Corey was the first boy I ever loved, and as much as I never wanted to see him ever again after he proposed to me unexpectedly in front of a crowd, he probably didn't want to see me even more. But there were some problems that were bigger than anything between us, and I hoped that he would see that.

"Is this going to be too much for you right now? If you want, I'll just talk to him so you don't have to," Ryan said.

I shook my head. "I'm fine, Ryan. I wouldn't have come up with this plan if I didn't feel strong enough to handle it in a professional manner."

"I don't doubt that at all. You just don't trust me to ask the questions you want, do you?"

I didn't answer that. That was one hundred percent the case. Instead, I knocked on the door to Corey's dorm room, and judging by the somersaults my stomach was doing with every passing second, I hoped he was at football practice or class or something. Someone rustled inside, though, and it looked like I would have to face him.

"Layla," Corey said as he opened the door with his eyebrows raised.

I didn't even give him a chance to say anything else before I began my script. "I'm not here for you. I'm here because I need to do my job and talk to you about something that happened at the party the other day."

"Is this about Courtney?" he asked.

I nodded. "I'm just trying to get to the bottom of what happened. You know, get some justice for Courtney."

He stepped aside to let Ryan and me into his room. "Let's talk."

A gesture as simple and patient as that was why I let him lead us to the University of Wisconsin where we could both follow our dreams, but I couldn't let that distract me now. I had work to do.

"If you're here to accuse me of drugging her, I would never do anything like that, and I hope you know that," he began as I sat down at the desk next to his bed. Ryan stood beside me as I took out my notepad and pen to scribble down whatever specifics Corey could give me.

I shook my head. "I absolutely don't think you would try to hurt anyone like that, but I can't write an article based on that. I need as much information as you can give me. I was sitting next to her and talking to her right before it happened, and Ryan and I found her unconscious on the bathroom floor, but maybe someone else saw something that they are willing to tell us."

"I'm Ryan," Ryan said and extended his hand.

Corey hesitated before he shook it. "Nice to meet you."

I took in a breath. Could they be any more awkward? "He was the one who encouraged me to go to the party, for, um, obvious reasons," I said and left it at that.

"Well, if you're expecting one of the boys to narc on another, I think you're in for a sad reality check," Corey said and finally took a seat on his bed across from me.

"I thought about that, but I couldn't be proud of myself if I didn't even try."

He nodded. "I wish I could tell you that I saw something, but you know more about what happened than I do. I had just arrived when I heard all the commotion upstairs."

"Do you know anyone who was there earlier? Have you heard anyone talk about anything?"

"I can help you with that," he said. "What do you want? Names?"

I nodded. "That would be great, and I'll handle it from there. I could also use your written consent that I'm allowed to talk to them after our incident."

Corey took in a breath and stood up. As a lineman, he was a big guy, but I was used to him towering over me when it could have easily been intimidating. "Layla, would you stop referencing that if you're not willing to have a discussion about it? It's done. I thought you'd like a good surprise for once in your life."

I crossed my arms. "Something like that shouldn't be a complete, out-of-left-field surprise. I have other responsibilities that I have to handle, and I thought you knew that better than anyone."

"I don't know why you always do that. Everything is only your problem, and you can't accept help from anyone else."

Ryan cleared his throat. "I hate to interrupt, but should I leave? This feels like a personal discussion that I'm not really involved with."

Oh, right. I had forgotten he was there. "Look, Corey, everything has been overwhelming enough lately, so if you could not criticize me right now, I'd really appreciate it."

"How am I criticizing you? Explain that to me," Corey said.

"If you want an outsider's perspective," Ryan began, but Corey and I both cut him off with the same response.

"We don't."

"Then I should probably get going. This is definitely not something I'm trying to get into the middle of. I'll catch you later, Layla. You know where I'll be at," Ryan said and dismissed himself right out the door.

I didn't speak for a moment as I listened to the footsteps of his boots walk down the hall. I probably should have just apologized for mentioning the breakup and moved on instead of reminding Corey that I didn't like surprises. Ryan didn't need to listen to us talk about us.

"He did that thing you hate," Corey said.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Ending a sentence in a preposition."

He sure did. Twice.

"Look, I have a few of your things that you left here, and I'm sure you definitely want the diamonds back, so I can just give them to you along with the names of the people you'll want to track down for your story," Corey said.

He knew me well. The earrings were the reason I caught him in his dorm. "And the note that says they can talk to me?" I asked.

He nodded. "That too."

I handed him my pen and notebook for him to write everything down. "Thank you. It was nice of you to let me talk to you about this."

"Of course. It's nice of you to write this," he said.

Unfortunately for the two of us, sometimes being nice wasn't enough.

***

I found Ryan right where I thought he would be, at the desk next to my usual spot in the newspaper room in the communications building, with a can of Dr. Pepper and his laptop.

Plenty of the student reporters didn't care for the room since there were always people passing through the building just outside the door, but the environment made it easier for me to focus. Ryan was the same. So was Isabel, but she had an extra door with her name on it.

"Hey, Ryan. I'm so sorry that you got caught up in that. I shouldn't have even mentioned any of that when I didn't want to talk about it," I said.

He looked up from his computer, where it looked like he was cropping a few photos for other works in progress."Oh, it's fine. I just felt weird being there."

"I can imagine, and I really am sorry for making what should have been a professional interview weird. That's not who I am, but Corey and I haven't talked at all since we broke up, and I probably should have handled that discussion alone," I said.

"Or you could have let me handle everything with Corey and this story since you're so concerned no one on the football team is going to give you the time of day."

That certainly wasn't going to happen any time soon on this project. "Maybe next time."

He probably didn't believe me (and rightly so), but he changed the subject anyway. "So he gave you the leads you wanted?"

"He sure did. We can start to hunt these people down tomorrow when we're both done with classes for the day," I said.

"Not now?"

"I actually have to go home to see my mom now, so it's going to have to wait a day."

"Justice waits for no one, Layla. I thought you knew that," he said, and when I didn't laugh or even crack a smile, he continued. "Sorry. You should definitely leave now if you want to make it home before dark."

The sun had already begun to set, but I didn't mention it. "Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow, and we'll have a productive afternoon."

He nodded, and I gave him a small wave as I headed out the door so I could get home at a good time to give Mom her medicine. Her medication schedule wasn't nearly as strict as other ones I had seen, but she did need some time between the injection and going to bed.

My mother needed me, but I needed her much more. But didn't everyone need their mom sometimes?

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Hey everyone! Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate your support. 

So for today's question, what is your go-to clothing item?

I am one hundred percent a skinny jeans type of girl. Dark wash, to be specific. They're so versatile, and someone is going to have to pry them out of my cold, dead hands for me to stop wearing them.