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She nods. “Pretty much.”
I laugh. “No. Not at all. My lungs…” I hesitate, wondering how much needs to be explained. “They didn’t develop fully in utero. Sort of. But I’m fine now. In fact, the older I get, the more fine I am. It’s not really a big deal.”
Jacinda nods while I talk, seemingly deep in thought. “All right,” she says. “Is there anything you’ve always wanted to ask me?”
I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I?—
“Why did you break up with Connor?” I ask.
She blinks in surprise.
“He said he had other priorities,” I add. “I wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly.”
Jacinda chortles. “That’s one way to put it, I guess.”
“So… why?”
“You really don’t know?”
“No,” I say.
“Well, princess,” she says, though I sense no malice in the word. Only sadness. “I broke up with him because of you.”
The music begins again. We both linger, however, holding up our respective circles for a moment before she finally walks on.
Because of me?
* * *
The music never stopped on Jacinda again. She rushed off the moment the game finished, so I didn’t have a chance to ask another question.
The fuck you mean me?
I did, however, reveal my star sign — several times — and what my go-to comfort foods were and which Chicago North teacher I’d trifecta if I had the chance. I said Grant in a moment of confused panic. Never found out what trifecta meant. I’ll ask Dylan about it later.
As I cross E-lot toward my car, my stomach jitters with butterflies. It has all day, truthfully. Ever since my phone rang last night and I read Connor’s name on the screen.
I broke up with him because of you.
A few more butterflies there, but they don’t feel as nice. How could I have possibly come between Connor and Jacinda? She’s outgoing and sexy with big hair, long legs, and full, pouty lips. She’s everything I’m just… not.
I reach my car and unzip the outer pocket of my backpack in search for my keys.
“Your highness.”
I incline my head without looking. Damn, these guys are resilient. “Good sir,” I mumble off.
A throat clears behind me.
I turn around, finding myself face-to-face with a Delta Xi dressed in blue. “Oh,” I say, straightening up. “Hi, uh…”
He holds out a small envelope, deep red in color.
I take it. “Thanks,” I say, inclining my head again. “Sir.”
He performs another graceful bow before slinking off between the cars of the crowded lot.
For Ms. Dana Darling Kirby, the envelope reads.
