I’ve seen him around the last few months. He likes the same southie bar my friends and I go to once a week, though he usually stays at a distance. Now I have my ice skate, I also bump into him at the rink. He walked me home a time or two since the first night, always in silence, from a few steps away. We live in the same space but we don’t actually interact. He’s a shark, I’m a nerd.
But now he’s talking to me.
I assume it’s temporary insanity that causes me to tell him. “I failed. I—I’m getting kicked out.”
“What?” He unceremoniously takes hold of my computer and slides it in front of him. “You didn’t fail. Rothford’s verycompetitive, so rating in the top half is pretty good,” he starts. Then his eyes widen as he reads the second page. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh. I can’t pay. Not all of us are trust fund brats.”
I feel nasty even as the words escape my lips. Cross has been nothing but kind to me the couple of times we’ve interacted. He’s kind today. It’s not his fault I didn’t take college as seriously as I should have this semester.
“Sorry, you didn’t deserve that. God.” I wipe my face with my sleeve. Trying for a smile, I say, “I bet you ranked higher than me, huh?”
He doesn’t say anything, but the way he narrows his eyes tell me everything. “Not because I’m a trust fund brat, though.”
“Mm,” I say noncommittally.
The nasty bitch who has taken residence in my head thinks professors are probably more indulgent with him simply because he’s one ofthem. The legacies.
And if all legacies are graded that way, how are we supposed to compete? But although the thought crosses my mind, I know that I didn’t study as hard as I could have—as hard as I used to in high school when I was angling for a scholarship. I figured, I worked my ass off for four years and I got one, so surely I can enjoy myself a little?
Stupid.
“I was valedictorian at Riverside Academy, and I’m first in our year here, too, Trueman. Don’t let the pile of muscles fool you.” Cross grins. “I actually have a brain.”
I gape at him. He rankedfirst? Like, how? I can’t even blame his family name or trust fund, because I know there are a bunch of freshmen with much deeper pockets, like Markus Goltz, so if it had been a matter of money, surely they would have taken the crown.
“What are you studying?” I asked.
Maybe it’s something so easy he’s bound to rate high.
“I’m not certain what I want to do with my life, so I’m taking a double major. Pre-law and Economics. Depending on what I prefer, I’ll do law school or an MBA.” He seems amused at my visible bafflement. “Probably both, one after the other.”
Fuck. I stare at him wordlessly. “But you play hockey.”
I’ve only watched one of his games, and that was enough to know he playedbadly, like he can barely be arsed, but regardless of performance, usually those who join team sports in college tend to be less academically inclined.
Cross shrugs, staring at me with an expression I can’t place. Part curiosity, part uncertainty, like he’s not sure what to make of me.
I squirm a little, unwilling to ask him what his deal is. I have bigger problems right now. Like, my entire future.
“Do you want me to fix it?” he finally asks.
“What?” I ask dumbly, not sure what he means.
We were talking of his stupid ranking, his degree, my stupidity. What would he fix exactly?
He taps the keyboard of my computer. “Your scholarship. You want me to get it sorted for you?”
I gape at him.
I’m glad of his intrusion because his presence is a good distraction from the spiral brought on by the general ruination of all my future plans, but it would have never occurred to me that he coulddoanything about my situation.
“Get it back?” I repeat.
Cross grins, his deep gold eyes fixed on me.
“I could,” he says slowly. “Mom’s the dean. I know the kids of most of the board of Rothford. If my friends and I step in, we could get them to make an exception for our good friend Lily. Let them know you were so busy saving puppies, or kittens, or whales, but you know you made a mistake and will pull your grade up next semester.”
