Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Not a chance. I might decide that place isn’t for me.”
Orientation had definitely been eye-opening. Right away I noticed the class differences, and we fell squarely on the low-income side. Despite Pete thinking I looked the part, I knew I would never measure up to the other students who came from wealthy families. But since the university was known for its fine arts program, I still had hopes I’d find more students like me.
“Nah, you’ll figure it out because you’re brilliant. Plus, it’s everything you dreamed of.”
My chest filled with warmth. “Thanks, man.”
I got to the bus stop just in time, stepping up and scanning my pass so I could ride to the other, less run-down side of Forest Glenn. The bus jostled me as it got rolling, but I was able to hang on and move down the aisle to take a seat beside an older woman with a kind smile. I offered her a Jolly Rancher after I popped a watermelon one in my mouth, but she declined.
Twenty minutes and many stops later, I stood as the bus jerked to a halt and got out, my heart pounding in my throat. I walked a block until the university came into view, stealing my breath.
The campus looked like a postcard with its rolling hills, stately brick facades, and the bell tower that stood like a tall beacon over all of them. I suddenly remembered the student tour guide telling the group that the buildings were a blend of Georgian, Gothic, and Victorian styles and that the bell in the tower was the original from the 1800s and was rung every morning at eight, even on holidays, by the groundskeeper. It was to signal the start of classes, but university life had changed since, and obviously not all students had early classes. Still, I thought it a cool tradition.
I blinked as I came to a stop at the ornate iron gate that bore the Roosevelt College seal, unable to believe I was a student here on my first day of college.
As I made my way down the grand walkway lined with towering pine trees and lush gardens, the students came into view, sprawled over tables, on benches, and on the patch of grass near the main building. There were enough of them to make you wonder if most did, in fact, start their classes early. The student center, if I remembered correctly, led to sheltered walkways that connected to several other buildings. Apparently, it was one of the updates made a decade ago to help students traverse the campus in inclement weather. And there were plenty of those days in Western New Jersey.
Suddenly my legs felt like cement, and I considered turning and running the hell back home. No way did I belong with these other students, who had an air of sophistication about them. But then I thought of my mom’s advice to hold my head high, so I took a deep breath and kept going. I got some curious looks, but luckily, my feet never faltered.
“Who the hell is that?” I heard as I passed by a group of students seated at a table. “And why is his jacket so shiny?”
“Made of vinyl, maybe.”
“What’s with the Band-Aids on his fingers?”
My cheeks heated, and I curled my hand, wrapping it tightly around the strap of my backpack. If I’d known I’d be scrutinized that closely, I would’ve worn gloves or something. They definitely didn’t want to see the raw, red skin underneath the Band-Aids.
Don’t look. Keep walking. But I couldn’t help myself. I glanced over my shoulder at the group of students, most of whom looked bulky—let me guess, football players?
My gaze landed on a handsome guy with dark hair, who was the only one not snickering in my direction. In fact, he seemed annoyed. And he looked older—or was it more mature?
Why did he look so familiar?
All at once the bell clanged noisily—so that was what it sounded like—and my head whipped toward the tower standing prominently behind the gardens. On cue, most students rose, likely those of us who had classes at ten after eight, and converged toward the steps leading to the main building while a few walked in other directions.
I was hyperaware that the group poking fun was behind me, and not wanting to entertain anymore scrutiny, I stepped aside to let them pass.
“C’mon, Henners,” one of the guys said, jostling the handsome dude’s arm. He seemed in a daze, or maybe just tired on a Monday morning.
Suddenly a memory from my time in the hospital hit me: “My teammates call me Henners.”
No, it couldn’t be. Henry Albrecht? His hair was longer on top now but still cut short on the sides, his bangs framing those dark eyes. Except now he was a giant. Tall and hulking, he could probably lift me off my feet with one arm.