When I started thinking about one of the history essays I’d read two days prior at Carson’s house, that’s when I knew I was in trouble.

It’s the team’s open week, so it’s the only Saturday for a long while that Carson won’t be busy, and I want him to spend it with me.

Insane! Of the certifiable sort.

He doesn’t answer when I text, even though he told me earlier today I could come over if I got bored. His apartment community is gated, but the gate automatically opens if a car pulls up close enough. Not exactly a stellar security measure. He’s in building ten, and there must be a party happening in one of the other apartments, because the parking lot is completely full. I have to circle back around and park down by building six just to find a space.

I should probably be nervous, but somehow in all the jumble of things I’m feeling . . . nerves are nowhere near the top of the list.

Stella’s stupid painting is in my car, and really, I blame it for the reckless way I’m feeling. Well, it can share the blame with Carson’s killer arms anyway.

When I pass building eight, my suspicions of a party are confirmed. There are half a dozen people outside on the sidewalk smoking, and I can hear music trickling out of a closed door behind them. One of the guys smoking catches my eye and nods a hello as I pass. I smile, but then focus my head forward and down toward the sidewalk, walking a little faster.

I don’t expect anyone here to recognize me, but I’d prefer to get to Carson’s quickly all the same. There had been one too many times in my life when a complete stranger had approached me at the mall or the grocery store or wherever to proclaim, “You’re the Cole girl, aren’t you? Spitting image of your dad.”

I’d never understood that. I didn’t think Dad and I looked anything alike. My red hair came from the mom I never knew. Dad’s is a dark brown, peppered with strands of gray. He is hulking and huge, and my figure could barely rival that of a telephone pole. Our height, I guess, could be it. I’m tall for a girl. And maybe our noses and eyes are similar, but how that could allow a total stranger to pick me out in public as his child, I’ll never know.

My phone buzzes with a text as I come up on building ten. I drag it out, expecting it to be Carson. It’s Stella.

Would you hate me forever if I

hooked up with Silas Moore?

Silas? As in, the dude who’s

friends with Levi and tried to sleep

with me at the frat party, Silas?

Yep. That’s the one.

Jesus Christ.

Did he show up to your art

party? I don’t understand.

Nah. I got bored after you left, and

hopped to another party.

You do know he’s slept with like

half the girls on campus.

And I’ve not heard any of

them complaining.

Are you kidding? I’ve seen at least

two girls cry over him, and I don’t

even do the party scene.

They’re not crying because he’s

bad in bed. They’re crying

because they thought they’d be

the one to tame him. I have no

such illusions.

You’re crazy.

I know. But will you be mad?

I hesitate and then reply.

Of course not. I can’t stand the

dude, but do what you want.

She sends back a fist-pump emoticon followed by a smiley blowing me a kiss.

I’d halted at the bottom of the stairs to Carson’s place, not trusting myself to climb and text at the same time. I jog up them quickly now, feeling a slight chill creep through my leather jacket. Even though a couple weeks have passed since the the first game, it’s just now starting to smell like football season, that slightly damp, grassy smell that most people probably just call fall.

I knock, and then shove my fists into my pockets, glad at least that I didn’t give in when Stella tried to push me to wear a skirt to that party. The only noise that follows my knock is the whining chirps of a dozen or so crickets huddled close to the wall of the building. I shiver. Crickets. Just another reason to despise fall. They come out in plague proportions.

I knock again, bouncing on my toes, finally feeling those nerves.

I pull out my phone to text him, but suddenly don’t want him to know that I came all the way over here without actually knowing for sure that he wanted to hang out. I head back down the stairs and back toward my car, nursing my disappointment. Even if Stella weren’t currently trying to score with douche-lobster Silas, I still wouldn’t feel like joining her at another party. I love her, but I’m not much of a drinker, and the only other thing to do there is listen to drunk conversations that I find only slightly less annoying than people’s compulsion to post pictures of their food online.

I’m two buildings away from my car when I pause by the party I noticed on the way in. Maybe that’s where he is? Maybe he didn’t hear his phone over the music?

I hesitate just long enough for the smoker I smiled at on my way over to notice me. He’s alone now, a cigarette still dangling from his mouth.

“Back so soon?” he asks.

He’s wearing a beanie that it’s not quite cold enough for, but with his scruffy jaw and surprisingly pretty curly black hair, it works. He’s also one of those guys with impossibly pretty eyes and long eyelashes. He puts the cigarette to his lips and takes a slow drag.

“Looking for a friend, but he’s not home.”

Smoke curls slowly out of his mouth, and he smiles. “You could make some new friends. We’re a friendly bunch. Promise.”

I’m the one who has friendliness issues.

I contemplate how I might find out if Carson’s inside without actually admitting that I’m looking for him.

“You live here?” I ask.

He shakes his head, tapping at his cigarette to release some ash from the tip. “Nah. But I’m here a lot.” He nods at the apartment behind him. “This is my friend Ryan’s place. You live around here?”

“No. I, uh, live on campus.”

He hums around his cigarette before giving a close-lipped smile.

“Freshman.”

“Yeah, so?” I’m defensive, which is stupid. I mean, the whole freshmen are so lame tripe is annoying, but I could care less. I’m just annoyed that I don’t know where Carson is. And I’m annoyed that I care enough to be annoyed.

I’m kind of annoying myself.