Of course, people were polite. For the most part, no one did more than blink and do a double-take upon seeing her pasty self slide into the small classrooms. The orchestra conductor was also her cello teacher and he was also Armenian. Her three classes a week with Professor Grigoryan made life bearable.
Then she would sit alone while she ate, alone while she studied, and go to her room alone.
I wanted to be left alone.
Loneliness is awful.
She put down the third chocolate pudding cup resolutely. She was not going to eat her way into a curvy body (she’d already tried that) or out of her situation.
Fewer people. More degrees. The end of the story. Nothing else matters.
“EXCUSE ME? HEY! HEY, I —”
Sophie whirled as she heard footsteps pounding up behind her.
Holy male model.
There was a total stud muffin behind her, collar-length dark hair, wide blue eyes, a freaking cleft in his chin- and utter puzzlement on his pale face.
Pale. Milk-white pale. On him, it worked, partially obscured by a carefully trimmed stubble, thick dark brows and lashes, long hair curling over a popped-up collar on a denim jacket.
But, pale like her. Her face showed the same kind of astonishment.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were — someone I knew,” the man stammered, retreating.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” His feet stopped their backward shuffle. “Are you new here?”
“Yes.” Sophie winced internally. She was coming off extremely antisocial. Even her hands were curled tightly around the straps of her book bag and her case, tensed for a verbal blow and the self-numbing she’d have to employ.
He nodded a couple of times. His head tilted ever so slightly, eyes squinting.
Here it comes...
“I’m Jesse. Business major. Junior.” He extended his hand.
Sophie shifted the case from one hand to the other and took his with a quick shake, “Sophie. Music education. Uh, — freshman.” He must’ve been out walking for a long time in the cool September air. Antonia was in the mountains. She hadn’trealized this particular area was covered in fog fifty percent of the time, rain for thirty, and the sun was a lazy bastard who only wanted to work a couple of hours around noon. The overall effect was a permanent “chilly autumn” atmosphere.
This winter is going to suck, she suddenly realized.
She also realized he was still holding her hand, brows quirked together like he was concentrating on a difficult problem. With a little cough, she pulled her fingers back from his grasp.
“Are you from this area?” Jesse asked.
“I’m from the state, Philadelphia.”
“Cool. I’m from—Pine Ridge.” He dropped the name significantly.
“Is that in...?”
“New York. Pine Ridge, New York, about ninety minutes away,” he clarified, face clearing. “Some people have heard of it.”
“Uh-huh.”Not me. Why would I have?“Sh-should I have?” Oh, great. The stutter. She hadn’t stuttered since those kids cornered her in second grade and tried to “wipe off her makeup.”
“Only if you like minor league hockey.” His dark blue eyes twinkled and his smile broadened.
Sophie felt her heart speeding up.Why? Please, no. Don’t do this to yourself, Soph. Crushes don’t go well for you.Her few dates in high school had been by guys who wanted to check out a curiosity or win a bet, nothing more. There was never a second date. She tried telling herself that maybe she wasn’t into guys. Or girls. Or anyone. She was probably asexual.
