[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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On Monday, James called me three times. By Tuesday evening, I had six missed calls and a handful of messages. And from what Kara told me, he was coming by our room more than I was.
I was leaving for class early and staying late at the library. I was doing everything I could to avoid running into him. But hiding in textbooks didn't stop James from trying to reach me. My phone was constantly abuzz with incessant calls and multiple texts, my heart dropping every time his name lit up my screen. The knots that bundled in my stomach reminded me of the dread I'd felt back when it was Elijah hounding me. But, at the same time, this was different.
At least Elijah acknowledged what he did. James was still feigning innocence.
I vowed to block him, just like I'd blocked Eli. I needed to forget about him, to focus on my work. But there was no need to. Because on the fourth day, the calls stopped for good.
I told myself that it was for the best. That maybe this was the beginning of things returning to normal. I could go back to walking through my dorm unnoticed and invisible, unbothered by the three pesky guys who lived down the hall. I could go back to using my time to study instead of playing matchmaker or wingwoman. I could keep to myself. Wasn't that what I'd always wanted? To be alone?
And so my phone was uncharacteristically quiet when I took off my coat and stepped into the auditorium, the warmth from the heater feeling thick and cloying on my skin. My anxiety resurfaced as I approached the front of the room. Devi wasn't there yet, but she'd laid out our marked assignments on the desk near her podium. My paper was among them. A paper I was sure I'd totally bombed.
A fail. In my first semester. I wanted to be sick at the thought. Maybe I would have been if I wasn't so numb.
I didn't want to look. I really, really didn't want to look. I shoved the whole thing into my purse without a second thought, condemning it to the murky depths alongside an empty packet of gum and a half-eaten candy bar.
I really needed to clean up my shit.
Not just the purse.
A bitter smile twisted my lips. At least, through it all, I still had my sense of humor. Even if it was self-deprecating.
I had every intention of discarding the assignment when I got back to my room. Not throwing it out, per se, just stashing it somewhere so that I wouldn't have to face it for a long, long time. Like at the end of the year, when I cleaned out my room and went home for break. Maybe not even then. Schrödinger's cat, and all that jazz.
I tried to press on with class, throwing myself into my note-taking and casting my mind far, far away from the project. I just wanted to forget about it. Forget about my time with the friends who weren't really my friends and that stupid hypothesis.
Devi wasn't as keen on the idea.
"Miss Watson?" she called at the end of the lecture.
I'd managed to squeeze past my peers, down the row, and was all but headed for the finish line. I was so close to the door that I could hear the students waiting for their next class on the other side. But my professor's voice—both gentle and authoritative—stopped me dead in my tracks.
