Carrying the fear of not being good enough is like living with a quiet, constant weight. Every effort is questioned, every success is minimized, and every mistake is magnified until it fills the room.
I pushed open the door to my psychology class a full five minutes late. I hated being late. I hated the feeling of being a disappointment, along with a dozen other reasons for my perfectionism that I wasn't ready to acknowledge just yet.
"Please excuse me, Professor Hugh," I said quietly, keeping my head down. "It won't happen again."
He didn't comment, which I took as my cue to find a seat. I usually claimed a specific spot right by the window, the sunlight helped me think but since I was late, the chair was already occupied. A dark-haired guy had his head turned toward the glass, ignoring the room. The only other available seat was the one directly next to him, but he'd sprawled his bag across it in a silent command for everyone to stay away.
I didn't have the energy for courtesy. I was already late, and I wasn't about to stand. I lifted his bag and set it firmly on top of the desk before sitting down.
The noise made him turn. We both froze for a split second.
It was him. The guy from the party, the one who had stared me down while his lips were on someone else. Recognition flickered in those hazel eyes, and I cursed my luck. Up close, I noticed the specific, sharp quality of his gaze, but I forced myself to look away. I turned to the front, pretending I didn't feel the sudden, electric weight of his displeasure.
"What is Person Perception?" Professor Hugh asked, having already scrawled the words across the whiteboard.
"It's how we perceive and form impressions of others," a girl near the front answered.
As the professor took feedback from the class, I became hyper-aware of the person sitting inches away from me. I was usually the type of girl who lived entirely inside her own head, but today, my thoughts were anchored to my side. I sensed him shifting, moving as if he felt confined by the chair. He smelled clean, fresh but with an underlying shadow of something dark, like tobacco.
I was busy profiling him when I realized Professor Hugh was looking right at us. He glanced at me, then at the guy next to me.
"Liam?"
The guy stayed silent, almost appearing mute. Professor Hugh cleared his throat, but then Liam finally spoke, explaining the concept with a voice that made the room go still. It was a mellow, raspy baritone, deep and soft as cotton candy, but with a jagged, sharp edge hidden somewhere beneath the surface. I wasn't the only one who noticed. Half the girls in the room were suddenly very focused, and the boys seemed to shift nervously.
"Very good, Liam," Professor Hugh said. "I'm glad you decided to grace the class with your presence today."
It wasn't a reprimand; it was an appraisal. I was confused. Professor Hugh was the infamous "professor from hell," yet he was going uncharacteristically easy on this guy.
The next two and a half hours blurred by. As soon as the lecture ended, I gathered my things. I needed to grab a quick lunch and head to the library to finish an assignment. But as I stood up, his voice caught me.
"So... you like peeping, huh?"
I froze, not entirely sure I'd heard him correctly. Before I could even formulate a response in my defense, he was gone, moving out of the classroom with a nonchalance that left me reeling. My gut gave a sharp tug of warning: trouble.
Ten minutes later, I made my way to the cafe. Charlie waved me over from a corner table. I pulled out the sandwich I'd made that morning. I couldn't stand the cafeteria grease, so I usually packed for both of us.
As I unwrapped the bread, I caught the tail end of Edd's conversation. He was talking about the "elite circle."
"You know who has the reins?" Edd asked, gesturing animatedly toward a group across the room. "Even though he didn't join a frat, his father is a major alum. He gets everything without even trying."
I looked over. They were the kind of people who seemed to own the air they breathed, the quiet luxury, the practiced mannerisms. I'd seen people like them back home and usually made it a point to ignore them. I was about to go back to my sandwich when the cafe went quiet.
I looked up. Liam was walking toward the very group they'd been discussing. He was tall, with lean, broad shoulders, not bulky, just fit. I hated that I noticed. He sat down, scanned the room, and caught me staring.
Again.
I was flabbergasted. I couldn't believe my luck, or the fact that he'd caught me twice in twenty-four hours. He didn't look away until a girl at his table whispered something, coaxing a faint, mocking smile from his lips.
A sudden flush of heat crept up my neck. I looked down, focusing intensely on my food and deciding right then that I needed to flee.
Thank god Charlie hadn't noticed my face. But as I walked to the library, the image of that faint, arrogant smile was the only thing I could think about.