“Because I need a math credit to graduate, for reasons unknown, as if calculators and tax accountants and the nine-times-table finger trick don’t exist.” I roll my eyes. “The midterm is on Friday. If I fail that, I fail the class. If I fail the class, I have toretake it in the fall.” I shudder.
“You won’t fail.”
“I might.”
“There are worse things.”
I tilt my head to the side. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand whatever language you’re speaking.”
“Having to retake one class isn’t the end of the world.”
“Sorry, again, my brain just can’t compute those words.”
He laughs, and it’s a sound I want tattooed on my eardrums. “I should have known, based on your reaction to coming in second place in the writing contest.”
A loud thud hits my door, and West and I both startle in surprise.
“Is Amber back already?” he asks. Whatever unexamined hopes I had for the evening dissolve like frost.
“Hello?” I yell.
“It’s snowing!” comes a loud, giggly response from a voice that’s not Amber’s.
I’ll bet.“Looks like someone raided the neighbors’ liquor stash.”
“Unless she’s telling the truth.”
“Well, you tell me,T-loc, does it snow in the desert?” I tease, branding him with the nickname given to Tucson locals.
“I’m not a T-loc,” he scoffs. “I’m from Casa Grande, which is even worse. And no, it doesn’t snow in this dust bowl hell.” We stare at each other while the sounds of slamming doors and thudding footsteps echo through the dorm hallway. “Except…sometimes it does,” he begrudgingly admits.
We slide off the bed, our feet hitting the floor in unison. I grab a sweatshirt from my floor as he opens the door. He grabs my hand and pulls me into the hall as I’m yanking boots onto my bare feet.
Campus ispandemonium. Hundreds of students are dancing, running, and screaming in the street in front of the Maricopa dorm. An open window on the third floor next door is blaring music through a speaker.
“No way,” I say, my breath clouding in front of me. I hold up my palms and watch wet snowflakes fall softly onto my skin. Of all the things I expected when I decided to go to college in the desert, this wasn’t on my list.
We step into the street, then quickly jump back as a group of students in their underwear run past us, soaking wet and shaking from cold. “What’s going on?”
“Skinny-dipping in the Old Main fountain,” comes the reply.
“Does it count if you’re in your underwear?” West asks. I glance up at him; he has snow flurries on his long black lashes. The sight makes me giddy. I’m drunk on cold air. “Has anyone ever told you that you have multicolored eyes?”
“No, just you.”
“Really?” I’m shocked. Sometimes I see his eyes in my sleep.
“You’re too gullible,” he says.
I shove him hard, but he clasps my frozen fingers in the palm of his hand, his gaze hot enough to make me sweat. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a mole right here?” He lightly brushes his thumb over the spot just above my lip.
Most of my features are unremarkable. I’m average height. I have shoulder-length hair that’s dark blond or light brown, depending on the light. My brothers tease me for my hazel “Bratz” eyes—they’re pretty big—but I could be a walking cyclops, and my mole would still get all the attention. I wrinkle my nose. “Yes. Constantly. All the time. I hate this stupid thing.”
West shakes his head. “That’s dumb.”
“Your hair!” I pull my hand out of his and brush my fingers through his damp hair. Apparently, we’re people who touch each other now.
He frowns. “What’s wrong with it?”
