Step One: Find a Partner. Step Two: Panic
I slipped on my favourite yellow floral dress.
“It’s the first day of sophomore year, and you are so gonna rebrand your image, girl.”
Smiling at my reflection, I nodded in approval, grabbed my things, and stepped out of the dorms—straight into the scorching July heat.
“Ugh, I’m sweating already. I hate this.”
Speed-walking to the academic building, I fanned myself, gathering what little social energy I had. With a confident smile, I strutted into the hallway, my eyes immediately locking onto the notice board. There it was, in bold capital letters:
DANCE COMPETITION.
“I’m so gonna enter this,” I declared, my voice echoing through the corridor.
A sly laugh cut through my confidence.
“Are you sure?”
I turned to see my best friend smirking.
“Huh? Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? It’s dance, girl. I slay even in my sleep.”
She tapped a finger on the poster. My eyes followed hers—right below the big letters were the rules:
‘Duo entries only.’
‘Couples will be prioritized.’
Excuse me?!
“WHAT KIND OF RULES ARE THESE?” I practically screamed.
“How am I supposed to find a goddamn partner in two weeks?”
“You could ask him out.” She gestured toward an oh-so-gorgeous guy leaning casually against a locker.
“Nah.”
“Why not? He’s not bad.”
Shrugging, my mind raced.
“How about...” I grinned mischievously.
“No.”
“Pleaseee?” I hit her with my best puppy-dog eyes.
“Nope. The last thing I want is for people to think we’re dating.”
“But you know I don’t want to be paired with some random guy. They just use and throw. Come on, you’re my bestie!”
“Jane, it’s time you left the past behind and tried meeting new people.” She crossed her arms, giving me the look.
My shoulders slumped. She wasn’t wrong.
I’d been closed off since my last heartbreak—not even a real relationship, just another case of me getting too attached too fast. I didn’t miss them. I missed the idea of them. And more than anything, I feared the next person would do the same. It had already happened three times. That kind of thing messes you up.
Oh, great. Look at me oversharing before even introducing myself. Typical.
I’m Jane. Jane Evans. (Yes, I just used the James Bond reference. Cite it, author.)
I’m a sophomore, better known as that outcast who only ever hangs out with her best friend—who, let’s be real, I might just be tolerating to avoid complete social isolation.
Relationships? Disaster. Friendships? Equally cursed. Family? Don’t even get me started.
Basically, I’m a walking trust issue.
Anyway. Back to my tragedy.
I took a deep breath and followed the guy my friend pointed out. If I wanted to make a name for myself in the dance world, I had to enter this competition. Scouts from major companies were coming. This was my chance.
And then—
“FUCK.”
Before I could even say “hi,” life flipped me off.
There he was kissing some girl.
UGH.
