But as I exited the room, I spotted him across the crowded hallway, talking with a girl from class. His demeanor was relaxed, from the navy shirt, open over a plain gray t-shirt, to the hand tucked into the front pocket of his jeans. Muscle didn’t show under the unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt, but his abdomen looked flat, and he’d put Buck on the ground and bloody easily enough Saturday night. His black pencil sat atop one ear, only the pink eraser at the tip showing, the rest disappearing into his dark, messy hair.

“So it’s a group tutoring thing?” the girl asked, twirling a long loop of blonde hair around and around her finger. “And it lasts an hour?”

He hitched his backpack, twitching wayward bangs out of his eyes. “Yeah. From one to two.”

As he gazed down at her, she tilted her head and rocked her weight slightly from side to side, as though she was about to dance with him. Or for him. “Maybe I’ll check it out. What are you doing after?”

“Work.”

She huffed an annoyed breath. “You’re always working, Lucas.” Her pouty tone hit my ears like nails on a chalkboard, as it always has when used by any girl above age six. But bonus—I’d just learned his name.

He glanced up then, as though he sensed me standing there, eavesdropping, and I pivoted in the opposite direction and started walking swiftly, too late to pretend I hadn’t been purposely listening to their conversation. I wove through the rush of people in the packed hallway, ducking out the side exit.

No way was I going to those tutoring sessions if Lucas attended them. I wasn’t sure what he meant—if he meant anything at all—staring at me like that during class, but the overt intensity of his gaze made me uneasy. Besides, I was still in a mourning period over my recently-shattered relationship. I wasn’t ready to start anything new. Not that he was interested in me that way. I all but rolled my eyes at my own thought processes. I’d gone from a marginal amount of interest to a possible relationship in one jump.

From a purely observational perspective, he was probably used to girls like the blonde in the hallway throwing themselves at his feet. Just like my ex. Kennedy’s titles of class and then student body president equated to small-time celebrity status, and he’d relished it. I’d spent the last two years of high school ignoring the envious girls who dogged our relationship, just waiting for him to be finished with me. By the time we’d left town for college, I was so sure of him.

I wondered when I would stop feeling like such a clueless twit for that misplaced trust.

***

Landon,

I’m having more trouble with the current material than I let on, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to make it to one of your tutoring sessions. Too bad for both of us that my ex didn’t dump me early enough in the semester to drop this class! (No offense. You’re probably an econ major and like this stuff.)

I’ve started researching online journals for the project. Thanks for decoding Dr. Heller’s notes before sending them to me. If you’d have forwarded them without a translation, I’d be searching for a tall building/ overpass/ water tower from which to yell “goodbye cruel world.”

JW

Jacqueline,

Please, no leaping from towering structures. Do you have any idea how much damage that would do to my tutoring reputation?? If nothing else, think of the effect on me. ;)

I create worksheets for the tutoring sessions. I’ve attached the past three weeks’ worth. Use them as study guides, or fill them in and send them back to me, and we’ll see where you’re getting confused.

Actually, I’m an engineering major, but we have to take econ. I think everyone should, though – it’s a good starting point for explaining how money, politics and commerce work together to create the total chaos that is our economic system.

LM

PS – How did the regional competitions go? And btw, your ex is obviously a moron.

I downloaded the worksheets, turning over his last statement in my mind. Whether Landon knew Kennedy or not—unlikely, given the size of the university and their differing majors—he’d taken my side. Me, a girl so absurdly unhinged by a breakup that she’d skipped class for two weeks.

He was smart and funny, and after only three days, I already looked forward to his name in my inbox, our back-and-forth banter. All of a sudden, I wondered what he looked like. God. Just yesterday, I’d left class telling myself to ignore the brooding stares of a guy in class because I needed time to get over Kennedy’s desertion, and here I was daydreaming over a tutor who could look like Chace Crawford. Or… Benji.

It didn’t matter. I needed time to recover, even if Landon was right. Even if Kennedy was a moron.

I clicked on the first worksheet and opened my econ text, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Landon,

The worksheets are definitely going to help. I already feel less scared of failing this class. I did the first two - when you have time, could you look them over? Thank you again for wasting your time on me. I’ll try to get caught up quickly. I’m not used to being the student who’s a pain in the butt.

I had two freshmen from rival schools in competition with each other at regionals. Both asked me, separately thank God, who was my favorite. (I told each of them, “You are, of course.” Was that wrong??) They were very smug with each other when they came to get their basses from my truck, and I prayed that neither would mention the favorite status in front of the other. BOYS.

Engineering? Wow. No wonder you seem so brainy.

JW

Jacqueline,

The worksheets look great. I marked a couple of minor mistakes that could trip you up on an exam, so check those.

Ah, sounds like your freshmen have crushes on you? Not surprised. A bass-playing college girl would have rendered me speechless at 14.

Of course I’m brainy! I’m the all-knowing tutor. And in case you’re wondering - yes, you’re my favorite. ;)

LM

***

Saturday night, Erin was once again threatening to drag me out of our room, ignoring my protests and reluctance. This time, three of us were heading to the strip to hit some clubs with our fake IDs.

“Don’t you remember how the party last weekend went for me?” I asked when she shoved a clingy black dress into my outspread arms. Of course she didn’t remember; I hadn’t told her. All she knew was that I’d bailed early.

“Jacqueline, babe, I know this is hard. But you can’t let Kennedy win! You can’t let him make you a hermit, or keep you scared of falling for someone new. God, I love this part of it—the hunt for a new guy, everything unknown, untried—the mass of hot prospects in front of you, waiting to be discovered. If I didn’t lust after Chaz so hard, I’d be jealous of you.”

The way she described it, the process sounded like an expedition to an exotic continent. I didn’t share her feelings, not in the least. The idea of finding a new guy sounded exhausting and depressing. “Erin, I don’t think I’m ready—”

“That’s what you said last weekend, and you did fine!” She frowned, thinking, and for the hundredth time, I almost told her about Buck. “Even if you did leave early.” She rehung the black dress I didn’t intend to wear, and I held my tongue, losing my chance again. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t tell her. I was mostly afraid she’d be infuriated. More unreasonably, I was afraid she’d be disbelieving. Neither response was something I wanted to contend with; I just wanted to forget.

I thought of Lucas, annoyed that his presence in econ was making that process impossible, because he was irrevocably connected to the horror of that night. He’d not looked at me at all Friday—as far as I knew. Every time I snuck a look back at him, he appeared to be sketching rather than taking notes, his black pencil held low between his fingers, a concentrated expression on his face. When class ended, he stuck the pencil behind his ear, turned and walked from the classroom without a backward glance, first one out the door.

“Now this will show off the goods,” Erin said, breaking into my reverie. Next up was a stretchy, low-cut purple top. Yanking it from the hanger, she tossed it to me. “Put on your skinny jeans and those badass boots that make you look like a gangbanger’s girlfriend. This fits your tough, I’m-a-challenge mood better anyway. You have to dress to attract the right guys, and if I make you too cute, you’ll flick them all away with glares and irritated rolls of your big blue eyes.”

I sighed and she laughed, pulling the black dress over her own head. Erin knew me far too well.

***

I’d lost count of the number of drinks Erin had pressed into my hand, telling me that since she was the designated driver, I was required to drink for two. “I can’t touch any of these hotties, either—so I have to live vicariously. Now finish that margarita, stop scowling, and stare at one of these guys until he knows he won’t lose a limb if he asks you to dance.”

“I’m not scowling!” I scowled, obeying and tossing the drink back. I grimaced. Cheap tequila refused to be concealed by an abundance of even cheaper margarita mix, but that’s what you get for no cover charge and five dollar drinks.

Still relatively early, the small club we decided to occupy for the night wasn’t yet overcrowded with the hundreds of college students and townies it would hold soon. Erin, Maggie and I claimed a corner of the near-vacant floor. Having downed the drinks and dressed the part, I moved to the music, gradually loosening up while laughing at Erin’s cheer poses and Maggie’s ballet movements. The first guy to interrupt us approached Erin, but she shook her head as her lips mouthed the word boyfriend. She turned him toward me and I thought: That’s me: boyfriend-less. No more relationship. No more Kennedy. No more You’re my Jackie.

“Wanna dance?” the guy yelled over the music, fidgeting as though he was ready to bolt if I turned him down. I nodded, choking back the pointless, almost physical pain. I was no one’s girlfriend, for the first time in three years.

We moved to an open space a few feet from Erin and Maggie—who also had a boyfriend. It didn’t take long to figure out that the two of them planned to point every guy who asked one of them to dance at me. I was their pet project for the night.

Two hours later, I’d danced with too many guys to remember, dodging wandering hands and turning down any drinks not handed to me by Erin. Crowded around a tall table near the floor, we leaned hips on the barstools surrounding it, watching the surrounding hookup activity. As Maggie returned from bopping and pirouetting her way to the bathroom and back, I asked if we could go yet, and Erin fixed me with a look she usually reserved for ill-mannered steakhouse patrons. I smirked at her and sipped my drink.

I knew when the next guy walked up behind me, and that Erin and Maggie approved, because their eyes widened simultaneously, focusing over my shoulder. Fingers grazed the back of my arm, and I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly before turning around. Good thing, too—because it was Lucas who stood there, his eyes dropping to my cleavage for a split second. He crooked an eyebrow and gazed into my eyes with a faint smile, unapologetic for looking. The heels on my boots were killing my feet, but they weren’t tall enough to bring me eye-to-eye.