Page 30 of Learning Curve

Moving on, I shove my phone back in my purse, stop at the next station, and fill my tray with oatmeal and toast. It’s boring but dependable. I grab an apple from the basket at the end of the buffet before I step up to one of the self-service checkout lines and pull my wallet out of my purse to get my Dickson U Meal Card, but my phone buzzes again before I can swipe it. I pull the phone out to check it, juggling the card and my tray in my other hand.

Unknown: Your worst nightmare.

What the hell? I glance around the dining hall, waiting for, I don’t know, a murderer wearing a Scream mask or something to pop out, but all I find are a couple of students in their pajamas, barely awake as they shuffle to fill their bellies. It’s probably just some young kid messing around or something.

Whatever.

I scan my card, grab my tray, and make my way around the drink fountain machine to the tables on the far side of the massive, open space.

I put my tray down on a table in the corner, jamming my feet into the space between the legs of the chair, and wince when I catch my open-sandaled toe on the metal bar that runs across the bottom of the table.

“Ow, fudgesickles!”

A dark head jerks up on the other side of the planter that divides the midpoint of the tables, and mysterious brown eyes lock with mine. Eyes I haven’t had the privilege of seeing in what feels like forever.

Finn.

“H-ey,” I say, my voice box just as startled by the sight of him as my brain.

“Hey,” he says back, shifting in his seat before folding his textbook closed on the table.

“I stubbed my toe. Shocker, huh?” I tease, trying to add a little levity to the awkward tension, but he just jerks up his chin in a nod, opens his book back up, and starts reading again.

Really? He can’t even make civil conversation? A wave of anger and frustration consumes me, sending me into a tailspin that’s entirely out of character.

“Hey!” I say again, but this time, it’s a snap. Agitated, choppy movements compound into me storming straight toward his table while he looks on. “Are you avoiding me?”

His rigid jaw breaks, bending his face into a hint of a smirk. “Well…yeah. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Right. Yes. I mean, of course it is. But I don’t—”

“Scottie, let me stop you right there, okay?” His hair falls just slightly over his eyes, and I have the most annoying urge to push it back for him. “I don’t have a problem with you. In fact, I like you fine. Too much, probably. But I think—actually, I know—we’re better off keeping our distance.”

“Oh.” Ouch.

“You and I are from totally different worlds,” he adds. “You went to private school. I—”

“You and Ace are from different worlds too. His parents have more money than God.”

He sighs. “Ace is a leech. I’ve tried to get rid of him, but I can’t.”

“Well, maybe I’m a leech too.”

He shakes his head. “No, Scottie. You’re above that shit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re just—” He stops midsentence and shrugs, shoving back in his seat and then leaning forward again, his eyes intense. “Look, Scottie, if I don’t need you, you don’t need me. You are not desperate. For anyone. Understand?”

“Finn,” I whisper, but he’s already shaking his head at me again.

“It’s just how it has to be, Scottie.”

I stare at him for a long moment, my eyes searching his, desperately trying to understand why he’s doing this. From where I stand, it makes no freaking sense. It’s like he’s afraid to get too close to me.

Or maybe all your ex-boyfriend drama has turned him off entirely? It’s not exactly made the first few weeks of school easy for him.

I guess the reason doesn’t matter if his decision is final anyway.

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