“Cuba, dude, sit over here,” Zero, another football jock, said to me as I entered the BA crowded gym. It was just after lunch, and we had an assembly today with a college recruiter. They came about once a month from various places, selling their universities. Today’s speaker was from Princeton.

I headed to where Zero sat. His real name was Zack and not only were we teammates, but we were kinda friends. Like mine, his family was prominent in Highland Park. Yet, he didn’t know everything about me. He didn’t know what I’d done four years ago.

Truthfully, I didn’t connect with anyone here, although if you asked most of them, they’d say we were good friends.

I sat down next to him.

“You been bulking up, Hollywood?” Zero was big into fitness.

I flexed an arm muscle. At six foot three inches I was already broader and taller than my dad. And I loved to work out because the burn it gave me numbed me out and made me so exhausted that by the time I got home and finished my homework, I’d crash.

Because I didn’t want to think about what was going on with my family.

I nodded. “Yeah. Swimming is good too—” and those words came to a halt as the pink swish of a skirt passed in front of me. The girl wearing the skirt plopped down in a seat directly in front of me. She also wore a grey hoodie, and her feet were stuck in a pair of knock-off Uggs. Pale pink tights were on her legs.

Holy fuck. Was that her?

It had to be. I’d know that skirt and those legs anywhere.

My cock tightened, and I adjusted myself in my seat, my mind churning.

This dude everyone called Spider sat down next to her, and she smiled up at him.

Oh. They must be a couple. And why did I feel disappointed?

Then another girl—this one a blonde—sat on the other side of him, making me wonder which he was banging. Because he started talking to both of them, even going so far as to wrap an arm around each of their chairs. But his attention seemed more on Ballet Girl. Huh. Was the dancer seeing the notorious English kid who had a rep as a hothead?

It didn’t fit with what I had in my head. And it pissed me off.

Surprising myself, I scooted my chair over, trying to get a look at her profile. Because what if I’d been sitting next to her every day for the past two months in Calculus or wherever and hadn’t even known it?

“Dude, you’re right on top of me.” Zero sent me a questioning look as I leaned over in his space.

I moved back to my side. Feeling off.

Why did I care what she looked like?

“Just trying to see the speaker,” I muttered, since the assembly had already started.

Zero stood. “Dude, if it’s that important to you, let’s switch, then.”

I jumped on it, getting up and letting him have my seat. I settled back in the hard chair and let my eyes eat her up.

I had a great view. Her dark hair was scrapped back in a tight bun, giving me full access to her soft profile. The first thing I noticed right away was the curve of her lips and how full they were. I wondered if her mouth was always that pink or if she wore lipstick. Her skin was milky white with high cheekbones and a straight nose. I didn’t see what color her eyes were, but her lashes were incredibly long and black.

She smiled at something, and I lost my breath. Just a little. She wasn’t beautiful or made-up like some of the girls here. At all. But, she was lovely to look at, delicate yet with a strong body that she’d obviously worked on for years. She laughed again, and just the sound of it mesmerized me. Maybe because within her laugh, I detected a unique quality about her, something I didn’t have. She seemed hopeful and optimistic, like she believed in fairytales and butterflies and shit.

Yeah, stay away from that.

I avoided Mary Poppins type girls.

But then why did I find myself leaning forward, just a little closer. Dying to see the color of those eyes. Needing to see her face up close.

Someone sat on the other side of me, coming in late to the assembly.

I glanced over to see Nora Blakely, resident BA genius, National Belltone Spelling Bee Champion, and all around odd person. We didn’t talk much, but we’d grown up together here in Highland Park. And I liked her.

I nudged my head toward Ballet Girl and whispered, “Nora, who’s that girl?”

She arched a brow at me, and I played it up and grinned. “I mean, you’re gorgeous, of course, but just trying to place if I know her.”

She smirked, and I don’t think she cared one way or the other about who I was interested in. After a few minutes of looking at Ballet Girl, she turned to me. “Pretty sure her name is Dovey. I think she’s a scholarship student. Maybe from Ratcliffe.”

My mind raced. Dovey? Like the bird? And Ratcliffe? God, what a hell hole.

“Is she seeing Spider?” I felt silly with the hushed voices, but I didn’t want Ballet Girl to hear us. Because that would be weird.

She raked her eyes over the three of them in her wacky analytical way that most of us had gotten used to over the years. “Hmm. Not sure. His body is pivoted toward Dovey, and his eyes keep darting to her, like he’s checking in on her. It seems like he really likes her. It’s interesting.” She paused. “But the other girl has her hand on his crotch, and he seems to like it, so yeah, I don’t know what’s going on there. Lots of mixed signals.”

Well, that didn’t help. But I had a name.

“Thanks,” I said, straightening back up.

My phone pinged with a text from my mom.