Page 34 of Facing the Line

“I’ve never seen them before.”

He raises a brow at my accusing tone. “I wear contacts for hockey and working out, and most everything, really. But my eyes were tired tonight.”

I should feel sympathetic or something, but I’m grateful that this exists. I’m not sure I’ll ever get the image out of my head. My phone buzzes with a text and I shift, pulling it out of my pocket.

Kendall: You are so screwed.

Why is she texting when she’s literally right beside me? I shoot her a glare, and she gives a pointed glance back to her phone.

Hadley: Why? What are you talking about?

Kendall: You like that boy.

Hadley: Do not.

Kendall: Uh-huh. Sure.

Kendall: But tell me again why it would be such a bad thing?

The problem is, I’m having a hard time remembering myself.

Chapter

Fifteen

HADLEY

Kendall: Can we go out tonight? I need to drink and dance.

Hadley: Sorry, babe, I can’t. Career seminar for me. Rain check?

I shift in the hard plastic chair in the library meeting room, crossing and uncrossing my legs. Nope, doesn’t magically make this seat hurt my butt any less. Why is this seminar in the library, anyway? Aren’t there, like, a million classrooms on campus?

Sighing, I try to focus on what the presenter is saying. When I convinced my advisor to let me try a bunch of different classes this semester, she agreed, only if I signed up for these Career Assessment Seminars put on by the college. So I have to attend once a month and figure out…hell if I know.

The girl in front of me nods her head and takes frantic notes, filling her paper with purple ink. What is she writing? What could be gripping enough to copy down?

The presenter is about ninety years old. Balding and wheezy, he drones on. What if he keels over during this lecture? Would I call 911? Or go get?—

“Now the last thing for the night, they want you to take a quiz,” he says, and I manage to keep my groan inward. “I think it’s on the interwebs?”

Oh god. He frowns at a stack of papers. “I’m supposed to pass these out and you scan the quar code?” He pronounces “QR” like it’s a word, then glances around the room. “But how can you scan them if there’s no fax machine?”

Maybe next time they should find someone from this century to lead this seminar. Or maybe he’s full of wisdom. Either way, I hop up and paste a grin on my face.

“Here, I’ll pass those out. We know what to do.”

He smiles, angelic, and I count this as my good deed for the day. There are only a handful of other students here, so it doesn’t take me long. I start my own career path quiz.

Why are these things always so impossible? Am I detail-oriented? Sometimes, I guess. I’m meticulous about my skincare routine. Do I avoid conflict? I don’t know. Hunter and I confronted our dad together…but then I bailed from his house over Christmas break without a backwards glance. That was textbook avoidance.

I sigh. I wanted to use this semester to figure myself out, not have to take a quiz where I already need to know everything.

I’m not proud of this, but I pick the third option as my answer to every question to get this over with. At the end, my results say I should go into communications. My mass comm class is more boring than watching paint dry, so no.

Snapping my laptop shut, I wave at the presenter and file out. Glad I spent an hour of my life on that.

Winding my way through the library, I’m almost to the front door when I hear my name. I spin on my heel and suck in a breath.

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