"What?" I exclaimed.

The tall blond fidgeted nervously. "Noah ..."

"I don't mean really date him," Noah said. "Just hypothetically speaking. Like, if he was the last guy on earth. Or if you had a gun to your head. If the pickings were really, really slim—"

The blonde widened his eyes. "Wow. You're really selling it."

"I'm just saying." Noah turned back to me eagerly. "Would you go on a date with him? He'd pay. Naturally."

"Naturally," the blond repeated under his breath.

A small part of me wanted to berate Noah for forcing me into such a horrible predicament in the first place. It was a lose-lose situation; whether I said yes or whether I said no, I came out of the exchange looking some type of way. A type of way that wasn't the loner, elusive, don't-talk-to-me vibe that I was going for.

My resting bitch face needed work.

Reluctantly—I may or may not have audibly sighed—I turned to evaluate his friend.

Sure, he was handsome. In a predictable kind of way. He loomed over my pathetic five-foot-five frame, and his broad shoulders and striking smolder made him the perfect candidate for the leading man in almost any cheesy film. I honestly wouldn't have been surprised if he was some rising star that I hadn't yet heard of; that sort of thing was to be expected at Camden.

But pretty boys were a nightmare. I knew that better than anyone. The boy's blue eyes twinkled with mischief, his demeanor still cool and self-assured even under my intense stare. Upon seeing a flicker of smugness, too, I decided no. I would never date him.

"I'd consider it," I lied.

It was best not to make enemies so early into uni.

Instead of looking flattered, the subject of my evaluation smirked. Actually, confidently, and not at all ironically smirked. His amused gaze pierced mine for a moment longer, then left to meander aimlessly about the hall—as though I was the one being evaluated. It was only when I was out from under his stare that I realized I'd been holding my breath.

"That's fair." I flinched at Noah's soft touch as he repositioned me, angling me toward the other boy lingering in the doorway. He was cute, I supposed, in a Seth Cohen kind of way. Not my personal brand of eye candy, but I could see how others would find him endearing. "What about him?"

His friend groaned. "This is stupid. You know what she's going to say."

"How do you know?" Noah asked.

"Dude—"

"Yeah," I said, my interest slightly piqued. "How do you know?"

Noah's friend opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, releasing a nervous puff of air. His eyes darted between me and his friends before he gave in to a pitiful sigh. "Isn't it obvious?"

I arched a brow. "How could it be?"

Both Noah and his friends—even the apparently disinterested blond—cocked their heads at me, intrigued.

Noah folded his arms, nodding. "Let the lady speak. What were you going to say?"

I threw my arms up as if I was confessing to a crime. "I was going to say yes," I told them, "I was going to say, sure. Why not? He seems like a nice enough guy." I paused, considering my next words.

"I sense a 'but'," the blond guessed.

My eyes swung to him, and I had no choice but to give in to his sarcastic inference. "But, now I have doubt. Because he doesn't seem to think that I would date him. And that makes me think that I shouldn't."

"See!" Noah nudged his friend. "It's all about confidence, Dex."

"It's not all about confidence!" Dex argued. "It's about standing next to James your whole life. It's about having every girl you've ever been remotely interested in losing interest in you as soon as they see him."

The blond, James, groaned in a way that made me think that they'd had that exact conversation before, that it was the subject of a never-ending debate between them.

Suddenly, I felt ... sad. Sad for the smaller, less physically—and vertically—blessed Dex. I could relate to his sentiment; I'd grown up with an atrociously beautiful best friend, too. One that always got everything she wanted.

"Have you ever thought that maybe it comes down to presentation?" I suggested.

Dex nodded. "That's what I'm saying. James has been handcrafted by the gods, while I got stuck with a body made from play-doh—"

"That's not what I meant! I'm not talking about how you look, per se, but how you present yourself." I motioned to his outfit—an oversized grey sweater and loose track pants. "You can definitely work with this, but just ... tidy it up a bit." My gaze slid up. "And is that paint in your hair?"

Dex's eyes widened. "No!"

"It's either paint or blood."

He groaned in submission, mussing his hair, and mumbled, "I'm taking art as an elective."

I smiled sympathetically as I leaned over, helping him remove the crimson splatters cloaking his chestnut strands. Dex gave into my assistance with another sigh, peering up at me through lowered lashes. He looked like a puppy begging for an early supper.

But then he tilted his head sweetly, and I swore I caught something like determination arc through his stare. "What should I wear, then?"

"Wear?"

"Yeah. My closet is basically a one-stop-shop for oversized sweats and hoodies. What else is there?"

I racked my brain. I was a girl of science, not fashion. If my hometown best friend, Lola, could see those three guys standing in front of me, looking at me as though I possessed all of the answers in the universe, she'd laugh her pretty little head off.

What do guys wear, anyway?

"Swap the sweater for something more fitted. A crew neck, maybe. And invest in some nice jeans. Or maybe chinos? A denim jacket?" That was what Eli wore. And it had worked on me.

Dex's eyes clouded over as he considered my idea. He peered at James curiously. "Do I have a denim jacket?"

James's grin was a curved flash of pearly-white teeth. "No. But I do."

I lingered in front of them as they began to discuss the contents of their wardrobes. I probably could have slipped away if I wanted to. And that introverted part of me really wanted to.

But intrigue was bubbling beneath my usual state of indifference.

"What's her name?"

Dex turned to me slowly, his face turning a deep shade of crimson.

"Whose name?" His tone was meek. But defensive.

Bingo.

I laughed gently. "The name of the girl that you're trying to impress."

I felt a pang of satisfaction as Noah broke out into another huge smile. "That obvious, huh?"

I winked. "That obvious."

Dex groaned, scuffing his trainer along the ground. After a few seconds of inner deliberation, he mumbled, "She works in the campus coffee shop. I don't know her name, but I just ... I don't know. She's different from other girls."

I gritted my teeth. "Please tell me you didn't just say that out loud."

James might have cracked his version of a smirk as Dex rolled his eyes at himself. "I know what it sounds like. She is, though. She just ... doesn't know that I exist."

I smiled. "The perennial problem. Although I must say that this one has a glaringly simple solution; go order a coffee. Introduce yourself." Duh.

"I tried. But I panicked. I word-vomited everywhere. Why is talking to women so hard?"

I arched an eyebrow. "It can't be that hard. You're doing it right now."

Dex sighed again, deep and desperate. He really was like a puppy that had lost its owner. "No, it's different with her. She's like ... like magic."

I feigned offense, placing a hand over my heart.

"Sorry. I didn't mean that you're not ... ah! See? I can't speak. I'm an English major, for goodness sake, but as soon as there's a girl around, the right words just escape my stupid brain."

"How about this?" I supposed. Really, what was all the fuss about? Were all men so broody behind closed doors? "Start going to the coffee shop. Regularly. Don't be a pest; go, order coffee, hang out. Wait for her to feel comfortable enough to speak to you."

"But what if she doesn't speak to me?"

I waved a hand dismissively. "If she doesn't, she doesn't. Respect that. But you don't know that she won't. Because you're going to be confident. And well-presented. And you're going to keep to yourself." I folded my arms smugly. "Trust me, nothing piques a girl's interest like a guy who keeps to himself."

Behind him, still plastered by the door, James frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

"Of course it does." I scoffed. "You guys are thinking like men. Men want women to be upfront, to lay their cards on the table. That's why they're so forceful, so ... full on. They think that's what we want, too." I shook my head, amused at the thought. "But that couldn't be further from what we want. It's ... icky."

"Icky?" James asked.

"So, what do you want?" Dex asked eagerly, as though he were ready to take notes.

Decency, I thought bitterly.

I paused, chewing on my lip to gather my thoughts. "Every girl's different. But if you ask me ..." Which they were. "Mystery. A chase. The best thing about the start of any relationship for me is the chase. The longing. The questions of does he like me, does he want me? The late-night phone calls with my best friend, dissecting everything he says and does. It's the rush of it. The thrill. You see, the more that you make a woman question whether or not you want her, the more that she wants you." I lifted a shoulder again. "Or I do, at least."

There was a pause as the guys took my words in, as they tried to register what I was telling them; a philosophy that undid however many years of what they thought they knew about the opposite sex. I didn't know whether to take their silence as polite disagreement or reluctant acquiescence, but I shrugged it off confidently.

"If your tactic isn't working, change it. Why not? Make her come to you." I turned away, drifting back down the hall. "Make her work for you. It might just work."

I should know.

"Wait! You have to come with me!"

I spun on my heel to face an eagle-eyed Dex, my own eyes wide with disbelief. "Come?"

"To the coffee shop," he clarified matter-of-factly. "You have to show me what to do. Because clearly, I've been doing it wrong."

I flittered my eyes back to his friends—to Noah, who looked just as eager, then to James, who looked even more skeptical than before.

I began to turn away. "I think your friends have it covered."

"They don't! Noah's as gay as a Mariah Carey singalong, and James has never worked for a woman's attention in his life."

Noah threw his hands up in the air, while James suppressed another eye roll.

"Please, Madison," Dex begged. "Help a guy out. You're my only chance at true love."

I wanted to burst out into a fit of laughter then and there. Love?  True love? A myth. There was only convenience.

Evidently, I didn't know anything about that, either.

I looked down at my textbooks pointedly. "I have a huge day of classes tomorrow. Sorry."

But Dex was just as insistent as Noah had been earlier, if not a tad more dramatic. He fell to his knees, clasped his hands together desperately, and threw me his most convincing baby-face. "Please, Madison. Please, please, please ..."

If the other students in the hall hadn't been paying attention to us before, they surely were after his theatrical display. I tried to step back from the scene. After weeks of lurking in the shadows, avoiding attention, the effect of being the center of it was jarring. But Dex latched onto my leg like he was a toddler throwing a tantrum, begging his mother for a piece of candy.

Whether it was because of the way that Dex gripped me (as though he would truly never let go) or because of how James smirked to himself (like he just knew that I was going to say no), I nodded.

Dex jumped to his feet to pull me into a hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"I'll meet you tomorrow morning," I told him as I backed out of his awkward display of thanks. "Nine AM. I have class at nine-thirty, so don't be late."

"We'll be there." Noah beamed, retrieving his friend. "Well, they will. I have a lecture. But maybe next time I could—"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," I warned. "One lesson."

"Lesson?" Dex asked. "Should I take notes?"

I closed my eyes, suppressing a laugh as I walked away. "Nine AM," I repeated over my shoulder.

"C'mon," I heard Dex urge his friends. "Let's see if your denim jacket fits me."

The sound of the hall dulled as I closed my dorm room door. To my relief, the space was empty; no nymphomaniac roommate in sight. I threw myself onto the bed, curling up atop my sheets. Gosh, it felt good to be on my own after another long morning of pretending to be okay.

My phone buzzed from the bedside table where I'd left it, the screen illuminating as message upon message came pouring through. I reached out to retrieve it, to see if I'd missed anything of importance. But the calls, the texts ... they were all from the same person. The one person I really didn't want to talk to ever again in my entire pathetic life. A person who didn't seem to understand that—even after I'd blocked every single number they'd attempted to contact me from.

We need to talk, the latest one read.

I threw the phone across the room where it landed safely on my dorm mate's bed. I honestly wouldn't have cared if it had smashed into tiny little pieces, so long as it shut the hell up.

Without a second thought, I rolled onto the other side of my bed and tried to drift off into beautiful, numbing sleep.

Hi guys! Thanks to those of you who made it to chapter two. I really appreciate your support on this project in particular, as it's quite different from the kind of stuff that I usually write. Sorry that it was a bit longer than what I usually post! I figured that getting it out was better than spending another day or two editing.

Madison is (obviously) a huge Harry Potter fan — I wonder where she gets that from. Are there any other HP fans in the building? Drop your house here -->

I always get sorted into Gryff despite my best efforts to rig the system into sorting me into Ravenclaw 😂

As always, I'll see you in the comments!

- D