Page 45 of From Square One

“Riley?”

Hearing my name behind me is so startling that I actually yelp. I swivel and find someone passing by on a pathway intersecting my own, wearing a tank top and shorts, her black hair parted into two braids draped over her shoulders. It’s Amy Choi—the previous president of the history club. “Oh,” I say, instantly flustered for some reason, like I’ve been caught red-handed. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

“Summer class. I’m heading to the library to meet up for a group project. What are you doing here?” Her dark eyes glitter with eagerness. “Coming to scope the place out again before fall semester?”

“I guess.” I glance around at the neatly placed buildings. They’re all relatively small, which leads me to believe the admission rate is smaller here than most colleges.

“You probably don’t remember me giving you the tour a few months ago,” she says with a knowing smile. “Beckham came with you. You were really unsure about the place until he convinced you to come look around.”

My cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Thanks for going to the trouble.”

“What trouble?” Amy smirks, adjusting her shoulder bag. “I got to watch you geek out over the campus and history program. It was great.”

History program? My lips curl down with confusion. “There’s not much I could do with a history degree other than be a teacher,” I say weakly. “And I’m awkward around kids. I don’t like talking in front of groups, either, so it’s not for me.”

Amy cocks her head, looking a mixture of amused and bewildered. “Who said you have to be a teacher? You could get involved with museum culture. Collection management. Preservation. Archiving as a librarian. So on.”

My heart rate quickens. I discarded the idea of pursuing history because I thought I’d get cornered into teaching. I’d rather be indifferent toward a profession (like computer science) than repulsed by it, so I never took the idea seriously. These options probably don’t pay as well, but…

My phone alarm screeches, giving me another good jolt. “Ah, sorry, I have to go,” I say. “Good luck with your class.”

“Good luck with your memories,” she responds.

I stride back to the parking lot, ignoring the tenderness in my knees. As I crawl into my car, I cast one last lingering look at the campus.

It really is sort of nice.

I take off for my next errand.

16

I don’t notice until I’m heading to the front door that Aaron’s truck is parked at my curb. I pause mid-step, pursing my lips. How could he show up unannounced without so much as an apology text? Though maybe he doesn’t think he owes me one after everything he did yesterday.

And maybe he would be right.

I scowl as I peek through the windows of his truck. He’s not there, so he must’ve climbed through my window and is waiting in my bedroom. I don’t want to see him, so I storm back to my car and grab the driver’s-side handle, yanking the door open.

A hand suddenly falls against the frame, shutting it before I can climb in. I squeak in terror, then annoyance, whirling around. I’m not sure where Aaron was standing that he could teleport behind me like this. He’s wearing a short-sleeved black button-down and shorts, glistening with sunscreen, his eyes concealed by rounded shades.

“Hey, sunshine,” he says, sliding his sunglasses down to wink. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“At my house?” I demand, fumbling for the handle again. Aaron steps closer, though, crowding me against the vehicle so my back is pressed flat to the door, pinning it shut.

“How are you feeling? You’re driving, so hopefully better?”

“Yes,” I say, though I offer nothing else. “Why are you here?”

He folds his lanky arm up against the car, to my left, effectively cornering me. His favorite thing to do, apparently. “I came to see my future fiancé,” he says, twirling strands of my hair between his fingers. Always fiddling with me like I’m his favorite toy.

“Who’s that?” I ask coolly, and Aaron grins wide enough to show the entire top row of his teeth.

“Probably the guy I kissed silly yesterday.”

The reminder causes my face to swelter with heat. “That was just for memory purposes,” I choke out unconvincingly. “What do you want?”

“To take you on our next date.”

I stare at him incredulously. He stares back, committed.