Page 22 of Breakaway Goal

The next hour or so is one of frantic movement as everyone carries their most valuable belongings down the stairs and out to the lawn in front of our building. A growing crowd assembles to gawk at the drama.

Jasmine and I are soaked by the time we’ve saved everything from our room that we can reasonably bring down.

Jasmine lets out a heavy sigh and drops to her butt on the grass that’s now damp from so many wet feet traversing it. “Well, Maddie, let’s look on the bright side.”

I huff out a laugh. “I’d love to hear what that is.”

“Our first three weeks as roommates haven’t been boring.”

“Now it’sreallylikeold times,” I say as I twist off the cap of white wine and pour a little bit into our two cups.

We pilfered both the cups and the wine from the kitchen of the house where my brother and his teammates live. That’s where we’re staying for at least the next couple days until the repairs are finished in our dorm building.

The whole building was evacuated in the wake of the pipe leak on our floor. The pipes need to be fixed, and then all the water damage caused by the leak. The college said they hope we’ll be able to move back in by the end of next week, but who knows.

When Lane found out, he immediately offered their living room to me and Jasmine.

The college is giving all students affected by the evacuation permission to not attend classes tomorrow, and an automatic extension on all assignments or exams due.

It’s like when you’re a kid, and snow starts falling heavy on a school night, and you know you have a snow day tomorrow to look forward to.

Jasmine and I decided to run with the nostalgic feeling and get heavy into sleepover vibes.

We’re wearing comfy pajamas, we’re sitting under a pillow-and-cushion fort that we’ve set up in the middle of the living room, and we snuck a bottle of wine from my brother’srefrigerator just like we used to do from my parents sometimes when Jasmine would stay over when we were in high school.

The inner sanctum of our fort made of couch-cushion walls and topped with a throw-blanket roof is illuminated by my laptop screen, on which we’re having a marathon of random Gilmore Girls episodes.

It’s made especially cozy by the fact that tonight the air carries just a hint of chill, and the wind is howling loudly as it whips around the house.

Jasmine sighs with satisfaction after a first sip of the wine. Then she turns to me with a glimmer in her eye and says, “So, tell me more aboutJames.”

I roll my eyes. “There’s nothing more to tell. Trust me.”

I took the advice Rhys gave me over our plate of nachos a couple weeks back and asked the guy in front of me in my Figure Drawing class if he could take a quick look at my first drafts of our assignment.

He was actually really nice about it, giving me some constructive criticism but overall telling me it was solid work. Since then, we’ve been talking before and after class regularly.

He’s pretty cute, too.

That thought has a voice squawking in the back of my head, saying,Who cares? He’s not Rhys.

The thought brings a tightness to my chest, so I take a sip of wine to loosen it. If I keep thinking that every time I talk to another guy, then I’ll really stay a dateless virgin forever, all throughout college and beyond.

And that’s not what I want.

Rhys and I are never going to happen. I can fill a book with the reasons why.

He’s my best friend other than Jasmine, and I don’t want to risk a relationship that means the world to me. He’s my brother’s best friend, and I don’t want to mess that up. He’s RhysCallahan, one of the most lusted-after guys on campus and a future multi-millionaire star athlete. I’m Maddie Larsen, mousy wallflower and future starving artist.

We’re not a match in any sense of the word. I’m not telling myself anything I haven’t already told myself hundreds—thousands—of times over.

“Well, let’s try to make sure thereismore to tell by this time next week,” Jasmine says.

“We’ve just made small talk a couple times. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Except for the fact that you think he’s cute,” Jasmine chirps. “And he thinks you’re cute.”

My brow scrunches. “Huh? How do you know that?”

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