Chapter Six

Ember

“We need to figure out a schedule.” Declan shrugs, lacing his hands through his backpack straps. “I have hockey practice practically every day, but um–“

“I know.”

“Yeah, I know you know, I just, I guess I was thinking I should get your number or something.”

“For what?” I continue, my eyes finally meeting his; they looks just as confused and unsure as I feel now.

“So, I have some way to contact you,” he adds, “so we can get a good grade on this project.”

“You have my email,” I respond. “I check it daily, so if your availability opens up, you can message me.”

I turn on my heels and walk faster than before, but unfortunately, his height gives him an advantage. He’s next to me in a matter of seconds following me to the library.

“Are there any days you aren’t available?”

For you? All of them.

“Nope.” I pop the p so he knows I’m over this conversation.

“Okay, well, this Saturday, I’m training in the morning, but I don’t know; maybe we could get together in the afternoon?”

“Sure,” I reply, hoping this gets him to leave me alone.

“Great. I guess I’ll email you my address, and you can just let me know what time you can come by.”

His house? He wants to work on the project as his house?

“Why not the library?”

“Well, I just assumed since we both live off-campus, we wouldn’t want to come here just to work in the library.”

“I don’t have any problem with it,” I argue. “I live in apartments like five minutes away.”

“Oh, um, okay. I just though it’s be easier to work at my place. And probably quieter too.”

“You’re telling me your roommates are quieter than the people in our library?” I reply.

I’ve known these guys for years, and they’re far from quiet. It’s like the only thing they know how to do is play hockey… and make noise.

“Maybe not.” He laughs, and something inside my stomach turns, hearing that sound come from him. The corners of my lips try to pull up, but I force them to stay put. “But they won’t be around. They’ll be tailgating for the football game.”

Shit. I totally forgot about the football game. The first one of the year is this Saturday… and he’s not going.

“You’re not going?” I stop to face him.

“If we finish early enough, I’ll catch the end of the game.” He shrugs. “If not, it’s no big deal. I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Okay,” I pause, “then I’ll see you Saturday.”

I don’t give him a chance to respond before I leave. I don’t turn around to see if he’s watching me, I don’t turn to see if he’s heading to his next class. I just fight these little flutters in my stomach because I know how it ends.

And I’ll be damned if I repeat freshman year.