Page 13 of The Pass Protection
Jogging up the steps to the Union, I smile and thank the guy who held the door open for me. Inside, it’s loud and chaotic, as crowds of hungry students walk through the cafeteria, searching for food or tables to sit at. With a quick scan, I realize most of the tables are occupied, but that’s fine. I don’t have a problem finding a bench outside to eat at.
Even if it’s a hundred degrees.
Taking my time, I make sure to walk all around the cafeteria to see what my options are. There’s a grill in the back with burgers, sandwiches, and fried sides. A sub station and pasta bar are on the opposite corner. In the center of the cafeteria is a stir-fry bar where you can create your own concoction, not to mention a variety of other food options throughout the space.
I’m standing in line for the sub station, minding my business, scrolling on my phone, when someone shouts, “Campbell.” Seeking out the voice, a confused look passes my face, and that’s when I see my brother standing a few people in front of me.
Grant gives me that typical guy head nod as he greets me. “Little sis.”
“Big brother.” I smile at him. I still can’t get over the fact that I’m living in the same state as him.
Once I make it through the line, I turn and find Grant standing off to the side, waiting for me. He throws his arm around my shoulderand lets a sports drink rest on my shoulder. “How’s your first day of class going?”
“I can’t complain.” Setting my food on the counter, I wait for the cashier to ring me out.
“Hi, dear.” The cashier has a warm smile with an even more welcoming aura. She has a personality that can turn any bad day into a few minutes of good.
Reaching into my backpack, I search for my wallet. My fingers brush against it, but my brother’s arm comes into view before I have a chance to grab my student ID, which is loaded with money.
“I’ve got both of ours, Tina.”
The cashier smiles.
“That’s sweet of you, Mr. Campbell. I thought you might be together. It’s not very often I get to see a real Grant Campbell smile.”
Grant chuckles. “Please, Tina, you only ever get my smiles.”
I roll my eyes as my brother innocently flirts with the older cashier. “I’m Bret, his sister.”
Her eyes widened, and I didn’t think her smile could get more expansive. “It’s so nice to meet you, Bret. I’m Tina. If you ever need anything, swing over to my line. You two enjoy your lunch.”
With a smile and a thank you, I leave the line and turn toward the exit.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Grant asks, pausing with his food in hand.
Pointing over my shoulder, I shrug. “I was going to try and find a bench outside.”
Grant rolls his eyes at my comment, which only stirs something inside me. “You’re sitting with us.”
I scoff. Who does he think he is? The last time I checked, I was my own person, and if anything, the last few months have taught me that I am capable of being on my own.
“I don’t need your handouts.”
“Stop, come sit. It’s hot as fuck outside.” If there’s one thing Grant and I share, it’s that we both want to be in control. As the oldest, he always wanted everything to be his way or the highway. The older I got, the more I tried to push his buttons and how he constantly needed to be in control. It used to drive our mom crazy because I would continuously torment him for the fun of it.
Shoulders deflating, I turn on my heels and follow him to the tables in the back corner. Heads turn as we walk between rows of tables. No doubt everyone wants to get two seconds with the hot-shot football player. But as I’m walking past a group of guys, I make awkward eye contact and get a wink in return. I swear I hear my brother growl from in front of me. The grump typically only communicates in caveman sounds.
Large, athletic guys surround three long tables. A few girls are in the mix, most of them on the laps of guys, and I can’t help scrunching my nose up at them. It’s the cafeteria, not a bar, so why not sit in your seat? Scanning the table, my eyes stop on a girl with honey-blonde hair, her nose stuck in a book as if she can’t even be bothered with the group of rowdy athletes. She looks like my kind of person.
“Campbell!” some of the guys greet my brother as he goes to sit in a vacant chair. There’s an empty seat next to him, and he pushes the chair out for me to sit in.
With a glance, I realize it’s the last one left, leaving me no choice but to take it.
“Little Campbell,” the guy across from me greets.
With a tight-lipped smile, I correct him. “It’s Bret.”
“No, right, of course,” the guy begins to backpedal his choice of name, and all I want to do is be alone. There’s a chill that runs through me as anxiety creeps in. I hate being the center of attention, and right now, I can feel eyes scanning me up and down. The girls are eyeing me skeptically as they try to figure out where I fit into the group. I can’t handle it. I’ve spent months in practical isolation, and this is all too much.
