[2022 Wattys Winner] When love cynic Madison Watson starts university, she vows to follow three simple rules.
One: Work out at least twice a week.
Two: Get an internship.
Three: Stay away from men.
But after a chance encounter with th...
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"Look who it is. The human-sized bowling ball."
I clamped my mouth shut as I slipped into the seat next to Ivy, placing my laptop on the desk before daring to meet her skeptical gaze. It was alight with the same kind of sarcasm that pulled at her fiercely cut features, while her lips—dark blue today—lifted into a dry smirk.
I decided against taking offense to the comment. One, making someone like her my enemy didn't mesh well with my plan of coasting through uni unscathed. Two, I reasoned that maybe dry insults and borderline offensive quips were merely her type of humor. I was quite proud of my ability to take sarcasm as well as I could give it, so maybe I'd simply have to up my game.
I turned to capture her burning stare, offering a curt smile that I hoped looked unassuming. "What was your thesis statement?"
She choked on a scoff. I realized how pale her skin was up close, a stark contrast to the heavily applied liner and cascading raven curls. "Straight to the point, huh?"
I wasn't sure whether she was poking fun at me, or whether the word Jaffy—just another effing first year, I'd since learned—was once again on the tip of her tongue. But I wasn't offended. Yes, I was a first year, and yes, I wanted to make a good impression on our teacher. Was that really so bad in the grand scheme of things?
She took a deep breath, placing a ring-encrusted hand over her heart in a feigned act of sincerity. "Love is an illusion of time and affection," she cooed, batting her thick lashes.
My brow knitted, but not with irritation or confusion. Actually, for the first time, I felt something other than fear course through me at the idea of being paired with her.
I was nervous about my looming partnership with a senior—one who made it sound as if she ate first years for breakfast. But I felt a ripple of something akin to pride course through me as well. Ivy was a lot, but she was kind of the epitome of everything I was trying so hard to be now. She was confident. Composed. She was so utterly unbothered and unabashedly headstrong. It was a mask I was still trying to stitch together myself, but one I didn't feel totally fit yet. The fact that we'd submitted similar opinions to Devi, that we shared such similar views about love in general ... it seemed to me like a step in the right direction. In the direction of the new Madison. The one who no one, let alone a stupid boy, would have the audacity to toy with ever again.
Her eyes flashed, claiming my attention like a gazelle under a lion's glare. "What's yours?"
Even though we were strangers, and even though her near-black gaze was as intimidating as it was guarded, I couldn't help but feel as though we were sharing battle scars.
"Love is a construct," I uttered lowly.
Silence fell. Even the noise generated by our classmates was distant, inconsequential. Like we were encased in a bubble all on our own. With my eyes on my screen, I didn't know what that meant; Ivy Hampton didn't seem like the type to be lost for words.
