her salad. It is a pretty sad salad. But from here, at a safe distance, I note the differences between her and Alyssa—the things I couldn’t register as clearly in my shaken state. The slender nose that buds out to a cute button. The slight cleft in her chin. The full top lip that plumps her mouth into a sultry pout.

She looked just similar enough to evoke my guilt. And I’ve clung to that for a long time.

A sudden, fierce desire to go back in time to just a few minutes ago sweeps through me. I wish I’d said something else—I don’t know. Maybe I can salvage something from that awkward encounter. And what’s more, I don’t just want to; I need to—I need to know about this girl. She’s triggered some neurotic side of me that I fear will only get worse if I don’t see this through.

Maybe I’ve been given a second chance…some shot at redemption.

With one last peek, I note the carrot cake is missing from her tray with a crooked smile. Score a couple points for the QB.

3

Arian

First day from hell.

But I survived. Sort of. I got through each class, loaded down with course work literally coming out of my binder, and I managed not to attract any unwanted attention. The main staff at Braxton knows why I’m here. That I was kicked out of my last college and that I had limited choices as to where I would attend next.

The dean let me know, not too subtly, in front of my brooding parents that he was uncomfortable with why I selected Braxton. Even though I assured him it was a top choice. Still, it wasn’t my choice at all. My father picked the most out-of-the-way school imaginable, where he could hide his shamed offspring.

It’s not like I made Internet star status with my scandal. Hardly. No one particularly cared at Dartmouth. While I was being reprimanded, another student became a YouTube celeb with his hazing stunt. The images of a guy—his buttocks burned so badly after being torched with a Bunsen burner—were all over campus.

Still, being caught with speed was all it took for them to toss me out. I wasn’t a student body icon. I wasn’t on a sports team or a club leader. Despite my prestigious name and my father’s standing with the school, they had no real qualms about replacing me with another highly regarded student that had been waitlisted.

Because I’m not a future leader of tomorrow.

And that’s fine, really. My aim was never that high. I never wanted the pressure of living up to that standard; I have enough stress just meeting my family’s expectations. I remind myself of this as I trudge down my dorm hallway, weighed down by my assignments. I have so much work to make up, just so I can barely pass this semester after missing months of school. And Braxton prides itself—small private university that it is—on academic achievement.

And football.

Every few steps, there’s another poster glorifying the Braxton Bobcats. Booster signups for new members apparently started this week, and a signup sheet is stationed at every turn. Vanessa has talked non-stop about us joining—the reason why she’s been racking her brain for a raffle ticket idea. She even got those sample tickets printed to show her commitment. If she can’t be a cheerleader, she said to me during our first encounter, then she’ll be the next best thing.

I noticed, in my short time here, that she doesn’t so much as talk about supporting the team as a whole, as she does about some player named Gavin. Why she insists on eating lunch in the cafeteria—where he eats. She’s never come across as shy to me, just the opposite. But when it comes to matters of the heart, I know just how awkward it can be. How much you want the other person to notice you without having to be the one to put it all out there.

My stomach lurches as I push my room door open, memories of my one brief attempt at a relationship invading my thoughts. So much wasted effort for nothing. I won’t be getting mixed up with another selfish, conceited jock, that’s for damn sure.

Besides, after the disaster that was Stephan, my father vetoed all jocks from my most eligible bachelors’ list. He doesn’t know the whole truth, only that I was “involved” with someone he considers beneath my status. And he blames me for allowing a “fling” to get so out of hand I’d turn to drugs.

God, if he only knew.

Shaking off my unsettling thoughts, I close the door and toss my tote on the floor.

“Good!” Vanessa hops off her bed and bounds right for me. “I so did not want to go by myself. Haley isn’t feeling well, so she’s not going tonight.” She grips my shoulders and pushes me toward the closet.

“Whoa…what?” I dig my heels in, stopping myself right before the open closet door. Outfits are strewn around, littering the floor, like they exploded from the closet. “Where?”

She sighs. As if it’s so tiring that I’m utterly clueless. I can’t help but agree with her sentiment. “The bonfire, A. It’s the big send off before the Bobcats go fight our nemesis tomorrow.”

I will never get used to this we’re-all-about-our-football-team school mentality. Oh, well, regardless, this is my new home for now. I better learn to embrace it.

With that decided, I hesitantly allow Vee to dress me in clothes my stepmother would have a stroke over. But hey, this was my parents’ choice. Dartmouth has its flaws, too, but those are overlooked because of the prestige. Now, I’m a Bobcat, Becca. Embrace it.

* * *