His hand gets there first, brushing mine in the process. Even though I pull away quickly, the echo of his touch sends a spark of awareness up my arm.

“You sound skeptical, like you don’t believe in the inevitability of certain things happening.” He steps aside for me to enter. There’s an alcove and another door that leads into the actual classroom.

Maybe the guy does have a few manners, but then I remember how he checked out my chest the other night.

“You mean like being in the right place at the right time?”

“Yeah, sure. Or the opposite. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And no matter what you do, there’s no fucking way you can change what’s going to happen.” A shadow flickers behind his eyes.

“That’s an interesting way to look at it. But I don’t believe in fate. If I did, I wouldn’t be here. Fate, if you can call it that, is what we make ourselves through our own actions.”

His dark expression disappears, replaced by a wide grin that spreads across his face. It takes me by surprise. What did I say?

“God, that was so fucking cool.”

I frown. “What was?”

“You quoted Terminator 2.”

“I did? The movie?”

“Yep.”

I raise a brow. “Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s unlikely. I’ve only seen the first one.”

“You paraphrased it, but that’s one of the themes of the film. Fate isn’t set in stone. We can change our future no matter how impossible we think it might be right now.”

Change my future. That’s what I’ve been trying to do. It’s the reason I’m here at PSU in the first place. However, considering what happened this weekend, I have my doubts that I’ll ever be able to completely shake my past. Not unless I do something drastic. Like join a convent and move to South America. But even then, it’d probably find a way to haunt my dreams.

The instructor isn’t up front yet, and people are still standing around talking, so we’ve still got a few more minutes.

My tongue is as dry as if I’d been chewing on a bath towel. I reach for the water bottle tucked into a pouch on my backpack and take a drink. “And you believe that?”

He shrugs, a faraway look in his eye. “I don’t know. I guess I hope it’s possible.”

Me too.

Changing one’s future does come with a huge price. I know that better than most. If I believed in fate and destiny, I’d be in Lincoln Falls and Chase would still be alive.

Jon

The photography classroom is one of the smaller ones, with maybe forty or fifty students in the class. Rather than individual desks, there are rows of long tables and chairs like you’d find in one of the chem labs. The prof is walking to the front of the class, so Ivy and I need to find our seats.

That Terminator quote was so fucking cool, even if she didn’t do it on purpose. I spot a couple of empty seats in the back. She turns toward the front instead, but all I see are single chairs.

I hesitate and consider sitting separately. She can go up there, I’ll sit back here, and that will be that. When class is over, I’ll gather up my crap and slip out. After a few days, these routines will become habits, and Ivy will just be a cool girl I talked to a couple of times. I do still have her coat, though.

Don’t let her go.

She waits as a few students brush past us.

“Nice talking to you,” she says, throwing a glance at me over her shoulder. That’s when I notice the tattoo on the nape of her neck. It’s a small Chinese character that you wouldn’t see when her hair is down. I didn’t peg her as the type to have ink. I wonder what it means.

The problem with Ivy is that what little I know of her intrigues the hell out of me. When I got off my bike in the front of the building and saw her walking toward me, my heart lurched in my chest. It’s not often that a girl surprises me the way she does.

No, I don’t want to sit apart. I want her beside me for the next hour. Maybe she’ll want to get something to eat afterward.

Without thinking, I grab her hand. “Ivy, this way.”

Her ponytail whips in an arc around her shoulder as she snaps her head in my direction. Panic flares in her widened eyes as she stares at our joined hands.

I quickly let go. I must make her uncomfortable, because she tensed when I touched her arm outside, too. I thought I’d imagined it, but I guess not. I’m used to girls loving my attention, not being intimidated by it. What has made her so fearful of being touched? She even crawled out on a roof to get away from someone.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I point to the seats with my elbow. “Empty spots. Back here.” When she doesn’t move, I know I need to say something else, but I’m not sure what. She’s got me tongue-tied, something I don’t have much experience with. “Do you…want to sit together?”

Say yes.

She chews on her lower lip for a moment, then her gaze locks on mine with an intensity that takes my breath away. It’s as if she’s searching for something. I won’t deny it. Most girls like what they see. I assume she’s going to give in, so I give her a Jon Priestly smile.

I can almost see a curtain closing in front of her face. “I’m going to sit up front. I can see better up there. Thanks, though.”

Hold on. Did she really just turn me down? Running a hand through my hair, I watch her walk down the aisle, her thick ponytail swinging and bouncing on her back, as if she’s happy to be moving away from me. I try to conceal my disappointment as I slump down into the nearest empty seat.

She was searching for something in me and obviously didn’t find it. I fell short. An old but familiar pang gnaws at my insides. I try to ignore it, but it’s too late.

You’re not good enough, Jon. Why can’t you see that? You’ve never been good enough. You were born a loser and you’ll always be a loser.

I grab a notebook and pen from my backpack and toss them on the table in front of me, not bothering to open up a blank page. The professor welcomes everyone and says some shit about how this class can change the way we look at the world around us.

I don’t give a flying fuck. Crossing my ankle over my knee, I pick at a frayed hole in my jeans.

I had Ivy pegged as a hot mess anyway. I’ve had plenty of those girls in my life without adding another.

Ivy

My fingers curl over the keyboard like claws. I’m trying to keep them from shaking. After taking my last pill, I don’t really have a choice. I have to do this.

I open and close my fists as if I’m doing some preparatory exercises before using the computer. I need to log into my old email account and get the name of the doctor here at PSU that my therapist recommended.

I take a deep breath and pull it up. I can’t believe I even remember the password.

Sure enough, pages and pages of messages from people and businesses I don’t know fill the screen, many of them porn-related. And there are dozens of invites for pages and private online groups with hurtful names.

You’ve been invited to like the page Ivy McAllister is a Psycho Whore.

You’ve been invited to the group Ivy M. Suks Big Cock N Wants To Suk Yours.

@MagicVaj_McAllister is now following you.

I experience a little satisfaction that Aaron needs to take a few basic English classes and learn how to spell—but then that’s me, the secret nerd, for you.

It was easier to abandon this email address and delete my social media accounts than to keep wading through this garbage.