‘Dude. Coulda told you that years ago.’ He knocked knuckles with a friend over the heads of a couple of girls as I watched Melody and Clark disappear through the far door. ‘Did I tell you he tried to pay me to f**k you up again?’

I pulled to a full stop and a freshman slammed into me, bounced off, and sprawled on his ass. Reaching down, I grabbed his hand and yanked him to his feet, guessing he had every textbook he’d been assigned in that backpack. He weighed twice what he should.

‘What’d you tell him?’ I asked Boyce as the freshman stammered a thank-you and scurried away.

Boyce grinned, one brow arched. ‘Told him to go f**k himself, of course.’

LUCAS

Jacqueline didn’t text or call me, so I concluded that either (a) she hadn’t seen the number on her cup or (b) she saw it and wasn’t interested in talking to me.

Considering that she’d volunteered her name and asked mine, I didn’t think she was indifferent.

She emailed Landon, but her message was economics-related only. Or so it seemed on the face of it. She mentioned going out with friends Saturday. When I replied, I referred to that comment: I hope you enjoyed your night out. A night out I knew all about. She wouldn’t tell Landon any more about her Saturday night, of course … but I wanted her to. With every exchange, I dug myself a bigger hole, but I couldn’t stop digging.

Then I alluded to her breakup, and the fact that I’d never meant to be rude by acting as if I didn’t want to know the details. Between the written lines, I urged, Tell me, but I didn’t expect her to answer that unwritten directive – to reveal such an unprotected part of herself.

With one paragraph, she laid it all at my feet – the amount of time they’d been together. The fact that she’d followed him here to school, instead of auditioning for a prestigious music programme far away. The way she blamed herself, completely, for being stupid. For believing in him.

She thought she was stuck somewhere she wasn’t meant to be in consequence of that decision.

I wasn’t a believer in fate or higher powers, as much as I wanted to be. I had faith in taking responsibility, and clearly, so did this girl. But I couldn’t fault her for following someone she’d loved for three years – it pointed to a loyalty she wasn’t giving herself credit for. If she believed in responsibility, then the best thing for her to do would be to take control again. To own the decision she’d made, however she’d made it. To make the best of it.

So that’s what I told her.

Wednesday, she arrived in class early, and I made an impulsive decision – all I seemed to be capable of where Jacqueline Wallace was concerned. I slid into the seat next to her and said her name. She startled a little when she looked up, expecting the guy who usually sat there, probably. But she didn’t lean away from me.

‘I guess you didn’t notice the phone number on your coffee cup,’ I said.

‘I noticed.’ Her voice was soft for such a smart-ass retort, candid curiosity in her steady gaze.

I asked for her number in return, and she asked if I needed help in economics. I almost choked, strung out between a now-familiar guilt trip and amusement at the absurd corner I’d backed myself into. Do you need help in economics? I asked why she’d think that, wondering, for two heartbeats, if she knew and was screwing with me.

If so, I completely deserved it.

‘I guess it’s not my business,’ she said, miffed.

I needed to move the conversation away from this line of thought. I leaned closer and told her the honest truth – that my wanting her number had nothing to do with economics.

She picked up her phone and sent me a text: Hi.

Her classmate walked up, wanting his seat. (Benjamin Teague, according to the role sheet. I’d checked his campus address, schedule, grades and any possible disciplinary notes – there were none. He seemed harmless, his fondness for bro T-shirts aside, and he made her laugh – both a point in his favour and a reason I sort of wanted to clock him cold.)

I surrendered the seat, holding back a jackass-level grin. She hadn’t called me … but she had programmed my number into her phone.

And now she’d given me hers.

Towards the end of class, I glanced up to find her watching me – a first. I hadn’t paid enough attention to the lecture, because I’d been immersed in devising and sketching alternative tissue-engineering designs for Dr Aziz’s research project next semester. Nothing but thoughts of Jacqueline could break through my excitement after getting his email yesterday, telling me I’d been accepted. I would be working with two of the university’s top engineering faculty members, and my final semester of tuition would be paid by the project’s grant. I would still tutor for Heller and work the occasional parking-enforcement shift, but I could quit the coffee shop, which currently sucked up fifteen hours of my week.

For the seconds Jacqueline and I stared at each other, Heller’s voice receded and everyone else in the room disappeared. I couldn’t return to Aziz’s project, or recall the mass of ideas swirling through my brain one minute ago. My past evaporated. My future plans blurred. Every cell in my body was aware of her, and her only.

I knew I could be careful with her. Her trust would be hard-won, because she was afraid of being hurt again, but I could win it. I knew, from these few seconds of staring and from the one time I’d held her that she would respond to me, under me. That I could coax her body to levels of pleasure she couldn’t possibly have received from her narcissistic ex, regardless how long they’d been together.

And then I couldn’t offer her anything more. At the end of this year – mere months away – I intended to take a job somewhere far away. To escape this state, and my father. To build a career and a life for myself, with no emotional entanglements. Not for a long time, if ever.

I wanted this girl, but I wasn’t going to fall in love with her.

She deserved someone’s whole heart. She deserved someone honest and loyal.

And I was not that man, no matter how much I wanted to be.

Landon,

We’re making steak fajitas tomorrow night – come if you’re free. Also, I’m giving a quiz over CPI first thing Friday morning, in case you want to work that into your Thursday worksheet. The quiz should take fifteen or twenty minutes of class, so feel free to grab a cup of coffee first and come in late.

CH

Jacqueline and I hadn’t gone over CPI, so as soon as I created the worksheet, I emailed it to her. I also questioned her interpretation of meant-to-be as it related to her decision to follow Kennedy Moore to college: Can you prove you’d be better off somewhere else?