Page 104 of Guarded Love

My temples are pounding, and I know it’s from the exhaustion that is settling into my body. I press my fingertips against them, trying to massage away the tension that's been building all day. Between this being the first week back at Crestwood and figuring out my new classes, the things I need to do for Crestwood Chronicle, and pretending everything is normal when nothing feels normal anymore, I'm completely drained.

I collapse backward onto my bed without bothering to take off my shoes. Honestly, they’re the only thing keeping me from passing out right here and now. Moments like this, I’m glad that I don’t have a roommate because no one can judge me for how I look right now.

I only get about a minute before my ringtone begins to play. Part of me wonders why my phone couldn’t break when my bag hit the floor, but the other part of me knows I would be upset and Mom would be pissed if that happened, so here we are.

I somehow make it off my bed and manage to get to my bag without my entire body dropping to the floor. I pull my phone out and see that it’s Ari.

And if there is one person who will not accept “Sorry, fell asleep!” as a valid excuse for avoiding her calls, it’s her. Well, sometimes.

It takes a second for my guilt to beat out exhaustion. “Hey,” I answer as I flop back down on my bed.

“Willow? Girl, what’s up?” Ari’s voice is all bright, which instantly makes me want to crawl under the bed and die. “You alive? You sound like you got hit by a bus.”

It’s too much. All of it, all at once. I almost say as much. “It was only a small one,” I mumble. “I’ll recover in a semester or two.”

She snorts and it almost makes me want to laugh. “You know I take time out of my busy schedule to check in and this is the thanks I get. You should feel so lucky I don’t call your mother and file a missing person’s report.”

“I think she’d up the reward if you told her I was already dead.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” she says, and I almost laugh for real because look who’s talking. “You want me to bring you a funeral casserole, or do you want to actually tell me what’s up?”

I close my eyes and picture her: stretched out across her own twin bed, laptop open to six tabs, a legal pad of to-do lists on her knees, her phone always tucked between chin and shoulder. It almost makes me feel better knowing that somewhere on campus her room is just as full of chaos as mine. Except hers is much neater chaos.

“I’m fine. Really,” I say, trying to sell this version of events to her even though I know it won’t work.

“You’re a lousy liar,” she says. “I’ve known you for too long, Wills. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable. Or sell the rights to your fictional tale to Hollywood.”

There's nothing I can say that will stop her, so I just roll my eyes and sigh. “Fine. Everything’s fine. Classes are fine. Campus is fine.”

“Put all that in writing and I might believe you,” she says. “Have you seen Blaise on campus yet?”

I refuse to let her know this question actually makes my heartbeat speed up. “It’s the first week, Ari, I’ve barely seen anyone. Except for professors and the people that work in the dining hall. Oh Madison and I grabbed coffee at Brewed Beginnings yesterday.”

“Liar,” she says again, stretching the word until I can feel her suspicion reaching through the phone. “I’ve seen you track down people for interviews like you worked for the FBI, but you haven’t seen Blaise.”

I pinch my nose, try to keep my voice even. “Maybe a couple times. He’s around.”

Ari goes silent for a bit. I can hear her flipping a page. “You haven’t talked?”

I pause for a second before I respond. “Yes. We’ve been texting a lot actually. But we’re both trying to keep it low-key.” There. I said it.

Ari knows more than anyone how much I edit myself because sometimes I just don’t want to get into the details of the topic at hand. Which is funny given what I’m studying and what I plan to do after graduation. Based on the fact that she’s still silent, I’m sure she’s glaring at her phone because she’s on high alert after that answer. “And how’s that going? Is he being normal?”

“He writes essays for texts every so often, but I have no idea if that’s normal for him. Let’s be real, he’s probably using me as a warmup for his poli sci mid-terms.”

She makes a fake gagging sound. “Hot. There’s nothing sexier than a bibliography.”

“Or a thesis statement,” I say with a straight face and immediately regret giving her a joke to run with.

That makes her laugh. "Do you two even sext or do you just cite sources and argue about Oxford commas the entire time?"

"We don't argue about Oxford commas," I say, fighting a yawn. "We agree. The Oxford comma is essential and anyone who thinks otherwise is a monster."

Ari isn’t amused with me. "You are a lost cause. I bet your couples’ safe word is Chicago Manual."

That does it. I snort, which sets off a round of coughing, which in turn makes my brain feel like it’s been shaken inside a snow globe. "Okay, so maybe we text like nerds. It’s not the worst thing."

"Yeah, okay, but the lack of gossip is offensive. Has he said anything about seeing you again? Going on dates? Hellooooooo.”

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