CHAPTER 7

EMERSON

Finding the cafeteria is marginally less humiliating than finding Wilder Hall, mostly because I have the good sense to abandon technology entirely and just follow the herd of students moving through campus on pure autopilot.

They know where the food is better than my phone's useless map app does.

And the second I walk in, I understand everything I need to know about this campus's social ecosystem.

Near the windows, a table of girls in matching athletic wear all laugh at the same joke half a second apart, like they've rehearsed it — dance team, probably, or something equally exclusive and terrifying.

Behind them, a cluster of guys hunched over laptops, arguing about what sounds suspiciously like video game strategy.

Further back, a table so quiet and studiously uninterested in the rest of the room that they might as well have a sign over it reading we peaked in the library.

Across the room, three tables of athletes sprawl out with the easy, unbothered volume of people who've never once worried about taking up space — football, from the look of the jackets, and a couple of teams I can't immediately place.

And dead center, exactly where I expect him to be, is River Knight.

His eyes lock onto mine with a stare so sharp it almost steals the air from my lungs.

*I don't know how it's possible for one person to have this effect on me, especially a person I have every reason to hate on principle alone.*

He's a fucking moron.

I grab a tray.

A bully. Cornered you at your locker like it was a group project.

I pick up a plate, load it with something that may technically qualify as salad if you squint.

He threatened you. Actually threatened you, out loud, with words, like a villain in a movie with a much lower budget.

I add a drink. Remember that, Em.

I glance back once. His eyes are still on me.

I hold his gaze just long enough to prove I'm not going to look away first — some petty, stubborn part of me needing to win even this — then let mine slide past him like he's furniture. Petty, maybe. Satisfying, definitely.

Besides I have better things to do.

Like eat.

And possibly survive the rest of the day without committing a felony.

I scan the room, looking for somewhere that isn't within a twenty-foot radius of River's table, or anyone else who looks like they might consider my existence a personal inconvenience.*

"New girl! Over here!" Tessa's voice cuts across the cafeteria, waving both arms over her head like she's flagging down a rescue helicopter instead of one very tired sophomore holding a tray.

Half the room glances over. I consider, briefly, pretending I don't know her.

I don't. I go anyway.

I drop into the seat across from her.

“You survived the morning,” she says.

“Barely.”

“I'm choosing to take that as a personal victory.”

I stab my fork into the salad.

“I've been here three hours and I've already been threatened by the campus alpha, apparently declared an enemy by the queen bee, and nearly got lost looking for a building that apparently everyone else knows exists.”

Tessa's grin widens. “Wow.”

“Don't sound so impressed.”

“I am impressed. You've been here three hours and you've already pissed off Lisa and River Knight.”

I sigh. “Lisa approached me after class.”

Tessa's eyebrows shoot up.

“You talked to Lisa?”

“She talked to me.”

“That's worse.”

“Why?”

“Because Lisa doesn't waste energy on people she doesn't consider relevant.”

She lowers her voice. “If she's already decided you're worth confronting, congratulations.”

She raises her glass. “You're officially a problem.”

“Fantastic.” I stab another piece of lettuce. “Exactly what I wanted.”

Tessa watches me for a moment.

“What did she say?”

“Mostly threats disguised as advice.”

“Sounds like Lisa.”

“She wanted to make sure I understood there would be consequences.”

Tessa winces. “And you?”

"I told her she could shove her 'advice' up her ass."*

Tessa closes her eyes like she's praying for patience, or possibly for me.

"New girl."

"It's Emerson."

"Right. Emerson. You really don't know how to make your life easy, do you?"*

"Where's the fun in easy?"

She laughs.

I can't help smiling. For the first time since I walked through the front gates, my shoulders loosen.

Maybe this won't be completely unbearable.

Then I make the mistake of looking across the cafeteria. Again.

River isn't even pretending to listen at whatever story the guy beside him is telling. He's watching me.

Elbow resting against the table. Jaw propped against his knuckles.

Like I'm the only interesting thing in the room.

My stomach gives a strange little drop.

I look away first this time, and I hate that I know I did it, hate that some small, traitorous part of my brain is already cataloguing the shape of his stare instead of filing it under threat where it belongs.

"Earth to Emerson." Tessa waves a hand in front of my face.

"You went somewhere just now."

"I'm here."

"Uh-huh." She follows my line of sight back to his table, then gives me a look that says she's drawing conclusions I'd very much like her not to draw.

"Sure you are."

I stab my fork back into the salad and remind myself, silently, firmly, that a nice jawline does not cancel out cornering someone at their locker with two friends for backup.

That whatever my pulse just did is a chemical malfunction, not a character reference.

He's still a bully. He's still the guy who threatened to make my life uncomfortable less than three hours ago.

My body just apparently didn't get the memo.

Because I risk one more glance at their table — strictly for research purposes, I tell myself— and find the picture's changed since I last looked.

Lisa's there now, folded into the seat beside River, one hand curled possessively around his bicep, her head tipped toward his shoulder in a way that's less affection and more staking a claim.

Every few seconds her eyes flick toward me, a slow, satisfied smirk creeps back onto her face — the one that says see? This is where he belongs.

I wait for River to lean into it. To do whatever it is guys like him are supposed to do when a girl drapes herself over them in public — grin, sling an arm around her, play the part.

He doesn't.

He barely glances her way at all.

Instead his eyes are on me, steady and unbothered by the girl practically climbing into his lap.

“You’re doing it again,” Tessa says, not even looking up from her food.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” She finally lifts her eyes, studying me with that same maddening, knowing look from this morning.

“You’ve been sitting here for ninety seconds and you’ve already glanced over there three times.”

“Because he’s staring at me. Openly. Aggressively. I’m just keeping an eye on my own assassination in case I need to fight back. He threatened me this morning. I’m being situationally aware.”

Tessa snorts.

“Situationally aware. That’s a new one. Most people just call it ‘can’t stop looking at the hot asshole who wants to ruin their life.’”

“He’s not hot.”

“Emerson.”

“He’s not.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

I refuse to look at his table again. I focus on my tray, on the window, on literally anything else. It doesn’t matter. I can still feel the weight of his stare like a physical thing, steady and unrelenting, as if he’s already decided I’m a problem he plans to solve personally.

“Look… just be careful, okay? River doesn’t usually lock on like this. When he does, it never ends quietly.”

I force a small, tight smile.

“Good thing I don’t do quiet.”

She watches me for another second, then sighs and goes back to her food, clearly deciding further argument is useless for now.

I keep my eyes on my tray for the rest of lunch.

I don’t look over again. Not even once.

(And if that’s a lie, it’s one I’m taking to the grave.)