sequel to aeou (read first)
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The boys are back. And they're out for revenge.
Last semester the girls of Sterling humiliated Caleb, Luca, Atlas and Sage. Exposing family secrets, dirty confessions and everything else taboo that led to their e...
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welcome to new york | taylor swift ❝ welcome to new york, welcome to new york when we first dropped our bags in apartment floors, took our broken hearts, put them in a drawer ❞
"WHEN WE TALK about digital journalism," Professor Jane begins, the sound of her navy heels tapping in rhythm against the laminate flooring of the lecture hall, "we're talking about how stories exist beyond print."
She paces in front of the whiteboard, where today's slide glows with obnoxiously cheerful Helvetica: THE FUTURE IS DIGITAL. As if that's some new revelation.
"We're talking about news pages. Multimedia. Storytelling in motion. What's happening now," she gestures at the screen behind her, "and how we talk about it as journalists."
I rest my chin in my right palm and twirl a pen between my fingers. It's only the first week back of sophomore year, but the novelty of NYU feels already worn. Maybe it's the people. Maybe it's being back in the classroom after everything.
Professor Jane clicks to the next slide. "So, let's start here. What stories have been showing up in your feeds lately?"
For a beat, there's silence.
Then, almost on cue, I feel it. That subtle, slithering shift in the air.
All. Eyes. On. Me.
You'd think two years would've been enough. Time for the drama to die down. For everyone to move on. But no. Reputations like mine don't get to fade. They linger like cologne on an ex's hoodie. Especially when your ex is Caleb Delvaùx.
I keep my face still. My expression: carefully neutral. But inside, I'm cursing whatever dumb part of me thought coming to class the same day another of his tabloids headlined was smart. I know better, I've skipped classes for less.
"Anyone?" Professor Jane prompts again, scanning the room. "Come on, you're digital natives!" Her face is expressionless for how much weight her tone carries. I assume botox, but she could've just been a ventriloquist in a past life. "Surely someone's seen something this week."
And then it happens.
"Caleb Delvaùx's been making the rounds again," someone says from two rows back, and the words hit like cold water down my spine.
I freeze and there's really no need to look. I already know whose voice it is: Sienna Lopez. Eternal group project volunteer and part-time gossip columnist for the student blog. Of course she'd bring him up.
She'd tried to recruit me to join the student blog on my first day on campus. Clipboard in hand, sleeves rolled to the elbows, hazel eyes too bright for someone dealing with freshmen all morning.
I remember the way she said it, hope pervaded her. But I politely declined. I knew clubs would be good for me, networking, structure, community, exposure for my writing, even better. But it was too fresh then, like my thumb pressing on an old bruise.
