by McKinley May
"Well?" Coach prods. "How'd it go?"
"Not bad." I rest my forearms on the raised bar counter and shrug. "Except for the part where she told me to stop talking and jumped out the window."
"What?!" Erika flings her spatula up in surprise, a splatter of pancake batter now coating the ceiling. "Cameron! We shouldn't just let her up and leave." Her eyebrows squish together in contemplation. "Should we? I don't know what's appropriate. All the information about raising teens on the internet contradicts itself. This parenting thing is going to be..." Her words trail off as she shakes her head. "I want to do this right. For her."
Coach walks up behind his wife, rubbing her back in reassurance. "You're going to do fine. We're going to do fine. Look." He points out the bay window. "There she is, right out front. She'll be alright."
"If you say so." Erika flips a perfectly cooked pancake and adds it to a hearty stack, gooey chocolate chips melting down the sides. "But I still want you to bolt that window shut!"
"On it." Coach scratches his head. "But I could've sworn her room already had a sealed window. Guess not."
"Speaking of her bedroom..." I interject. "Ruffles and bows and dolls? She was on the verge of a freaking brain aneurism at the sight."
"The moment I picked her up this morning, I knew I screwed up," Erika admits with a frown. "I'm going to have to take her to the store and let her pick out a few things. I swear she was all about sparkles and dresses three months ago. This current fashion statement is new to me."
Coach grins. "She's always had a flair for the outlandish."
"This is true." Erika blows a stray piece of hair from her face and meets my gaze. "What are the kids calling her look nowadays? Goth? Emo? Punk?"
"Not a damn clue," I say as I raise my shoulders. "But it kinda freaks me out."
"She's just finding herself, I suppose." She cranes her neck, taking another peek at Bev skating in the street. "You'll need to keep an eye on her during y'all's meet-ups."
Coach nods in agreement. "Still good with a few hours every Sunday afternoon?"
I scrub a hand over my face. "I dunno if she's gonna be down for that."
Translation: I don't know if I'm gonna be down for that.
"I don't want you to feel forced into this, Cameron, but we'd really love if you could spend some time with her," Erika reiterates as she removes the final pancake and flips the griddle off. "Bev's social worker said it'd be extremely productive for her to talk with someone who grew up in a similar situation. You, in particular, because you've escaped a negative environment and found success in both academics and athletics."
Coach gives a sharp nod. "You're a true example of overcoming your circumstances, son. It'd be fantastic for her to see that it's possible."
The guilt-trip is real, but the intentions behind it are commendable. This isn't about dumping Bev off to get her out of their hair for a couple hours every weekend—it's about doing what's best for the kid. They'll do everything they can to fill in the cracks of her shitty upbringing with happy memories and positive role models.
In case you haven't been clued in already, the Hansons are fucking amazing people.
Erika's selfless and pure-hearted. Coach is, too, although it's hidden behind his tough, man-in-charge exterior.
If it wasn't for these two, I wouldn't have discovered my penchant for soccer. I wouldn't be in college right now. Hell, with the route I was headed down, I probably wouldn't've even graduated high school.
And that's exactly why I swallow my hesitation and give in.
"Sunday afternoons sound good."
4
It's Tuesday afternoon, and somehow I've survived my first day and a half as a Windhaven student. Although my 'college freshman' status is still brand stinkin' new, I've already endured my fair share of stereotypical university experiences.
Got lost on campus no less than five times.
Offered drugs in the lobby of my dorm by some self-proclaimed "chemistry students".
And I learned my lesson on the importance of wearing shower shoes in the communal bathrooms. Still dunno wtf I stepped on last night, and I'm not sure I want to know...
But I was prepared for all of the above.
Vaughn and Rayne sat me down last week and spouted off a mile-long list of things I should expect to encounter this year. My brother told me to steer clear of horny frat boys, Rayne encouraged me to avoid jaywalking because you will get ticketed by campus police, and a hundred more random-but-useful tips followed.
Overall, their advice has been super helpful.
There is one thing I wasn't forewarned about, though. Something I'd have liked a heads-up on.
The infamous college squirrel.
These suckers are not your everyday suburban rodents—the kind that mind their business and collect nuts like they're supposed to.
Nope.
These Windhaven squirrels have evolved. They're aggressive, tenacious, and downright frightening examples of their innocent counterparts. I've already been subjected to their evils a few times. Like yesterday, for example, when one of the bushy-tailed beasts swiped a protein bar straight from my hand while I tried to enjoy a snack in the quad.
And as I currently make my way to lunch, I've found myself in yet another confrontation with one of these annoying creatures. The pesky little devil is squaring off with me on the sidewalk, refusing to let me pass.
I go left, he goes left.
I veer right, he mirrors me once more.
And when I take a step forward, he climbs on my sneaker until I squeal and shake him off.
Seriously—what is with these things?!
I cross my arms, releasing an impatient sigh before I try a new technique.
"Excuse me, sir. Could you please step aside?" I ask in my politest tone.
A myriad of mumbles and snickers come from the other side of the street. I glance up to see a crowd of entertained students observing the show.
Great.
An audience.
I glare at the hairy nuisance. "People are starting to stare. Maybe because you're being so rude and won't let me go by!"
Or, you know, maybe because I just addressed a squirrel as 'sir'...
"I'm tired of this game," I hiss. "And I'm freaking starving. Get out of the way!"
One of the spectators lifts his phone, ready to film a viral video at my expense, so I know it's now or never.
I back up a few steps, grip the straps of my thrifted backpack, and take a running leap over the pest. The jump is massive—one that could possibly get me a spot on the track and field team—and the dead sprint that follows isn't too bad, either.
It's five 'til noon, which means campus is bristling with students on their way to class, but there's no need for me to carefully dodge through the mass of people. My look of pure fear and the whirlwind speed at which I'm moving has them parting like the Red Sea.
I don't hit the brakes until I spot a plaque that reads Huntington Hall—the dorm Vaughn told me to meet him at for a midday meal.
Immediately, I duck inside.
First thing I do is whip off my bag, checking to make sure the squirrel didn't jump up and cling onto my back à la Christmas Vacation.
When I'm positive I'm safe, I follow the crowd swarming the cafeteria entrance.
The dorm buffet is huge, the options are endless, and I'm incredibly impressed; it's so much better than the scoops of puke-green mush they served in high school. Before I know it, I've got two plates full.
As I make my way into the large seating area, I spot my bro waving me towards his table.
Rayne flanks his left, her toffee-colored hair braided into two long pigtails. Weston and his girlfriend, Lexie Montgomery, are across from the pair. The newest couple are still in that sweet honeymoon phase: giddy, radiant, and as handsy as is acceptable in a public setting.
Everyone gives me a bright smile as I drop into an empty chair.
"Why are your cheeks all red?" Vaughn asks. "Gym?"
I shake my head before explaining my disheveled appearance. "I got into it with a squirrel."
Rayne nods knowingly. "Say no more."
"Those things are freaky," Weston adds. "When I was a freshman, one of the fuckers bit me. Legit sank his vampire teeth into my leg and broke the skin."
With a boisterous laugh, Vaughn kicks his friend's shin. "What the hell are you talking about? That didn't happen."
"Swear on my life, man." Weston's hazel eyes narrow. "Had to get a goddamn rabies shot. It was fucking traumatizing."
"That does explain some things, actually." Vaughn rubs his chin, an impish glint in his gaze. "That foaming at the mouth problem you had was nasty as hell."
"You're right, dude," Weston deadpans. "Glad I got that under control. Not sure Barbie would've gone for me otherwise."
He drapes an arm around his girlfriend's shoulder and squeezes. She rolls her eyes in response, grinning at their stupid joke.
"I dunno. Rabies kisses might be a turn-on for some." My brother looks at Lexie with raised brows. "You into that, Lex?"
Her horrified "eww!" has both of the immature guys cracking up.
"Can we not talk about germ-infested squirrels right now?" Rayne groans. "I'm trying to enjoy my meal over here."
"Fine, fine."
The boys obey as Lexie trains her eyes on me. "Okay, Sydney. I'm putting you on the spot. What's the verdict?"
"Verdict?" I slant my head. "On kissing someone with rabies or...?"
"College, silly!"
"Oh." I bop myself on the forehead. "Duh!"
Lexie releases a bubbly laugh and pulls her blonde hair over one shoulder, the tips of her luscious locks a vibrant lime-green shade. "How are you liking Windhaven?"
"I don't have much to go on yet, but I love it so far." I pop a piece of grilled pineapple sprinkled with toasted coconut into my mouth and hold back an appreciative moan. Is this a school cafeteria or a Hawaiian resort? After swallowing the tropical bite, I continue. "Campus is beyond gorgeous, my professors seem chill, and the no-dress-code thing is cool, too."
Not even exaggerating when I say that is one of my favorite college perks thus far. It is so refreshing to wear athletic shorts and tank-tops to class without getting sent to the principal and having to plead my case.
I swear I'm not trying to be revealing—I'm just trying not to die of heatstroke!
"And the roommate situation? How is it? I hope you didn't get stuck with a dud like I did," Rayne jokes.
"Hey!"
Lexie puts on a mock-frown before throwing a grape at her best friend's face. The tiny fruit bounces off Rayne's forehead and into her outstretched palm. She pops it in her mouth with a sly smirk.
"I'm totally kidding. I hope you're lucky enough to find yourself a Lexie and end up rooming with them all four years. It's made my college experience so much more fun."
"How is your roommate, Syd?" Vaughn butts in with a frown. "You haven't told me anything. Not sure if that's a good sign or a bad one."
"Missing in action," I respond with a shrug. "I tried to look her up on social media, but no luck. The only Meredith Gossman I found online was an elderly lady who just celebrated her 91st birthday. Call me crazy, but I don't think she's a Windhaven freshman."
"You never know. It could be her," Vaughn cracks. "All kinds of people enroll in college nowadays. If you're nice, she might even teach you how to crochet or some shit."
"She did look like the sweetest little grandma ever," I say with a chuckle. "I wouldn't be disappointed if she showed up."
An image of a granny-chic dormitory flashes through my mind. Every surface is adorned with lace doilies, dusty knick-knacks, and hand-sewn quilts, and it's actually kinda cute. Sure, we might eat dinner by 4 p.m. and go to sleep before the sun sets, but I could probably get used to the senior-citizen schedule.
"But seriously. What is it with people not showing up on time for the start of the semester?" Weston interrupts my musings and shakes his head. "My new roommate's not gonna be here until Friday night—an entire week overdue. I mean, hell. I'm in contention for Windhaven's laziest student and even I wouldn't pull that shit. It doesn't make any fucking sense."
"Very strange," Rayne agrees before turning to me. "So you're all alone in your dorm room? Is that weird for you?"
"Not at all," I admit. "I rented out an itty-bitty studio apartment my last year of high school. I'm used to living by myself."
"Oh?" Confusion weaves its way through her tone. "I didn't know that."
I give a nonchalant nod. Just as she starts to question me further, a food-filled tray crashes to the table with a deafening thud.
My eyes instinctively snap toward the sound. They travel up the strong arms responsible for the disruption, then slowly roam over the chiseled jaw and sharp cheekbones of Vaughn's housemate, Cameron.
"'Bout damn time you showed up, Collins," Weston says. "Where you been?"
"Class. Baker Auditorium's all the way across campus." He relaxes into the seat with a deep exhale. "Took fucking forever to get here."
"Ah, shit. I think my afternoon class is in that building." Weston scratches the back of his neck. "Where the hell is it? By the baseball fields?"
"No, dude. The football stadium," Vaughn corrects.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Open your Windhaven app and I'll show you."
As Vaughn teaches Weston how to read a campus map, Cameron grabs his black coffee cup. He pours the steaming liquid down his throat, pupils bouncing around the inhabitants of the rectangular table. When he finally notices me, his gaze latches onto mine, surprise and a hint of familiarity glistening within.
Without breaking eye-contact, he sets the beverage down and wipes his full lips with a napkin.
"Sydney." He tips his chin at me in greeting.
"Cameron." I return the nod.
"Almost forgot you're a Warrior now."
"Yep," I respond as smoothly as I can manage. "Guess you'll be seeing me a lot this year."
"Guess I will."
A small smile curves his mouth, the sexy gesture causing my face to flush red for reasons other than a squirrel attack.
Look...there's something you need to know about my brother's best friends.
They're all ridiculously hot.
Like, unbelievably good-looking.
And it's not a result of the infamous "cheerleader effect"—a phenomenon where a group of girls or guys seem attractive as a whole, but when assessed on an individual basis they're kinda just mehhh.
That's not the case with Vaughn's roommates.
Each one is gorgeous in his own right.
Diego and those warm brown eyes that crinkle with his contagious laughter.
Parker's nerd, but make it hot black-framed glasses.
Liam and his posh British accent that could make a woman of any nationality swoon.
Weston's boy-next-door appearance and cute-as-hell dimples.
And then there's Cameron Collins...
In my personal opinion, he's in a league of his own.
The tall goalkeeper's all massive biceps and powerful thighs and corded muscles bulging under bronzed skin. He's got thick, dirty blonde hair peppered with natural highlights courtesy of summer soccer training. They're the kind of sun-kissed strands women pay out the wazoo to mimic.
With his killer lopsided smile and two stormy-gray pools for eyes, he's the kind of guy who's so dang attractive it legitimately hurts to look at him for too long.
Like staring at a freaking solar eclipse.
I met him last winter and ran into him a couple more times after that. Although our encounters were few and far between, they were enough to determine I find him crazy-stupid hot.
But nothing's going to come of it.
Here's why:
1. He's a senior and I'm a freshman.
2. Vaughn's constantly-vocalized "no dating my little sister" rule
&
3. Soccer comes first. Unless he happen
s to morph into a black-and-white ball, my attention needs to be elsewhere.
"Look, don't touch" is my motto for the male species this year.
And that's exactly what I do for the rest of lunch.
I stuff my face and enjoy the view as I try to keep up with the group conversation. The inside jokes, discussions about Windhaven players I'm unfamiliar with, and other esoteric topics leave my head spinning.
I'm definitely feeling my place as the youngest and newest member of the squad, but I know I'll feel at home soon enough.
After forty minutes, those who have 1 p.m. classes start to take off. Lexie leaves for an interior design course, dragging Weston along with her to make sure he doesn't skip his next lecture.
Rayne is third to go, a pout on her face as she stands.
"I've got a sports media seminar." She rests her chin on the top of Vaughn's head and sighs as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. "I'll catch you guys later."
"Bye, Raynie. Text me if class gets too boring."
"Will do." She tilts Vaughn's head back and gives him an upside-down kiss.
"See ya, Sportscaster Girl," Cam calls out as Rayne fades from view.
I don't know a whole lot about Cameron, but there's one thing I picked up on from the get-go—he has a funny quirk of giving all his friends fitting monikers.
With her waist-length blonde hair and tall stature, Lexie is 'Barbie'. Parker and the Clark Kent glasses have him referred to as 'Superman'. And Weston's 'Casanova', although that one needs an update considering he's a one-woman man nowadays.
Each of the boys and their girlfriends get a special name, and you know what?
I think I need one, too.
"What's my nickname?" I blurt out.
Bold move, but hey. If you want something, you've gotta ask for it.
"Your nickname?" He looks amused at the question.
"Yeah. You're the king of nicknames," I explain before leaning forward against the table-top. "So what's mine?"
"You don't get one," Vaughn grumbles in the bossy dad-voice he reserves specifically for me.
I glare in his direction as Cameron overrides his statement.
