“I’m taking that class, too.”
I looked up and saw a tall, blond guy wearing shorts and a T-shirt, staring down at my chemistry book. He had a boyish smile and blue eyes. Pretty cute, actually.
I suddenly felt completely embarrassed. Had he heard me spouting off to myself?
I cleared my throat. “Professor Robins? Tuesday and Thursday at 2:00 p.m?” I said.
“Yep. Me, too,” he said happily. “I hear she’s tough, especially on her undergrads—feels it’s her mission to toughen everyone up for upper-division courses.”
“Oh. I hadn’t heard that. But I know there’s a chemistry club. I’m thinking of joining,” I said.
He raised his brows. Had I sounded too geeky? This was college. Wasn’t being academic cool now?
“Well, if I have time for it,” I added. “So much fun stuff going on around here. Beach, parties, yunno.” Why did I said that? Woman up, Dakota. “But I’m signing up for chem club right after this.”
His smile returned. “Cool. Well, if you want a study partner, let me know. I’m Greg, by the way.” He held out his hand.
“Dakota Dane.” I shook his hand and watched the color drain from his face. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh. Shit. Yunno, I forgot my wallet in the dorm. Guess I’ll have to come back later.” He set his pile of books on a shelf.
“I can hold your place,” I said. “I’m sure it’ll be an hour before we get to the register.”
“Uh. No. No, thanks. I don’t mind coming back later. It’s no big deal.”
“Okay. See you in class?” I said, but he was already halfway out the door.
I sighed. “Blacklisted.” This wasn’t happening.
~ ~ ~
The next day, I went to a freshman safety orientation, met Bridget’s sorority sisters-to-be, and attended a welcome party at the beach. I wish I could say I was enjoying the incredible experience of college life and meeting new people, but each time I had to introduce myself to anyone, especially guys, I found myself shrinking away or making some lame excuse to leave. What if they recognized my name?
It completely sucked.
When classes finally started on Wednesday, I felt a sense of relief. I could focus on something other than my nonexistent social life. That relief evaporated, though, the moment I sat down in the front row, ready to take my very first college course, when my advanced calculus professor called my name. A low murmur broke out in the room behind me, and the guy next to me, some straggly haired stoner-looking guy, got up and moved.
What the hell? This felt all too reminiscent of being the plague of humanity in high school, except that I didn’t have Mandy.
How dare Santiago! How dare he do this to me! I sat up straight and channeled my rage into extremely thorough note taking. The moment the professor ended his lecture, I was out the door and calling Santiago. Unlike any of the other times I’d called his number, this time it rang. He immediately picked up, but didn’t say anything.
“I know you’re listening, you fucking bastard. I’m not going to let you do this. I’m not letting you take away my life.”
“What if I’m helping you keep it?” he said in a low, no-nonsense tone.
“Bullshit!” I barked, storming through campus. It was a bright sunny morning, and the campus crawled with students who now veered from my path, afraid I’d gone postal. “You listen to me, Santiago. You will take my name off that blacklist. You will never come near me again. If you do, so help me God, I will rip out your heart.”
I heard a faint chuckle on the other end of the phone.
“What?” I seethed. “You think this is funny!”
“Not at all,” he replied. “I was thinking that you actually look like you might tear out my heart. It’s a relief to see you stand up for yourself like this.”
“A relief?” I stopped and swiveled on my heel. “Where are you?” I knew he was watching me.
“You just told me that you don’t want to see me.”
“I changed my mind,” I growled.
A long pause. “Maybe the blacklist was a bit overprotective. I’ll see what I can do to have it lifted,” he said.
That was great, but we still had an issue.
“Not good enough. I want you out of my life. Gone,” I said. “I mean it.”
“I can’t do that,” he replied coldly.
“Then expect a fight.”
I ended the call and tried my dad again. Voicemail. Shit. I called my mother and got hers, too.
What’s with these two? Maybe my dad was out of cell range—it happened when he went on shoots out in the boonies—but my mother usually called right back. Especially when I left an urgent message as I had done multiple times over the past few days.
I dialed my Aunt Rhonda, who immediately answered. But when I asked her if she’d heard from my mom, she told me not to worry. “She probably forgot to charge her phone again and hasn’t noticed. Why? Is something wrong, honey?” she asked.