Page 7 of Stroke of Fate

I’m pretty sure that, under different circumstances, someone like Finn would be my type. And his straightforwardness would be appreciated. He’s good-looking in that all-American, boy-next-door way, with light brown hair cut shorter on the sides and longer on the top. Based on his athleticbuild, I’ll take a wild guess and say he either plays a sport or works out regularly. But honestly, I feel nothing on a physical front.

I wonder if that’s a side effect of being cheated on. Has the opposite sex suddenly become unappealing to me after what happened with my ex?

“Bear,” I murmur, casting a longing glance at the doors. I was so close to getting out of here.

“Bear…” he rolls my name around like most people do when they first hear it. “So, listen, since you’re new here, let me know if you need help catching up on anything or studying.”

Before I can respond, he flips open his notebook and hands me a piece of paper. Taking it from him, careful not to let our fingers brush, I unfold it. His name and number are scribbled down in that messy way boys write.

I'm not naïve enough to think that's the only reason he's giving me his number. Besides, there's nothing to catch up on in this class—it's literally the first day.

Folding it back up, I drop the paper into my tote bag. I know I won’t take him up on that offer, but I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m not interested.

“Thanks, that’s kind of you,” I say instead.

When his smile grows wider, my guilt over not being interested grows.

Yes, it’s silly, I know. But hurting other people’s feelings, even unintentionally, has always made me feel terrible. Pia says I’m too sensitive, and people wouldn’t care if I were more honest. But even the truth can hurt someone, and that’s the last thing I want to do.

I’ll let Finn say what he needs, and we’ll go our separate ways. Simple.

“It was nice meeting you, Bear. Hopefully, I’ll hear from you soon.”

Not wanting to burst his bubble when we’re so close to ending this, I simply nod and smile, not promising anything. He gives me a quick wave before jogging out the door.

When people start walking in for the next class, I linger longer than necessary, only leaving once I'm sure Finn has left the hallway.

The student news board is my last stop before returning to my apartment. I take a few wrong turns, still learning to navigate my way around campus, but eventually, I see the notice board I’m looking for.

Scanning the various flyers promoting different clubs, upcoming sports games, and events, I find something that catches my eye. I grab the flyer and give it a quick once-over.Static Bar and Grill. Staff Wanted.Since there’s only one, I snap a picture of it with my phone, leaving it pinned up for someone else, and make a mental note to look over it in more detail later.

It was Pia who suggested I join a club or get a job as a way to meet new people. Getting a job seemed more appealing since I could make some extra cash. My course load isn’t too heavy this semester, so I should be able to balance both.

Feeling accomplished, I smile to myself.

As I walk away from the board, my phone vibrates with an incoming text. I grab the device from my bag and open it.

Mom: Your car was delivered. Keys are under the wheel, and I asked that the box be left at your door so you don’t have to carry it up yourself. Love you.

The box she’s referring to is filled with miscellaneous and sentimental items I didn’t have the heart to leave behind. I stashed it in the trunk of my car so that we didn’t get charged an exorbitant amount of money for flying with an oversized item. Thankfully, my dad’s friend, Kevin, owns a car transportation business, so I knew the car and the box would be delivered safely.

I type a quick reply and press send.

Bear: Thank you. Love you, too!

It's a short walk back to the apartment, and before long, I'm rounding the corner to my hallway with car keys in hand, expecting to see the box at my front door like my mom said. Instead, there's nothing. A quick scan left and right confirms it's not in front of anyone else's door either.

For a fleeting moment, I think I might have gotten off on the wrong floor. This is, after all, only my third day living here. But no, I’m staring at the correct three numbers. 404.

I don’t want to panic unnecessarily, so I send another text to my mom.

Bear: Are you sure they said they left it at the door?

She replies almost instantly, but her words don’t put me at ease.

Mom: Yes. I spoke with them myself.

Bear: It’s not here.

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