Groans ripple through the room at the idea of having to partner up.
“This is a semester-long assignment, due week fourteen,” Professor Wilson continues.
“You’ll pair up in twos, and I’ve taken the liberty of assigning partnerships.”
With a click of a button, names flash on the screen. I scan for mine. There it is. Bryden Montour.
Paired with: Samantha Collins.
I blink, my eyes landing on her. I watch as she notices the assignment and turns. We make eye contact, and for a brief moment, everything is a blur but the two of us. There’s anenergy there, in our gaze, a current drawing us closer. We stare at each other for a moment, and I can’t help but really take her in. Brown skin that glistens, curly hair like a halo, and eyes that are soft despite this hard world.
There’s no reaction from her, and I keep my face blank. It could be worse. Could’ve been assigned to work with Jackson, or one of the puck chasers who doesn’t know the blue line from a crease.
“It’s worth half your final grade, so make it count,” Professor Wilson adds. “Class dismissed.”
Laptops close, a crescendo of soft clicks. People scatter, desperate to reach the exit, but I’m slower to move. I let them rush out, opting not to fight with the crowd. She moves, too, packing her stuff with that same careful energy.
“Hey.” The voice is soft and delicate.
I turn to find Sam clutching her notebook like a shield.
“Where do you want to meet for the project?”
I stare a second longer than I should.
“I’ll text you.”
“Don’t you need my number?”
“Already got it from Coach.”
Her brows pinch then relax. She nods once. “Mm. O-okay.”
She turns and walks the other way. I stand there a moment more, watching her disappear into the hall—still trying to understand why she pulls at my focus.
I can’t help but follow slowly behind her, a far enough distance that she doesn’t notice my presence. When her phone suddenly rings, she quickly clutches it to her ear, gripping it tightly like it’s a weapon.
I hear her answer hurriedly. She’s not yelling, but I’m just getting close enough to make out the words. Her voice is shaky and sharp around the edges.
“I want to talk to my brother.”
There’s a pause; whoever’s on the other end must have said something she doesn’t like because she halts. Shoulders hiked around her ears, tension ripping through her posture.
“No. Listen, please. J-just let me speak to him.”
There’s a longer pause, and she’s pacing again.
“I promised him… no, Gary… don’t—” She turns sharply, hoodie swaying with the motion. “Hello. Hello.”
She pulls the phone away, glaring at it, checking the signal as if she hopes it’s maybe just a poor connection. But I don’t have to be on the line to know whoever that was ended the call.
“Hello,” she rasps, the word falling apart halfway out of her mouth. Her shoulders slump, and she throws her head back, defeated… maybe even broken.
A part of me wants to comfort her, encourage her to keep that pretty head held high. And that’s when it hits me: she’s the distraction I’m failing to avoid. And this project might just make that even harder to do.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SAM
