Page 9 of Set the Moment
“Was Jace where?” a bubbly and inquisitive voice asks, bursting my thought bubble as Georgia’s intrigued face pops into my line of view.
“Bitch, oh my gosh…” I cringe back, my heart racing as she cackles, sitting back in her seat on the couch next to me.
“That was…too good,” She laughs harder, the laugh bordering a wheeze as her blonde hair shakes with her body.
I roll my eyes and throw an unfolded towel at her from my stack. We’d been originally watching TV and doing laundry today to prepare for the first of the semester tomorrow, but folding laundry quickly turned into watching the first two episodes of a new reality show called,Love in Cancun.
“No seriously. Was Jace where?” Georgia questions as she straightens up, pausing her folding as her green eyes search my face.
My nose scrunches as I tilt my head, unsure of myself.
Was that really him? Or my imagination?
Sighing, I throw my head back. A nap would answer all of my questions—my dreams never steered me wrong. Except for that one time I dreamt my toenails fell off and thought that I'd die in my sleep.
“Nothing…I just need a nap, it’s been a long day.” I sigh, massaging my scalp. “Jace doesn’t even go to this school, right?” I ask, my tone hopeful just as my cousin Cleo stumbles out of her bedroom and heads straight to the kitchen.
It’s only been four days since she and Georgia moved into our apartment, and I wouldn't be surprised if she’d started a donut collection in our cabinet. The girl’s a snacker.
“Right…hedefinitelydoesn’t go here.” Had I been paying full attention, I’d catch the inflection in Georgia’s words and the way her eyes shift quickly between the TV and I, but I’m not.
Instead, my mind wanders back to the familiar blond man and all the ways I’ve ruined our friendship.
“Did you eat all the powdered donuts, Si Si? I can’t find any!” Cleo shouts, her voice muffled by the inside of the cabinets.
“Girl, that was all you last night,” Georgia calls back, nudging my shoulder with a cheeky grin as she discreetly pulls a bag of powdered donuts out from under our coffee table, shushing me.
Masking my laugh, I force my thoughts away from the idea of the Herculean man from my past and focus my attention on the show in front of me. It’s no use when images of blond hair, tanned skin, and large, rough hands wrapped around my waist flash through my mind.
No one in their right mind likes Mondays, and I’m no different. My body feels jetlagged as I make my way across the quad towards the Bloom School of the Arts building.
A sane person would’ve dropped their 8:00 a.m. Ballet 3303 class and hit snooze without a second thought. But for me, dropping a class means failure.
I refuse to be a failure.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise at the thought of imperfection. I have bigger fish to fry and failing isn’t one of them.
Speaking of fish…I haven’t checked anything off of my list in days. Rummaging through my bag, I pull out the small, crisp, pristine list of tasks I have to complete before my 21st birthday on December 31st.
Yes, I’m a New Years Eve kid. No, it’s not as fun as you think. I have had little to no experience in life. Sure, I’ve drank a few times with my cousin and her friends, but I’ve never gotten drunk. I’ve never dated anyone for fear of what my parents would think. Oh, and my first kiss was…something.
I gulp as I think back to that day two years ago just as my body is jerked forward and I brace for impact with the concrete.
Only for it to never come.
“Shit, I’m so sor—Sienna?” A deep voice calls my name, and I freeze.
It’s the guy from last night. Anthony? Ashton? I can’t remember what his name was for the life of me. He smiles down at me, steadying me as he looks me over. His deep brown skin glows in the sunlight and his height almost shields me from the sun. Today, he’s wearing a green sweater and jeans, typical for the early autumn weather here in Maryland. I’ll admit, the man is handsome.
I tilt my head, trying to come up with his name.
“Aric.” He chuckles, and I laugh awkwardly.
“Right, sorry. Things were hectic last night. Are you going to the Bloom building?”
Aric’s smile brightens, a row of blinding, straight, white teeth flash me as he speaks. “Yes, actually. I have a painting course at eight.”
“Painting?” My voice is distant to my ears as my mind sends thoughts to my brain—a clear image of a blond boy holding a paintbrush with a cheeky smile as he paints a picture of me.
