Chapter 1 - Magnetic Eyes
First year of college, and Emma is already trying to drag me to a party.
“I don’t feel like it,” I say, still surrounded by half-empty boxes.
“Don’t make me physically drag you,” she answers, with that face that means zero compromise.
Emma and I have been together since we were six — first day of elementary school, she sat next to me with her stuffed bear and a fringe way too long for her face. Inseparable ever since. Like my mom used to say.
I miss her so much.
I can’t think about that.
I leave the boxes. I walk into the room I’ll be sharing with my roommate. There’s already a girl inside. Huge blue eyes, short light-brown hair framing her face, almost copper where the light catches it. She’s already filled half the room with Monet posters and jars of paintbrushes — the kind of person who arrives somewhere new and makes it hers immediately, without waiting for permission.
“Hi!” Genuine smile, like actual sunshine. “Mia Bennett.”
“Alexis. Alexis Roven.”
She stands up, shakes my hand. “We’re going to be really good friends.”
She’s so sure I almost believe her.
Chi Kappa — the most famous fraternity on campus — is blasting music I can feel in my chest. People everywhere, body against body, sweat, spilled beer, someone laughing too loud. There’s even a naked guy in a bush yelling something about reptilians.
“Welcome to college,” says Emma, pulling me inside.
In the kitchen we do shots. Emma lifts hers in the air with that ceremonial thing she has for important occasions. “To the first day of the rest of our lives.”
“To the rest of our lives.”
The alcohol burns. Perfect.
Then, from somewhere across the room, Pocketful of Sunshine. OUR song. The one we used to sing in the car with my mom, the one Emma put on loop for three days the day I got my acceptance letter. Three days on loop, even at night, even while she was sleeping — because that’s just Emma. When she loves someone she keeps on loving them even when they don’t notice.
Emma screams. Mia laughs. I drag them both into the living room and we sing like crazy, completely off-key, and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that we’re new here, that we don’t know anyone, that people are looking at us like we’re ridiculous. What matters is that we’re here, together, and the song is exactly right.
And that’s when I notice him for the first time. Not his eyes — not yet. What he does. The naked guy in the bush has stopped yelling about reptilians and is now bent over vomiting, and everyone walks around him like he’s furniture. Everyone except one person. A guy gets up from his corner, walks over, holds the guy’s forehead with one hand and offers him a water bottle with the other. He does it without looking around, without anyone asking, like it’s the obvious thing to do — which it isn’t, not really. Then the drunk guy says something and he laughs — a short, real laugh that disappears as soon as he stands up and goes back to his corner.
And then he looks up. Green eyes. They find me through the crowd like I’m the only person in the room.
Not the kind of gaze that wanders, that searches, that moves from one thing to the next. It’s steady. Direct. Like someone who has already decided where to look and has no intention of stopping.
“Oh,” says Emma, because Emma always knows everything, God only knows how, “Nate Carter is staring at you.”
Same guy from before. Same corner, leaning against the wall. Except now he’s not helping anyone — he’s gone back to looking like what everyone sees: distant, closed off, brown hair falling over his eyes, defined jaw. Like that moment of kindness never happened.
And I can’t figure out how the same person can be both things.
Not a casual glance. The kind that makes you feel exposed. That says: I see you.
“Who?”
“Nate Carter. Finance major. Sophomore. Scholarship. Lives with his twin. Notoriously...” She pauses. “Complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
Emma shrugs. “Like ‘doesn’t talk to anyone, turned down Holly Sinclair three times, once made a professor cry during a debate’ complicated.”
I look at him again.
He looks at me again.
Neither of us looks away.
“Alexis,” says Emma. “That guy is a walking red flag.”
“Maybe I like red flags.”
“Jesus. You’re already screwed.”
Maybe I am.
I’m about to say something — I don’t know what, something stupid probably — when a girl walks up to him.
Tall. Beautiful in the way that makes everyone else invisible. Perfect dark skin, glossy waves falling down her back. A dress that probably costs more than my tuition.
She puts her hand on his chest. Possessive. Like: mine.
He looks away. Finally. He looks at her.
She smiles. Victory.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
Emma grimaces. “Holly Sinclair. Finance too. Rich like ‘dad owns half the city’ rich. She and Nate are...” She pauses.
“Are what?”
“On-and-off. Very off lately, I thought. But apparently...” She nods toward them.
Holly whispers something in his ear. Her hand still on his chest. He doesn’t move it.
My stomach tightens. Stupid stomach.
“See?” says Emma. “Complicated. Leave it alone.”
“There’s nothing to leave alone. It was just a look.”
“Alexis. That was not ‘just a look.’ And you know it.”
I knew. But it doesn’t matter.
Because when I look again, unable not to, he’s looking at me again.
Even with Holly attached to his arm.
Even with her hand on his chest.
His eyes are on me.
And something in his gaze says: sorry.
Or maybe: help.
Or maybe I’m just imagining it.
“Okay,” I say to Emma. “You’re right. Red flag. We’re done.”
“Good girl.”
But when I turn to walk away, I feel his eyes still on me.
And a part of me — the stupid, dangerous part — wants to turn back.
I don’t.
Not yet.
