Page 7 of Knot My Wonderland

"Hey, a bar’s a bar." Mara laughed.

We finished lunch at a lazy pace, not rushing like the rest of the cafeteria crowd scrambling to make it to their next class. I picked at the last of my curly fries while Mara stacked her empty burger basket on top of her tray with exaggerated precision, balancing it like it was some kind of art project.

"So," Mara said, resting her chin in her hand and fiddling absentmindedly with one of the frayed threads on her jacket, "besides dodging your parents and existential dread, what’s the rest of your thrilling day look like?"

I snorted. "Classes. Pretending to absorb information. Fighting the urge to set my textbooks on fire. Y’know, the usual."

Mara grinned, sharp and unbothered. "Sounds about right. What torture session are you heading to next?"

"Group Communications," I said, making a face like I'd just bitten into a lemon. "Mandatory class. Mandatory misery."

She laughed, her dark braids swinging with the motion. "They’re gonna make you sit in a circle and over-share your feelings, aren't they?"

"Unfortunately," I muttered. "And probably hand out some worksheet about 'emotional intelligence' and 'nonverbal validation techniques.'"

Mara snorted so hard she almost knocked over her water bottle. "God, I wish I could watch that. Bet you’ll have the best 'I'm listening but mentally planning my escape' face."

"I already perfected it," I said, sitting up straighter and demonstrating: wide eyes, frozen polite smile, vacant soul.

She laughed loudly enough that a few people glanced over. "Ten out of ten. No notes. You should teach that as a workshop."

"Maybe that's my true calling," I said dryly, propping my chin in my hand. "Master of strategic emotional withdrawal."

"Honestly," Mara said, tapping her tray thoughtfully, "it would suit you. Omega survival tactics at their finest." I cracked a real smile at that. Mara, a bold, stubborn Alpha through and through, loved to tease me about my Omega instincts — but it never came out cruel or condescending. If anything, it felt like a weird kind of compliment.

"Hey," I said, half-grinning. "Some of us have to be good at reading the room before someone tries to ‘claim’ us mid-conversation."

"Touché," Mara said, her mouth twitching. "Can’t argue with that."

I shrugged, picking up the last fry from my tray. "It’s not a weakness. It's just... different."

"Exactly," Mara said firmly. "Your instincts are sharp. Smarter than half the idiots running around here." There was a beat — just long enough for it to feel like something more — before she grabbed her messenger bag and slung it over her shoulder. The buttons on the strap clinked together, little badges of rebellion and sharp humor: band logos, half-peeled slogans, a tiny enamel shark.

She checked her phone and grimaced. "Ugh. I should probably haul ass. Art History doesn’t exactly teach itself, and Professor Hayes already thinks I’m gonna flunk out in spectacular fashion."

"You’re not," I said immediately, before I could second-guess it.

Mara blinked at me, caught slightly off guard, then smiled — not her usual cocky grin, but something smaller, realer. "Thanks, "

I shrugged, grabbing my coffee. "It’s true."

She bumped her shoulder into mine lightly, careful for all her rough edges. "You’re not so bad yourself, you know. Even if you do annihilate curly fries like a woman possessed."

"Survival instinct," I said solemnly. "Eat or be eaten."

Mara barked a short laugh. "You know what? I respect that."

She turned toward the door, lifting two fingers in a lazy salute. "Later, rebel queen."

"Later," I said, smiling to myself as I watched her go. Mara disappeared into the steady tide of students flooding through the courtyard, her posture relaxed, untouchable. Typical Alpha — but never the type who tried to loom or intimidate. She just existed, unapologetically, like gravity bent slightly in her favor.

I gathered my things slowly, throwing out our trays and cradling my cold coffee as I made my way across campus. The sky was a hard, perfect blue, and a warm breeze tugged at the loose strands of hair escaping my bun. Skateboards rattled across concrete, someone sang badly on the quad lawn, and the air buzzed with that midweek, almost-summer energy.

Maybe Mara was right. Maybe it was okay not to have everything figured out yet.Maybe being an Omega didn’t mean I had to follow the script everyone else kept shoving at me.

I could still write my own. Still, a small knot tightened low in my gut as I reached the communications building. Not fear, exactly. Not nerves about the mixer or my parents or the thousand expectations pressing down on me.

Just...something. A shift. A breath held too long. The feeling that something was coming, whether I was ready for it or not. Ishoved the thought aside as I pushed open the heavy glass doors and slipped into the crowded hallway, clutching my battered notebook against my chest like a shield.

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