I stayed seated until I was sure my temper had cooled, my fingers curled tight around my pen. The room felt colder without him in it, the faint scent of his cologne lingering just long enough to annoy me. I stacked my notes with more precision than necessary, slid my pens into their case, and tucked everything into my bag like the extra order would keep my thoughts from unraveling.
It didn’t help as much as I thought it would.
I picked up my bag and headed to the door, blowing out a breath as I did so. Next week would be better, I was sure. We just needed to find a rhythm that suited us both.
Out in the hall, I noticed as I passed a window that the rain had turned the quad into a smear of silver.
Through the glass, I thought I spotted him— hood up, head down, moving fast across the courtyard. A cluster of his teammates had fallen into step beside him. I couldn’t hear them, but their very behavior seemed loud and reckless, all swagger and noise. Dante didn’t quite fit with them the way I expected. I watched as he lifted his head and turned to laugh, but it looked forced, unnatural, like he was playing a role, even with them.
“You’ve met him three times, Savvy. You know nothing about him,” I muttered as I resumed walking to the main doors.
Outside, I took a moment to pull my hood up, my eyes automatically drawn to the players some distance away from me.
Dustin Slater — the one who always seemed to orbit him — said something that made Dante laugh again, and I watched the way his head tipped back as his laughter burst free.Thatwas who I was looking for when I watched him from inside. Not the guy he was a mere moment before, but this one, the one who laughed out loud, who didn’t care who heard him. Dante dipped his head to speak to Slater, and then I watched as he peeled free of the group and kept walking, head back down. For someonewho owned the spotlight, he sure seemed desperate to get out of it.
I needed to stop watching him, but I couldn’t. I was just curious, I told myself, that was all. Curiosity,notinterest.
He disappeared out of sight, and that was when I realized I’d been standing there, practically stalking him from where I stood, for about two minutes.
“You need to get a grip,” I scolded myself as I walked down the steps.
The rain fell heavily as I made my way to my art shed. Dante’s rudeness had given me an extra hour, and I wasn’t one to let an opportunity pass. The place was kind of creepy at nighttime, but I knew how to defend myself, and once inside, I always made sure the door was locked.
My project stood tall in the middle of the floor, dominating the room. Here, I didn’t need to hide my smile as I admired the smooth, cut lines and the intricate twist of the metal I had molded to frame the glass features. Rolling my neck, my bag dropped carelessly behind me as I walked to my workbench and picked up my hammer.
My phone buzzed just as I peeled off my wet coat.
Bev: Made pasta for dinner, leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry later.
Me: Awesome! Thank you, Roomie
I grinned as I set my phone down, picturing Bev’s smile at my use of the wordroomie. We weren’t best friends, but we were close enough that my usingroomiewouldn’t throw her. The truth was, I didn’t have a large social circle. The most sobering fact was that my social group was my dad’s. I attended so many functions, dinners, and banquets at his request that there was little time for anything but school, tutoring, and myart. My phone never seemed to stop beeping, but it wasn’t forme, the student. It was people needing Savannah, the tutor, or Savannah, the dean’s daughter.
Which is why here was my refuge. A place to lock it all out, lose myself in the soothing calm of crafting, and let all the noise and demands fade away.
I started setting up, letting the easy familiarity soothe away my tension. With the materials lined up where I wanted them to be, I reached for my tools, eager to start. With a frown, I dug deeper into my bag, looking for my small chisel.
“Where are you?” I murmured as I pulled my textbooks and notebooks out.
It wasn’t there. I checked the workbench. Had I left it here? I checked the floor and the sculpture.
“Where the heck did I put it?”
My head raced, considering everywhere I’d been since I last held it in my hand as I scanned the room, hoping I’d simply overlooked it.
I knew I hadn’t.
“It’s in the library.” I closed my eyes at the sinking realization.
I could leave it; they weren’t hard to replace. But a chisel, in the library, after I’d been there. It would raise questions.Especiallyif that question was posed to my dad. I could hear it now, innocent in itself, “Is this Savannah’s?” but the answer would hold no innocence.
My father would investigate.
He always investigated.
“So much for an extra hour, Savvy.” I picked up my coat with a sigh and headed back to the library, hoping that no one else had seen it and handed it in.
By the time I stepped into the hallway that led to the meeting room, the building was settling into after-hours quiet. Doors shut. Lights dimmed. My footsteps echoed back at me.
