Spiked

I stared, mind-boggling at what I’d just witnessed and heard.

Two hundred dollars for the tickets— that was what I’d sold them for. He was talking about me. He knew I’d sold them, knew I’d turned him down.

Did news really travel that fast around this place?

Perhaps he’d checked the stands and then sent one of his emissaries to find out why someone else had shown up in my place.

I still had no idea if all this was a joke or not— maybe he just liked the power of getting people to come see him play. He obviously knew just how good-looking and talented he was, after all— maybe he liked using that power. Maybe I was just a pawn for his ego.

Or maybe he really had wanted me to come watch him play.

Me.

I felt like it was hard to catch my breath, and my hands were shaking from the adrenaline of it all.

I turned the television off, embarrassed at how flustered I’d become, at how excited I’d become, at how much I wanted to believe what seemed impossible: That Jacob Everett, the Harton hero, had offered me tickets not as a joke, but because out of all the girls throwing himself at his feet, he wanted a shy freshman from Tifton.

6

My favorite class was Introduction to Anthropology— the subject that, in a world where all jobs paid equally, I’d want to turn into a career. As it was, I was planning to simply minor in the field, but that didn’t quell my enthusiasm. The class was held in a massive lecture hall, with stadium seating and bright honey-colored desks. I always arrived early to get a seat near the front, so I’d have less trouble understanding the professor over the sound of people cutting up in the back row.

Today— a week after Harton’s first football game— was no exception.

I’d finally, mercifully, settled back into my normal routine, especially when the incident with Jake Everett had never been mentioned again. And obviously I hadn’t heard from him or any of his freshmen lackeys, either.

Despite the fact that I’d secretly hoped for something more, I’d resigned myself to the fact that it had all been either a joke, a misunderstanding, or a fluke that was now most definitely in the past.

Now I was back to doing what I did best—studying, working, putting my head down and getting good grades.

I slid into my seat and opened up my laptop, reviewing Monday’s notes. The room filled up behind me, growing ever noisier; then, like someone had flipped a switch, it went almost totally silent. I assumed the professor had arrived, and looked up, only to see the desk at the front of the room was still vacant. I turned my head around, looking for explanation—

It was Jacob Everett.

He was coming down the aisle in the center of the seats, smiling cockily. Everyone was staring— the football players might technically attend Harton University, but you didn’t just see them in regular classes like this. I knew this because, though I’d never had admitted it aloud, I’d spent recent days scouring every campus crowd for Jacob.

And now here he was. Walking down the steps of my classroom, both aware of and ignoring the worshipping eyes of the largely students on him. I pulled in my stomach, twisting a little in my chair, wetting my lips.

His gaze turned to me, and our eyes met, snapping to one another’s like they had at the party so long ago. Jacob’s lips curved into a wider smile, one that accentuated the squareness of his jaw. I tensed as he walked down the final few steps and, without saying a word, slid into the empty desk beside me.

Breath escaped me, and my heart raced.

Jacob smelled so good, and the way he was lounging casually in the desk, legs splayed and head rested on a hand, seemed to waft his scent toward me. I wanted to ask what the hell he was doing, but I’d lost my voice entirely, and besides, it was already going to take an act of God for me to pull my eyes from his. Jacob— did this guy ever blink?— seemed to relish in this, looking at me long and hard, like he was daring me to speak up.

“Hello class, please go ahead and silence your phones so we can begin,” the professor said, swishing into the room and tossing down a large stack of books and folders. The motion was enough to free me from Jacob’s gaze, though his nearness still had a black hole quality to it— everything about me felt pulled to him.

The rest of my classmates clearly felt the same. They were utterly silent behind me, to the point that even the professor noticed. In a few moments, the professor saw why.

“Mr. Everett. I don’t believe you’re on my roster,” the professor said.