“He wants to know why yellow was the dominant color,” the voice behind me whispers. I owe that voice!

“The artist was trying to depict the ugliness in human nature. He used yellow to signify greed and arrogance. And the lone figure, painted in blue, is there for hope—that humans can redeem themselves,” I say, my voice coming through a little unsurely. I read this chapter last night, knowing I zoned out during the last lecture. I just hope I remembered things correctly—and I hope like hell that’s really what the professor asked. If not, then the voice behind me might just be trying to make me look stupid.

“Perfection,” Professor Gooding says, flipping to the next slide and picking on someone else now. I sink down into my seat, relieved.

“You’re welcome,” the voice whispers again.

“Thanks, I owe you!” I whisper back. Just then, an arm leans over my shoulder and shows me thumbs up, which makes me laugh silently and smile big.

As soon as class is over, I slide my notebook and textbook into my backpack, swinging it over my shoulder before heading to the main exit.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m a big Diet Coke drinker. Forty-four-ouncer sounds mighty nice right about now.” It’s the voice, the one from behind me. I was so much less intimidated when I thought it belonged to the thin, awkward, geeky guy who usually sits there. I’ve seen this guy before, because, well, I’m not blind. He’s not Nate, but he’s pretty damn good looking. Blond hair, broad shoulders, and now I know he has green eyes to go along with the complete package. He always wears tight T-shirts, and I’m pretty sure he does nothing but lift weights—because I can see every ab muscle through the cotton of his shirt.

“You don’t really have to buy me a drink, you know. I was happy to help,” he says, leaning in toward me with a wink. His eyes run down my body once, but quickly. I don’t think he wanted me to notice, but I did, and it makes me feel a mixture of heat and uneasiness all at once.

“Well, I was just heading home, but if you don’t mind stopping at the snack stand on my way, I’d love to treat,” I say, instantly wondering if this is flirting. I don’t want to flirt. But he’s cute, and he did something nice for me, and I am pretty sure I seem like I’m flirting. This is not flirting!

He smiles at me sideways while we walk toward the center of campus, squinting slightly when the sun cuts through the line of trees on either side of us. “All right, I’ll take you up on it,” he says, the unmistakable grin on his face confirming that yes, this is in fact flirting.

We stop at the small snack bar near the library, and I order us both large sodas. I give him his, carefully, so our hands don’t touch during the exchange. Why am I even thinking about this? Worrying about things like hands brushing, and smiles, and the fact that he’s looking at me like that again?

“I’m Tucker,” he says, reaching his hand in front of us while we start to walk again. Shit, I’m going to have to touch him.

“Hi. I’m Rowe.” I take his hand quickly and regroup my focus on my drink—also trying not to freak out over the fact that I’m pretty sure Tucker is now walking me home.

“Rowe. That’s a cool name,” he says, once again glancing at me sideways, this time holding the straw in his perfect, white teeth while he smiles. He’s cute. No, scratch that—he’s McConnell frat-boy-calendar hot. And a different me, a version without any issues, a me without a boy that I am pretty sure I want to love for a really long time, if not forever, would revel in the fact that hot-man-on-campus Tucker is obviously interested in me…in that way. But instead, all I keep thinking about is how I can lose him before we make it all the way to my building.

“Well, Tucker. Again, thank you so much for the help in class today,” I say, reaching to shake his hand before I cross the street to my dorm—like a business deal. He just laughs lightly while shaking his head, then shakes my hand back and pulls his backpack up on his shoulder.

“You got it, Rowe. Hey, I’ll see ya in class next week,” he says walking backward and leaving his eyes on me. “And thanks for the drink! Next one’s on me.”

“Sounds good.” Sounds good? No, it sounds awful, awkward, uncomfortable, stressful, unfortunate, and pretty much like the last thing I want to have happen. But the walk sign is now blinking, and Tucker has turned around, so I pick up my step and head for the front door to the dorm before he can see where I’m headed.

“Who’s mister hottie?” I hear Cass say as I round the corner to the front door to the lobby.