Page 29 of Written In Flesh

Skully

RED, ORANGE, AND yellow leaves crunch under my feet while I powerwalk to my first class of the day. An English writing seminar that starts at 8 a.m., which I said I would take in exchange for the advanced photography class I really want. Just another bargain with my dad, which seems to be the theme since being summoned back here. The campus is mostly quiet, at least. Most of the students here seem to want to sleep in and take later classes. The crisp air holds a chill to it this morning, so I wrap the edges of my leather jacket more tightly around me and keep my head down, avoiding the breeze. This works for all of a few minutes before I accidentally slam into a wall. A warm wall, covered in the school’s deep maroon color, RFU boldly printed in black across the chest. For a second, my heart stops, and my eyes snap up. Instead of the cool gray I was expecting, I find blue. Soft blue eyes under waves of dark brown hair and lips pulled up in a tight smile.

“Excuse me,” I mutter and go to step around him. It isn’t Heath’s fault his brother is a jackass, but my guess is that the brothers probably share their opinions of my dad and me.

“Your dad said you were living on campus,” he says to my back, and my feet stop moving.

I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, trying to push aside the friendly tone in my voice. His statement hangs between us like a warm invitation, rather than the sharp and cutting words his brother used. While I would like to keep walking away, I realize how bratty that would seem. Spoiled. Hot-headed…

“Yeah, I moved in with Baylee,” I grit out with a tight smile on my lips, turning to visit with the guy who is most likely going to become my stepbrother.

He nods, like he already knew that little tidbit, not that I’m surprised. His gaze tracks over me, and I feel suddenly self-conscious about my wide-leg jeans, scuffed Jordans, and cropped, black graphic t-shirt with the artwork of a woman’s hand, adorned in rings and red nail polish, flicking the middle finger up. It’s pretty fitting for this moment. Even still, I find myself fingering the edges of my jacket nervously.

“That’s cool. How have you been?”

My brow rises at that loaded question. He may be cute and look innocent enough, but I don’t trust any Danvers. “Adjusting.”

“Right,” he acknowledges, and his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck almost sheepishly.

“Well, got to get to class,” I tell him, keeping my tone light and my smile in place. “See you around, Heath.”

He looks puzzled for a second at my friendly wave and quick escape, but recovers fast enough, giving a small wave in return. After I’ve made it several feet, only then do I dare to turn and glance over my shoulder. Thankfully, he’s kept moving, and I exhale the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. That was a little too close for comfort. I’ll have to double my efforts not to get caught up with anyone else from my old life.

The rest of the morning passes uneventfully. I successfully dodge around the more occupied areas of campus and find secluded paths between the buildings where my classes are located. Part of me dreaded the stares that might follow me or the mindless gossip, but so far, there has been none of it. My name isn’t whispered in the wind, and no one is lying in wait to confront me. It’s almost as if my past self doesn’t exist here, or if it does, I no longer matter. Not that I want the rumors from River Falls High School following me around. If I have to be here, I want a fresh start. I want to be different from the girl they remember.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and for one fleeting second, I panic, remembering the unknown number from last night. My gaze darts around, taking in the smaller clusters of students and the giant stone and brick building where my political science class is located. No one is watching me, thankfully, and my magic calms beneath the surface again. I grab my phone from my jacket pocket and tap the screen open. Dad. My stomach twists in knots all over again. Ever since he made his demand for me to return, we haven’t talked. Thanks to Aunt Loreli, I have successfully dodged any attempts at contact from him.

DAD: Family dinner this Friday at the house.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip so hard that the coppery taste of my blood fills my mouth, while my knuckles turn white from the grip on my phone. I refuse to let him dictate my time. After the accident, he didn’t reach out until he needed me here after the blast. And I may not remember it, but it’s been said more than once, the only reason he brought me here the last time was because my magic made its appearance. Not once has he acted like my father or shown he cares about me. If the rumors about the cliff had been true, how is it that my own father hadn’t known what his daughter was going through? He was all-knowing in the kingdom, so how did he not know what my life had been like?

Furiously, calmly, my fingers dance across the keyboard before closing out of the messages and pocketing my phone.

ME: Sorry, new job just started. I’ll be working. Raincheck.

It’s a half-truth. I am hoping to have a new job after my interview, and I suspect that if hired, I will be working most Friday evenings and weekends in a busy college bar. If I’m not already working this weekend, I am not above begging my new boss to put me on the schedule.

“I’m sorry, what?” I glance from Topper’s mouth to his eyes, making sure I heard him correctly, then drop my eyes again to the t-shirts he’s holding out to me.

My interview went well, and the manager asked when I could start training. Since my afternoon is free, the one bonus of morning classes, she let me start today.

“I know it’s weird, but it’s how we show our support on meet days.” He huffs lightly and holds out the four shirts for me to choose from. I glare at the images of Madden, Aero, Killian, and Heath printed on the material.

“Oh, really? Do you have to wear a shirt with some random guy’s face across your boobs?” I accuse, my arms crossing over my chest. I absolutely refuse to wear a shirt with any of the guys who may or may not have made my life miserable two years ago, but are absolutely not my friends now.

“Yes. We all do. It’s school spirit. Girls actively fight over who gets to wear who, and I always pick the underdog, which is Heath this year, as he’s a freshman,” Topper explains, while glaring back at me.

“Why can’t I have one of the other guy?” I point to the board of the top five-ranked swimmers for the school. Number four seems to be missing from the t-shirt pile.

Topper pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oliver’s girlfriend is Stassia. Stassia works here as a bartender. She is the last person you want to piss off on busy nights when you need your drinks cold and fast,” he explains while handing me the t-shirt with Oliver’s face on it. Objectively, he’s a very good-looking man, but just because I have his shirt does not mean I want to fuck him. But I’d choose this and Stassia’s wrath over wearing any of the others’ faces on my body.

“Is Stassia here?” I ask, scanning the mostly empty bar and restaurant.

Topper nods to the farthest bar by the small dance floor, where a very gorgeous woman with wild, curly black hair is stocking booze. My fingers clench around the shirt he handed me, and I walk over to her.

“Stassia?” I ask, giving her a small smile as I approach. From far away, she was pretty, but up close, this woman is gorgeous with bronze skin and sharp, caramel-colored eyes.

She glances up, and her brow rises. “Are you the new girl I’m training?”