I feel so eager to write down so many notes while my peers just sit and listen, since psychology has always intrigued me. Other than running, the thought processes of others has always been something I never stopped wondering about.
I watched lots of documentaries with my dad, and even to this day I’m clicking through Netflix for the next mind-bending documentary.
When class is over, I pack up my bag, and hear giggling behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I spot a girl with olive skin and blond hair giggling with her books hugged to her chest. A guy in front of her is smiling and talking. He’s tall, auburn-haired, broad-shouldered, with a strong jawline and lips that are full and pink.
As if he feels someone looking at him, his eyes swing my way, but I snatch my gaze away, sliding the last book into my bag, standing, and then slinging the pink strap of the bag over my shoulder.
I leave the classroom, passing the giggling girl and the tall, chiseled-face guy. I feel eyes on me as I leave. I don’t bother looking back.
I don’t have another class for another hour and a half, so I decide to go to the nearest café on campus and do a little more studying. It’s the first day of classes, and we’ve already been assigned some work from Professor Glaspy. He wants us to find articles about mental illnesses, and figure out which sort of stories stand out to us the most, and then write a short essay on why we’re drawn to that specific illness.
As I sit and unpack my laptop, I already know what topic I’m going for. The link between homicide and mental illness. My professor will think I’m a bit crazy. Or maybe he’ll dig it. I guess we’ll see.
The door of the café swings open, and the only reason I know is because I have a table by the door, and I feel the air hit the back of my neck. I don’t look, too focused on the screen of my laptop, but I do hear the familiar voice as a hazelnut coffee with almond milk is ordered.
I glance over, and it’s that same guy from class. Ivory skin. Auburn bed hair. His shirt is green and creaseless, jeans low on his hips. He takes his coffee and then turns, looking right at me.
I avoid his gaze, putting my focus on my laptop again. My heart bangs against my ribcage as I feel him approaching.
“Amber Lakes, right?” he asks, standing behind the metal chair across the table.
I lift my gaze. “Depends on who’s asking?”
He smirks. A dimple appears. “Stephen Hunt.” He stretches his arm, offering a hand. “Quarterback for the BU Pirates.”
I almost chuckle at the word pirates. It’s always been such a silly mascot to me, but the colors work.
I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you. But how do you know my name?”
He flashes an all-knowing grin. “Heard Coach Mills talking about new recruits last season. He comes to all the home games. He told us to lookout for women’s track this year because they now have one of the fastest runners on the east coast.”
“Is that so?” I purse my lips. I can’t tell If he’s flirting or holding a casual conversation. My heart is still beating, and I’m fighting smiles. What he’s saying feels like compliments, but I keep my cool.
“Oh, for sure. Track normally practices when we do. Looking forward to seeing what all the hype is about.” He sips his coffee, swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down and then he presses his pink lips together. “See you around, Lakes.”
Yeah, he will see me around. In my psychology class and on the track. That’s it. He winks at me as he casually strides away, and when he’s out of the café, I look around to see if anyone else noticed that encounter. Two girls with their laptops in front of them are looking at me, eyes round like saucers. They duck their heads to whisper.
I lower my head, focusing on the article in front of me, pretending that the Quarterback of Bennett University talking to me is way less important than homicide and mental illness research.
EIGHT
“Hell no! You better watch out for that kid!” Kendall is jamming dishes into the dishwasher, her head shaking. Her hair is braided into one single braid behind her back. Apparently, Janine braided it for her this morning because Janine couldn’t deal with Kendall’s boring ponytails any longer.
“I’m a freshman, and I’ve already heard so much shit about Stephen Hunt,” Kendall says. “I mean, he dated that Melanie chick on our team. If he stooped that low, there’s no coming back for him.”
“He seemed nice,” I say, shrugging. I pick up the biology book on the counter. “He said Mills talked about me a lot last season.”