Page 31 of Ghosted

She slips the phone into her pocket and starts walking, cutting left instead of following the crowd toward the main path. I move after her, keeping enough distance that it doesn’t look obvious to anyone who isn’t paying attention.

Alice is the type to pay attention.

I know that, but she still doesn’t turn around.

She stops at the coffee cart near the courtyard, orders without taking her earbud out, then shifts under the edge of her umbrella while some guy steps in beside her like he belongs there.

He’s tall and lanky, all sharp elbows and lazy posture, purple hair falling into his eyes, black liner smudged underneath them, baggy jeans hanging off his hips, and a skateboard tucked under one arm. Alt boy. Skater type. The kind who looks like he spends half his life pretending not to care and the other half hoping someone notices how hard he’s pretending.

Alice notices him, and that’s bad enough.

Worse, she knows him.

He says something that makes her glance up from her phone, and his smile kicks wider like he just won something. He leans against the cart, too close, rain dripping from the ends of his hair while he looks down at her like she’s the only interesting thing on campus.

My teeth press together.

Fuck that.

She answers him without taking the earbud out, mouth barely moving, face flat in that way I’m starting to recognize. He laughs anyway, like her indifference is cute, like he’s used to getting scraps from her and calling it a meal.

My hand flexes at my side, and yeah, it’s ridiculous. I fucking know it is.

He’s just some lanky little art-school stray with eyeliner and bad posture. A friend, maybe. Someone from class. Someone who knows which coffee she orders and probably thinks that means he knows her.

It doesn’t.

He shifts closer when the barista sets Alice’s coffee on the counter, reaching past her for a napkin he doesn’t fucking need, shoulder almost brushing hers. Alice takes the cup before he can make a thing out of it, tucking it beneath the edge of her umbrella while she looks at him, calm and unimpressed.

Whatever she says wipes half the smile off his face.

Good.

It still doesn’t stop the ugly thing crawling up my spine, because he’s close enough to smell her coffee. Close enough to see the rain caught on her lashes. Close enough to look at her like he’s already imagined being allowed nearer.

And I don’t fucking like that.

Not from him.

Not from anyone.

The guy tries one more time, leaning in with that easy little grin still fighting its way back onto his face. Alice doesn’t give him much. A few words. One lifted brow. Flat enough to make it clear he’s wasting both their time.

His smile finally dies.

He huffs a laugh, embarrassed enough to pretend he isn’t, then pushes wet purple hair out of his eyes and steps back with his skateboard under one arm.

Alice doesn’t watch him go. She just adjusts the strap of her camera bag and keeps moving like he was a puddle she chose not to step in.

I wait a few beats before moving too, letting the rain and the crowd swallow some of the distance between us. Close enough to keep her in sight. Far enough that I don’t look like some desperate asshole chasing after a girl because she said my name once and broke something loose in my head.

I wait a few seconds before moving too, letting the rain and the people between us make it look less obvious.

Close enough to keep her in sight.

Far enough that I don’t look like some desperate asshole chasing after a girl because she said my name once and apparently fucked up the wiring in my head.

Or because some purple-haired prick at the coffee cart stood too close to her and smiled like he had a right to.