Page 39 of Wish You Were Mine
I shoved the pages into my bag as I walked by the snow-covered quad. Hopefully, I’d figure something out later. But if I couldn’t…I’d just have to suck it up and go to Professor Park’s class on Wednesday.
And hope to survive without spontaneously combusting in my seat.
13
OWEN
I glancedat the clock mounted on the back wall of the lecture hall Wednesday afternoon, doing one last scan of the rows in front of me.
12:59.
Still no sign of Lucy.
Good.
Maybe she dropped the class. Or switched sections.
It would be for the best.
Easier to keep my job, at least.
When the digital clock flipped to 1:00, I pushed my sleeves to my elbows and stepped toward the whiteboard. “Good afternoon, everyone,” I said, projecting just enough to quiet the room. “Today we’re diving into everyone’s favorite topic: stoichiometry. Mole ratios. I know, I know…you’ve been dreaming about this since winter break.”
A few students laughed. One guy in the second row raised a hand and deadpanned, “My favorite thing to dream about.”
“That’s the spirit.” I gave him a dry smile. “But don’t worry. By the end of the week, you’ll be solving mole-to-mole conversionsin your sleep.” I uncapped my dry erase marker, and with a shrug, I added, “Or possibly having nightmares about them. It’s a toss-up.”
That earned a little more laughter. Not bad for day two.
Chairs creaked as students settled in and flipped open their notebooks. As pens started scratching against paper, I moved to the side of the board and began writing out the first reaction.
I had just started writing2H2 + O2 → 2H2O—when the door at the back of the room creaked open again.
My grip on the marker paused. Just briefly.
And when I turned around, there she was.
Lucy Archibald.
Looking way too pretty as she slid into a seat near the back of the room.
She wore a red Eden Falls University Gymnastics hoodie and black leggings. Her hair was up in a loose, slightly messy bun with a few tendrils framing her face—the same hairdo she had when I kissed her in the hot tub.
Was that on purpose? An attempt to remind me of the moment that could never happen again?
No…probably not. Just because I’d been thinking about the possibility of running into her on campus the past two days didn’t mean she’d been thinking about me.
In fact, from her cool, unsmiling expression, it would seem that she was as apathetic about being here as any student could be.
She wasn’t smiling. Didn’t give any sort of recognition. Just sat, tugged her sleeve down over her hand, and pulled out a pen.
I was just beginning to wonder if maybe I’d only imagined everything that happened between us on New Year’s Eve.
Until our eyes met.
Something flickered across her expression—hesitation? Guilt? Longing?
No. Seeing any sort of longing or regret was definitely my own wishful thinking. I was reading too much into it.
