Who Breaks First (Clearwater University)

1

Emma

It’s been almost two years, and the air smells exactly the damn same.

I tilt my head and let my eyes close for a second as I breathe in deeply, absorbing the essence of a place I never thought I’d return to.

It smells like salt and sunshine. Like heartbreak and… home.

Shaking off the sudden rush of emotions that choke my chest, I open my eyes and crouch down to chain my bike to a stand in the parking lot. The sun is warm and bright, glinting off the polished chrome and perfect paint jobs of the cars around me, and making my pale arms look even paler. I was never California tan, and my time away has only made my ivory skin stand out more.

God, I think I missed this place. Is that even possible?

I missed the sunshine anyway, after Dad and I moved to Seattle toward the end of my junior year of high school. As relieved as I was to get away, to escape the constant torture and daily heartbreak, I missed the sun that shone in Clearwater.

Dad is always chasing the next best job, which means we never stayed anywhere for more than a couple years throughout my formative years. I think it’s just his way of dealing with losing the love of his life when I was twelve years old. A car accident took Mom away from us, and we left the town I grew up in two months later, as if he just couldn’t stand to live around so many memories of her.

Dad’s work is what brought us to Clearwater in the first place. It’s what took us away.

And it’s the reason I’m back now.

Walking across the lawn toward the prestigious Clearwater University, I can’t help feeling a tinge of pride. I may have arrived on a bike instead of in a Bentley, but I earned a place here just as much as anybody else.

Well, maybe that’s not entirely true.

The small, elite school is just outside of San Diego, and tuition comes with San Diego prices—under ordinary circumstances, there’s no way I’d be able to afford it. Honestly, I’m not even sure I would’ve gotten an offer based on my high school transcripts and application. I took a year off after high school, working odd jobs and trying to piece myself back together, but none of that looks great on a college application either.

My grades tanked in my junior year and never really recovered, so when the Wex-Tech Corporation was trying their damndest to get Dad back on their team, they made it impossible for him to refuse by offering me a massive scholarship at Clearwater U. They also arranged provisional admissions, pulling strings at the university to secure me a spot here. Now I just have to make sure I get the grades to keep that spot.

Dad bought a house that’s much fancier than the simple two-bedroom we lived in before, and even though the new house is nearby, I decided to live on campus. After missing so much of high school—well, avoiding it, I guess—I want to have the full college experience. Dad helped me move in yesterday, taking me to Ikea to shop for everything I needed, the whole shebang. But I didn’t sleep in the dorms last night. I wanted one last night with him before classes start. We’ve always been close, and as much as he tries to hide it, I know seeing his little girl start college is breaking his heart a little.

A beep from my phone makes me jump, and I glance down at the screen.

Shit. I’ve been meandering across campus, enjoying the view, and now I only have fifteen minutes to find my first class.

And I have no idea where it is.

Heading up a small set of stairs in the pathway, I spot a guy standing a few yards ahead of me, head bent as he looks at his phone. He has dark brown hair, cut shorter on the sides than the top, and when he glances up as I approach him, I almost miss a step. His eyes are such a striking emerald green that they make me think of shamrocks.

“Excuse me.” I force myself to continue toward him despite the sudden nerves that flare in my stomach, pulling out a piece of paper from my backpack to read the name of my first class. “Do you know where Applied Psychology is? Room, um…” I look down at the paper again. “110. In Davis Hall.”

The guy is tall enough that as I step closer to him, I have to look up to meet his gaze, and his smile is so friendly that I can’t help but return it.

“It’s that building over there. It’ll be on the first floor.” He points west, toward a building about a hundred paces away.

Oh, perfect. I can make it there with time to spare.