Page 6 of Chess Not Checkers
“There are pastries for everyone in the kitchen,” I call out after kicking the door shut.
I hear muffled thanks from my roommates. Everyone is likely getting ready. Saylor said she would have a color-coded calendar ready with all our schedules on it by tonight, but until then, I don’t know what times everyone will be here or not. It’s been weird settling into living with people other than Dahlia and Levi, but I’m hopeful for the year to come.
I hurry to my room to grab my backpack and check that my laptop and file folder are in there. Then I throw my keys, a lip balm, and a Thrashers sweatshirt inside and zip up the plain black bag. With my bag packed to Dahlia’s standards, I head back to the kitchen to get a water bottle, pastry, and coffee.
“I’m heading to class,” I yell as I pull a cinnamon roll out of the bag and set it on a napkin. The sticky, sweet icing coats my fingers. I lick it off and make sure to grab a few napkins.
Saylor’s door opens and she pokes her head out. Her shiny blonde hair is up in curlers, and she has brown streaks of contour around the perimeter of her face. “Have a great day! I’ll be home by five, and after I organize all my syllabi and set up my planner, I’ll color-code our apartment calendar.”
“Sounds great,” I say with a little laugh.
Saylor is the most systemized and regimented human I’ve ever met. She spent our first few days in the apartment organizing every room she was allowed into. I told her not to worry about helping with mine, but I’m now regretting my decision. I’m sure I’d be a lot further along if I had her supervising. I wanted to do it myself as a part of thenew melife, but I quickly fell short. Again. My track record is splendid thus far.
She disappears back into her room. Marigold and Aurora’s doors don’t open, so I head out. The entire building is abuzzwith first-day jitters. The lobby seems busier than ever, and the pathways outside are no different. My stomach flips. I practiced my route more than once, but it’s more intimidating to navigate the campus when it’s so alive with people. Every building is a monolith of brick and ivy, and all of the students seem to know exactly where they’re headed. No one is squinting at the campus map on their phone.
Sunlight beams down on me like a spotlight. Can they all tell I’m a freshman? I bet they can. I take a sip of my iced coffee, though I’m not sure caffeine is needed, given that my heart is already pounding in my chest. Suddenly, the cinnamon roll in my hand isn’t appetizing; it’s just an obstacle in the way of me checking my phone for where to go.
I draw in a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, then let it out. My sister taught me the breathing exercise when I first dealt with anxiety during my junior year of high school. She wanted to help me even more, but I didn’t want to put anything else on her shoulders. The breathing exercise helps slow my racing thoughts, though, and I’m able to recall the route I walked before without trashing my breakfast.
One long walk of dodging other students and trying to look confident later, I manage to find the building for my first class with five minutes to spare. I make a note to thank Dahlia and Levi, because if I would have tried to get coffee myself, I wouldn’t have made it in time. And while my room might be a mess, I take first impressions very seriously. I can’t have the professor thinking I’m incapable of reading a simple map.
A blast of AC makes me sigh in relief as I enter through the revolving door of the building. I wind my way through the stream of students, getting bumped by backpacks and the occasional reusable water bottle. Eventually, I find the lecture hall for the Entrepreneurial Marketing class. My chest rises as Idraw in another deep breath, then push open the door wearing my best cheerleader smile.
Inside, the professor, Dr. Poulter, smiles back at me. I look at the tiered seating, intent on snagging a seat in the second row. The first row looks too eager, but the second row shows dedication to the subject. My smile falters when I see there’s only one seat left in the row.
And it’s next to Shepherd Kinglsey.
Chapter four
Networking
Shepherd Kingsley
“Is this seat taken?” Jasmine gestures to the chair my backpack is propped up in. I set it there to secure a little breathing room. Given my position as starting quarterback, seats around me tend to fill up quickly with people who would rather ask me about football than work on assignments. I would have gone so far as to put something in the seat to my left, if it wasn’t for the fact that one of the guys from chess club, Barrett, walked into class with me and sat there.
I glance around, note the extra seats in the room, and smirk. “No, it’s not.”
I tug my backpack off the chair and set it next to my feet. The lecture hall is composed of a series of risers, each one lined with long tables and several chairs that are a touch too close for comfort. At the very bottom of the risers is the professor’s desk, and a large smartboard that currently readsWelcome to Entrepreneurial Marketing with Dr. Poulter.
“I know your ego is insufferably large, but did you really need two seats?” Jasmine asks with a huff as she sits down. “What if this class was full and someone needed this chair?”
I give her a flat look. “Then I would have moved my bag like I did just now. Isn’t it a little early in the morning for insults, Chamberlain?”
She pulls a gray laptop out of her backpack. The scent of cinnamon rolls bathes my senses. I resist the urge to inhale a little deeper. Her glossy lips purse in disgust.
“It’s certainly much too early to see your face.”
I huff a laugh and shake my head. “Plenty of women would disagree with you.”
“And I think you already know how I feel about majorities,” she replies.
I smirk. “Does that mean you think themajorityof women find me attractive?”
She rolls her eyes and opens her laptop. The background is a family photo. My coach, Sebastian Holt, and his wife, MJ, are in it, since they’re loosely related to Jasmine by marriage, or something I haven’t quite figured out. All the Carters and Holts are smiling big. There are even a few dogs in it. The whole thing is so perfect it makes my chest hurt.
I don’t think my parents have ever had a family photo made. They’re very hands-off. Once my brother Jason was old enough to drive us both to practice, they stopped coming to watch us play. Even when we were too young to drive, they would pawn us off on other parents on the team. We never went without material things we needed or wanted, butlove? We were starved for that. Jason still would be if he hadn’t found his wife, Willow. Yet another way he’s better than me.
I push away the storm of sadness encroaching on my mind and focus on Jasmine. Having her sit next to me is an opportunity I can’t neglect.
