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Nikki Pierce - Just Press Send (Summit University Book 1)

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100% found this document useful (1 vote)

1K views226 pages

Nikki Pierce - Just Press Send (Summit University Book 1)

Uploaded by

Aayushka Dahal

We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.

Available Formats

Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd

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Just Press Send (Summit

University Book 1)

Nikki Pierce

1
Copyright Information

This ebook was automatically created by FicLab

v1.0.63 on January 18th, 2022, based on content
retrieved from www.wattpad.com/story/223317088.
The content in this book is copyrighted by Nikki Pierce
or their authorised agent(s). All rights are reserved
unless explicitly stated otherwise. Please do not share
or republish this work without the express permission
of the copyright holder.
If you are the author or copyright holder, and would
like further information about this ebook, please read
the author FAQ at www.ficlab.com/author-faq.
This story was first published on May 3rd, 2020, and
was last updated on January 5th, 2022.
FicLab ID: 3t8wIg_x/kykiyzpc/5w700E5

2
Table of Contents

4
Summary

title Just Press Send (Summit University Book 1)

author Nikki Pierce
source https://www.wattpad.com/story/223317088
published May 3rd, 2020
updated January 5th, 2022
words 31,614
chapters 42
status Complete
rating Unknown
Betrayal, Boys, College, Complete, Completed,
Contemporary, Dating, Drama, Enemies,
Enemiestolovers, Fakerelationship, Family,
tags
Femaleprotagonist, Funny, Hockey, Humor, Jealousy,
Newadult, Paidstories, Poc, Romance, Romcom,
Slowburn, Sports, Teenfiction, Youngadult

Description:
Eighteen-year-old Nat falls for five different boys during her first
month at college, but never openly admits her crushes — until
one night she drunk texts all five of them. She finds her freshman
year turned upside down as she navigates the world of first love.
*****
Nat keeps a list of all her crushes’ pros and cons on her phone —
the most logical thing to do for her list-making, highly organized
brain. The lists were never meant to be shared, but when Ty, the
school’s star hockey player, dares Nat to tell the boys how she

5
feels, how could she back down from a drunken dare? The sober
light of morning leaves Nat questioning her sanity when she sees
three messages awaiting her response: the hot guy she met at a
concert, the kind guy from orientation week, and the perfect guy
from lit class. Now, Nat must confront her feelings for these boys
face-to-face, or her chance at love will pass her by. In this story of
firsts, what happens when Nat just presses send?
[[word count: 90,000 — 100,000]] Cover designed by Cil Ojumo

6
Paid Stories Announcement

Hello and welcome to Just Press Send!

First of all, I want to say thank you so much to
everyone who has supported this book and continues
to support it.
When I first started writing Nat’s story a year ago
as an escape, I never in my wildest dreams imagined
that I’d find such an amazing, supportive community
of fellow book lovers.
I’m so excited to announce that Just Press Send
will be entering the Paid Stories program on
January 5th, 2022, which is ohmysweetgoodness
amazing because being paid for my writing will
allow me to have more time to write the Summit
University series. The first couple chapters will be
free to read, then the rest will be available through
purchase. The rest of the Summit University series
will remain free to read.
To celebrate, I wrote some new & expanded
scenes (check out chapter 17 & 28😉)!
If you wanna chat with me, my DM’s are open—
I’m always happy to answer questions and talk about

7
reading or writing with anyone.
But, most of all, I want to say thank you. Thank
you for taking a chance with my book.

8
Trailer & Cast

Trailer
https://youtu.be/uC5mGRYXVKw
Music: Over My Head // Asher
What do you think of the trailer? Are you excited
to read? Do you have any feedback for me?

Cast
I want you to be involved in the process of
casting the characters of JPS! As you read and meet
each character, come back to this and make an in-
line comment with your suggestion. Or, if you agree
with someone else, reply to their comment so I can
see who’s most popular.
In Order Of Appearance
Natasha Chabra
Tyler Sawyer
Mia Chabra

9
Rhea Chabra
Richard Davis
Layla Umaru
Pablo Ramirez
Alec Ito-Russell
Will Cho
Micah Miller
Blake Hill
Emily Cardinal
Colby Scott
Logan Kalua
And that’s everyone! I’m so excited to hear your
suggestions.

10
Epigraph

❝ Man can do what he wills, but he cannot will

what he wills. ❞
—Arthur Schopenhauer

11
1 | The Bathroom Incident

Everyone knows how awkward it is to take a shit

in public, but how about taking a shit in public while
two people are going at it in a shower stall five feet
away? Yeah. Too awkward for words to describe.
Five minutes ago, I strolled into the washroom,
and the door swung shut behind me. The shower
was running, squeaking, probably because they
hadn’t been updated since this dorm was built ages
ago. The counter might have been yellowing, but it
was clean, so I plopped my things onto it, blissfully
unaware. I locked the stall behind me and dropped
my pink flannel pants.
A hint of a moan rose up from the general
direction of the showers.
I stared at the tiled floor, eyebrows squished
together. Someone must’ve really been enjoying
their shower. But who was I to judge? I habitually
bawled my eyes out in the shower. My brows
relaxed as I leaned back and crossed my ankles.

12
“Harder, baby!” squealed a high pitched voice. It
was followed by an… enthusiastic moan.
A flush of adrenaline tingled through me. I let out
a bark of laughter.
There were two other people in the adjoining
showers making sounds that were clearly not normal
shower sounds. Were those even normal sex sounds?
Maybe my university decided to film a porno in the
showers without telling anyone. At this point, that
seemed more likely than this scenario.
She moaned louder over the spray of the shower.
I blinked rapidly, then openly stared at the
motivational quote slapped on the blue door of the
stall, likely by my RA.
Life is not a fairy tale. If you lose your shoe at
midnight, you’re drunk.
I rolled my eyes. This was not happening right
now. Instead of staring at useless quotes, I needed to
hightail it out of here without running into Romeo
and Juliet.
“Oh my God!” She gasped.
My chest tightened. I pulled in, then slowly
released a deep breath.

13
I just needed to dash out of the stall, wash my
hands (because ew, who doesn’t wash their hands),
and speed walk back to the safety of my dorm room,
avoiding all conflict.
Easy, right?
Well, if there were space in the small stall, I
would’ve been pacing. “Just do it,” I said under my
breath and in one fluid motion, unlocked the stall.
The door swung open.
The steady stream of water screeched to a halt.
My already racing heart was about to explode.
Body ready to bolt, my leg muscles tightened. Shit!
I rushed to the sink, movements jerky. Turn on
faucet. Ouch, hot. Wrong handle. Press soap
dispenser. Wash hands as quickly as humanly
possible and—
The curtain separating the showers from the
sinks, toilets, and urinals was pulled back, revealing
a girl from down the hall. She gave a broad smile
and adjusted the towel covering all her important
bits.
“Oh, hey Nat,” she said.

14
My face, neck, and ears became impossibly hot,
and hands froze in place under the stream of water. I
tried to return the smile, but it might’ve come across
as a grimace as I fought to make a coherent sentence
come out of my mouth.
Luckily, she was already on her way out the door.
The tension gripping my muscles released its
hold, and shaky laughter escaped my lips. I briefly
closed my eyes as I ripped off a piece of paper towel
to dry my hands. That was painless.
“Something funny?”
My eyes flew open faster than an extreme
couponer on Black Friday. I turned away, in the
direction of the trash.
“Nope, nothing is funny at all in my life
currently, at this very moment, what about you?” I
said.
Duh, two people were in the shower, and the
second person just had to be Tyler Sawyer. I mean, I
shouldn’t have been surprised, but now I was
definitely deleting his list. I shot another glance his
way.
He cocked his head, gaze direct.

15
Mouth unusually dry, I avoided his probing eye
contact.
But, I ran into the other issue of staring at the rest
of his chiselled body. The droplets of water running
down his abs were especially fascinating, seeing as
they led my eyes down a path that hit a white towel
wrapped around his waist.
I jerked my attention back up to his face, a face
that radiated superiority.
“Whatever you say,” he said, pink lips curled into
a knowing smirk. He turned to leave, posture perfect
with his shoulder back and neck exposed. Well, a
whole lot more than his neck exposed.
My lips pressed into a white slash. I threw out the
paper towel, wanting to wipe that smirk off Tyler
Sawyer’s face.
“Next time put a sock on the door,” I mumbled to
his back. Sarcasm might’ve been the lowest form of
wit, but made me feel like I had the last word
without the actual confrontation.
“Sorry, did you say something?” he said and
turned back around.
I yelped, then gave him an incredulous stare.

16
“What?” I said, choking on my words. I mentally
cringed. Maybe my mumble wasn’t as mumble-like
as I thought. “Uh, I said that I hope you have a good
night.”
“Sure you did, Little Miss Sunshine,” he said,
giving a pointed look at my shirt that read, radiate
positivity, before he left. The door actually shut
behind him this time.
I grabbed my toothbrush using unnecessary force,
almost snapping the flimsy plastic. My face scowled
back at me in the mirror as my mind mulled over the
past fifteen minutes. Jerk.
Finally alone, I brushed my teeth and washed my
face.
I rushed down the hall back to my room because I
didn’t want to run into anyone else on my floor. It
was around twelve, so it wasn’t likely I would’ve
run into anyone, seeing as the floor parties died
down around eleven. People didn’t trickle back to
the dorms until two.
I had my schedule down pat, and usually,
everything went according to plan.
But, Tyler Sawyer decided to throw a wrench in
everything.

17
I shut the door to my room behind me and put all
my things away. Hopping into bed, I snuggled under
the mound of blankets, warmth seeping back into
my toes.
Only then did I let my head fall back, thankful for
my single room.
I’d had my fill of people for the day. I thought
orientation week was busy, but this was the longest
week of my life. From finding all my classes to the
club fair to meeting a million people, my first week
of classes had been one hurdle after another. So,
even though every other freshman was probably
having a wild night out, I was utterly exhausted after
this week of trying to get ahead on work.
I curled into myself, chest caving in.
My phone buzzed on the bedside table, the light
illuminating the room.
A bolt of irritation hit me.
I reached out to turn the thing off, but when I
squinted to read the small text, I was greeted by the
name of the sender.
Mia Chabra. My sister.

18
A heaviness settled in my stomach. You better be
out having fun tonight, girl! But not too much fun,
don’t do anything I wouldn’t do 😉 And, call me
soon! I want to hear all about your first week of
classes!
I put the phone down and considered agreeing to
call her, then not following through.
Biting a hangnail, I picked the phone back up and
typed a quick response. I’ll call you on Sunday if
that works for you.
The whoosh of the iMessage sending echoed in
the silent room.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, knowing the call
would be like every other time I talked to my sister.
Voices from the hall rung clear in my room
through the paper-thin walls. Someone stumbled
into the wall outside my room, the thud sounding
painful. But, soon enough, there was a smattering of
giggles.
I’d also avoided Mia’s comments on what my
Friday night activities should be, namely not with
my good friend, sleep.

19
I tried to imagine what she would say if I told her
about the awkward interaction I just had. She’d
probably tell me to stop overthinking everything. As
if she understood my Type A personality. Which
reminded me, I had to delete Tyler Sawyer’s list.
I opened my notes app and scrolled to the first
entry. I scanned the old list, made my first night
here.
tyler sawyer
pros:
— hotter than sebastian stan combined with ryan
reynolds. heck, maybe even hotter than ian
somerhalder, if that’s even humanly possible
— has a picture holding cute dog on ig
— DIMPLES
cons:
— who actually refers to themselves as their last
name? sawyer reminds me of tom sawyer the mouse
thing in that disney movie
— arrogant hockey boy
— will prob never actually talk to him

20
— tbh too many to count i give up
I highlighted the whole thing, deleted it, and
promptly fell asleep.

Wrong. Again.
With a twitchy feeling in me, my legs crossed and
uncrossed, unable to stay still.
I glanced back at the offending string of
questions, and slammed my Calculus textbook shut,
shoving it to the corner of my desk.
“Ugh,” I groaned, rubbing my brow to ward off a
headache.
I’d spent my whole Sunday working ahead in my
hardest subject. I was either stuck, or my brain was
rebelling at the amount of information I was
attempting to shove into it. Either way, it was
probably time to call it quits for the night.
Leaning back in my chair, my gaze drifted out the
window.
There was a roaring bonfire in the quad with
groups of students huddled around it. It was early

21
September, but as soon as dusk hit, the temperature
here dropped.
A girl, bundled in a blanket, skewered a
marshmallow and stuck it in the fire. When it caught
aflame, she shrieked and pulled it out. The boy next
to her grabbed the stick from her and blew out the
fire before she could do any damage waving that
flaming marshmallow around. She kissed him on the
cheek and ate the marshmallow, peeling back the
charred layer as he wrapped his arm around her.
Ribs squeezing tight, I shoved my hands in the
pocket of my hoodie.
It was a commonly known fact that
marshmallows roast better in the embers of the fire,
turning that perfect golden brown with a gooey
centre.
Plus, waving a fiery stick around probably wasn’t
the brightest thing to do. But, in my experience,
boys didn’t really go for the brightest of girls, so she
had that working for her.
My phone rang, shattering the silence of my
Sunday evening.
I darted over to my door to pull it closed. I left it
open whenever I was in my room, like everyone else

22
on my floor. That made it easy to chat whenever or
find someone to go grab a bite with. But, I didn’t
want this call broadcasted for everyone to hear.
It rang again, this time vibrating in my hand.
I climbed into bed with my tablet in my other
hand but kept shifting, unable to get comfortable.
The shrill noise sounded again.
Plastering on a smile, I picked up the phone.
Even though Mia wasn’t FaceTiming me, she said
she could tell when I wasn’t smiling on the phone. It
was one of her many talents.
“Hey, Nat! It’s Mia,” she said.
I hesitated to tell her that, yes, I know, I have
caller ID. But, instead, I said, “Hi, Mia, how’re you
doing?”
“I’m so great right now, Elijah just went out to
get some groceries so I thought I’d call and catch up
with you. We just got back from his family’s cabin,
we went on a little getaway for our three-year
anniversary,” she said.
My eyes narrowed. Mia never really called just
for calling’s sake. Or to “catch up.” But, she did

23
always give me way more information than I really
needed or wanted, so at least that stayed consistent.
“Congrats on three years, that’s great. I’m doing
good, busy,” I said and picked at the fraying edge of
one of my blankets.
“Busy’s good,” she deadpanned.
“Yeah, yesterday I did some really fascinating
reading on—” I started to tell her more, but she cut
me off.
“You know, Mom actually has to tell you
something, so you should call her,” she said. And
with that, her real reason for calling was revealed.
“Why can’t you just tell me what Mom told you
to tell me like she always does?” I said.
“Nat, call her, okay? It’s about your business
stuff.”
She knew if she said that, I’d call Mom
immediately. “Right, then I’ll call her as soon as we
finish talking.”
I was ready to pull the phone away from my ear
and call Mom. My business was my baby.

24
As if she could tell I wanted to hang up, she said,
“Hey, not so fast! I have questions for you.”
I straightened. Uh oh. Immediately my thoughts
went to The Bathroom Incident, as I decided to call
it. How could she know about that?
“What did you get up to Friday night? Anything
fun? I need to live vicariously through someone,”
she said. I slumped into my plush back pillow. Of
course, she didn’t know about The Bathroom
Incident.
“I actually stayed in on Friday, I was so tired after
my first full week of classes. Plus, it was club week,
and I signed up for—” I said, but she cut me off
again.
“Natasha, you really need to stop being so scared
of putting yourself out there, using all your silly
pro/con lists. Gosh, you’ve never even had a
boyfriend. All you really accomplish is pushing
people away—” she went on, but I stopped listening.
My pulse sped up as she preached to me. I
cracked my knuckles, fighting the urge to argue with
her. Mia droned on about her fantastic university
experience and the many friends she made.

25
Who was she to stomp on my pro/con lists? So I
liked to think things through, sue me. They’d served
me well this far. But, her little boyfriend dig hit a
little too close to home.
Mia continued on, giving anecdotes and going on
random side tangents.
There was a thickness in my throat as I half-
listened to her try and guide me when she so clearly
had no idea about my interests or personality. We
clashed in so many ways.
Extrovert, meet introvert.
Emotion, meet logic.
Mia, meet Nat.
“Hello, Nat? Do you understand what I’m telling
you?” she said, finishing her latest tangent on how
much Elijah has improved her life.
“Oh, yeah. For sure. Thanks for the advice,” I
lied. Mia meant well.
“Anytime little sis,” she said, “I actually was just
talking to…” she continued on, telling me about all
the details of her life. I picked up my iPad and
doodled with my Apple pencil, hand gliding over the
smooth screen.

26
I’d learned long ago that Mia was a great sharer,
not so much a listener. It’d never really bugged me,
but I’d never really wanted to talk to her before
without her quick fixes or advice that just wouldn’t
work for me.
A sigh rose from deep in me unconsciously.
“Did you say something?” Mia said.
“No,” I said, wrapping my arms around my
knees. “You were talking about the date you were
planning to surprise Elijah on his birthday?” I
prompted.
“Right!” she said, her words blurring together as
the minutes passed.
The seeds of her words took root in my brain,
though, taking hold.
I crossed my arms, frowning.
I did not push people away. She barely knew me.
I could have a boyfriend if I wanted one, and I’d
prove it to her.
Although, as much as I hated to admit it,
sometimes, there was the little voice in my head that
said, maybe I was just designed to be alone.

27
So… I just shared my writing for the first time!
What did you think? What are your initial thoughts
about Nat? Are you going to keep reading? (Okay,
I’ll stop bombarding you with questions now, but
seriously, lemme know).
Enough about the book. I started posting my
story here because I want to get to know you too.
So, tell me about yourself, if you’re comfortable!
I’ll start. I’m Nikki and I love everything
reading-and-writing-related. To date, I’ve never
made pro/con lists about my crushes, but I have sent
many a drunk text. I’m all about everything from
contemporary to sci-fi to fantasy, but always
appreciate a healthy dose of romance in everything.
I have tons of knowledge from a lifetime of reading.
Some random facts about me are that I’m from
Canada and I’m a university student.
Now tell me about you! Where are you from?
Are you in school and what are you studying/studied
(econ student here!)?
Oh, and how could I forget some shameless self
promo… here’s my obligatory reminder to please
vote for JPS and add it to your reading list. And, if
you’re feeling so inclined, give me a follow so you
can be notified whenever I have important info

28
about the story to share. Okay, now that’s enough of
all that, I feel so conceited and awkward asking you
to follow me.
But, in all seriousness, I’m so excited for you to
come along with me on Nat’s story. Sit down, grab a
cup of tea (or your beverage of choice), and get
reading with me, you lovely human.

29
2 | Room 427

I pulled the door open, handle gripped with both

hands. The wind fought me, pushing the door
closed, but I slipped into the main student building. I
paused in the vestibule to catch my breath.
Outside the tall glass doors, leaves in all hues of
red and orange danced in the gusts. A majestic
display from the inside, but on the other side, it
wreaked havoc with more than my hair. I pulled my
eyes away and focused back on my mission through
the hordes of students.
The door to the central area opened with ease.
The welcome scent of coffee brewing greeted me,
albeit tainted by the musty smell of the older
building.
My mouth salivated, and I honed in on the source
of my lifeblood— Tim Hortons.
I made a beeline for the coffee shop, despite the
long line. Nothing could come between this girl and
her coffee. After the hellish Calc class I suffered
through, I desperately needed my caffeine fix.

30
Voices overlapped as students swarmed, here for
the lunch rush, like me.
Being the only Tims on campus that served their
whole menu, more people flocked to it than a
Marvel movie on opening night. As a super fan, I
would wait an inordinate amount of time, sans
costume.
The flutter of papers on the community board
when the doors opened, and the breeze gusted in
drew my attention. Posters for the upcoming hockey
game on Friday were stapled all over.
I edged closer to read the details. Sports had
never been a focus at my high school, but maybe
things were different here at Summit University.
“Hey, you in line or what?” the tall guy behind
me said, and I jolted away from the board.
The line had shifted forward while I stopped.
“Yeah, sorry.” I moved up as the complainer
scowled at me, and from there, I made it to the front
in no time.
“I’ll take a large double-double and five assorted
Timbits,” I said and got the goods in minutes.
Efficient and delicious.

31
While others wasted time stalking tables where
the current occupants were possibly packing up, I
didn’t even bother scanning the filled cafeteria-style
seating area.
I went to my empty table, obscured from view by
a vending machine.
After tossing my backpack in the seat next to me,
I plopped into the chair. I sucked in a breath at the
sudden scalding pain at slopping coffee on my wrist.
Lifting the plastic tab of the cup, I inhaled the
aromatic scent, face upturned. Bliss. Infused by
warmth as the coffee filled my stomach, I sipped the
hot drink. I savoured the perfect balance of bitter
and sweet for a moment before dragging my phone
out of my jacket pocket.
I bit the bullet and swiped into my contacts, then
pressed the little green icon. The call rang for the
longest thirty seconds of my life before she picked
up.
“Hi, honey!” said Mom. “Sorry I missed your call
last night, I was out at dinner and by the time I got
back I forgot to call you. It was the most romantic
night, did you see my post about it?” She sucked in
air.

32
“All good, Mom,” I cut in. If I didn’t, she would
ramble worse than Mia. I tried to get ahold of her
yesterday after getting off the phone with Mia, but,
of course, she had plans on a Sunday night.
“Anywho, I have some exciting news, baby.” She
paused for dramatic effect. Instead of her voice, I
heard the thump of unfinished coffees being thrown
into the trash. How riveting.
“I’m moving to New York City with
Christopher!”
“That’s great, Mom,” I trailed off. “Who’s
Christopher?” I said, then plucked a chocolate
Timbit from the bag, taking a bite of the sweet treat.
My self-awarded reward for calling her.
“My fiancé, silly!”
“Oh, okay.” I took another bite. “You never told
me about him,” I mumbled, crumbs escaping my
lips. I stopped keeping track of her relationships
long ago.
“What? I’m pretty sure I told you, Nat. I met him
on my singles cruise, then I told you before you left
for school,” she said.

33
“No, we haven’t talked since before the cruise. I
thought you were dating Byron, but congratulations.
Hope it all works out.” I scratched at my chipped
polish, my gaze wandering to the giant glass
windows with a view of students passing by. Who
else had to deal with a mother that couldn’t
remember when last they’d seen their child?
“Aw, thanks, honey. We’re planning on eloping in
Vegas,” she said. The whole point of eloping was
not telling anyone, or planning it, no? But, I didn’t
bother to figure out her thought process.
“Mhm, have fun.” What other reaction did she
expect of me?
“So, back to moving to New York,” she said.
“Right. You should still be able to work remotely,
I don’t see any issue with that.” Before I left for
university, I set everything up so that I would be as
hands-off as possible with a virtual team. Mom
handled customer service, A.K.A, the bane of my
existence.
The business worked like a well-oiled machine,
and we managed to sell more than ever.
“Well, what I was calling to tell you, was that I
won’t be working anymore. You know, it’s a new

34
relationship with Chris, and I want to dedicate all
my time to it.” Before my brain could catch up with
the grenade she dropped, she continued, “I knew
you’d understand, baby. Talk soon, kisses!”
The dial tone buzzed in my ears, mocking me.
A sudden coldness hit my core as she left me
spluttering.
I curled my hand into a fist, nails biting the palm.
Did she just quit?
This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
Where would I find the time to train someone for
customer service? It took me over a year to let my
own mother take over for Pete’s sake. Then, she
decided to leave me hanging.
I grabbed another Timbit, one of the powdered
ones, and squished it so hard that the jelly in the
centre squeezed out. The powder poofed
everywhere.
“Son of a motherless goat!” I cursed under my
breath.
The bright pink jelly dripped down the white
collar of my blouse onto the grey knit sweater

35
layered over it. Powder settled on my jeans, specks
of white splattered on the denim.
Teeth clenched, I grabbed at a napkin.
Now, I had more than one mess to clean up. I
never should’ve relied on Mom. Conceivably, my
assistant, Carly, could’ve handled customer service.
Still, I interacted with my customers in a specific
way that I had to train someone to do, hands-on.
Thanks to good old Mom, now I had to take on
the customers myself, on top of everything else.
I shook my head, dabbing at the mess on my
clothes.
This sure was shaping up to be one hell of a day.

Hell day turned into hell week.

My gaze darted to the room numbers as I passed
them. 407, 409, 411…

36
I couldn’t be late for the first newspaper meeting.
Me, Natasha Chabra, the organized, Google-
Calendar-following, colour-coding-notes Natasha
Chabra never arrived late.
I allocated fifteen minutes to find the room since
I already checked beforehand anyways on the
university app that had directions to every place on
campus.
So, I might’ve spent ten extra minutes responding
to a customer complaint, leaving me a mere five
minutes.
413, 415, 417…
That five minutes turned into ten when I took a
wrong turn.
419, 421, 423…
I checked my phone. Wednesday, September
10th, 5:14. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!
The numbers ticked on. 5:15.
Now, I was officially fifteen minutes late.
425…
I rounded the corner.

37
430?
I scratched my temple. Where in the world was
Room 427?
Then, at the end of the hall, I struck gold. Room
427. Whoever numbered these rooms should’ve
been fired.
I screeched to a halt outside the door to slow my
racing heart, then gripped the cold metal of the
handle.
The door squeaked as I opened it, revealing a
room full of people. No heads swivelled in my
direction as I expected, but Professor Davis hesitated
mid-sentence.
He gave me a harsh squint, but hopefully, I was
reading too much into it. A speck of dust could’ve
landed in his eye. Or, perhaps, he despised my guts
for disrespecting his time.
I never could tell what he thought in class about
the books we analyzed, so I didn’t know why I
would be able to discern his reaction walking in late
to his meeting.
He adjusted his tie. “As I was saying,
congratulations on making the Summit Post.”

38
With hot cheeks, I stumbled to the nearest empty
chair, in Siberia— the farthest seat at the back of the
room. Enter the Natasha Chabra walk of shame.
“We were very selective in choosing our writers
this year, and I know you won’t disappoint. You all
show tremendous promise, and I eagerly anticipate
reading your work.” I sat at the long table, gaze
downward.
Professor Davis’s lit class was one of the few
lectures I actually liked, so it stung that I made a
poor impression of myself by getting here so late.
My hair fell forward, hiding my flushed face.
The girl sitting beside me nudged me with her
shoulder, box braids swinging. “Don’t worry, we
literally just started. Davis couldn’t get the projector
to work, but what else is new,” she whispered with a
light chuckle.
I glanced up at him, but he went on about the
importance of journalistic integrity. He usually
struggled with technology in class, grumbling about
back when he began teaching there was no such
thing as a PowerPoint.
Giving her a small smile, I nodded. I vaguely
recognized her from the lecture, though I’d probably

39
only ever seen the back of her head.
I leaned back in the plush chair, soaking in the
professor’s thoughts. He spoke at the front of the
room, pointing to a slideshow jam-packed with
words.
We all had a place around one long table. Single
desks lined the walls. Behind a glass board with
some half-erased plans were floor-to-ceiling
windows with a view of the sprawling campus.
“I’m the paper’s teacher advisor, so I won’t be
doing much hands-on with you all. That’ll mainly be
left to your very capable editor,” Professor Davis
said, gesturing at someone sitting near him to go up.
The girl next to me gave me the meeting
materials that were going around. I took a packet
and passed the rest on. My fingers slid over the
smooth sheets of paper as I sorted through the pile.
While I read, the whir of a fan inside the
projector increased over the steady drone of air
conditioning until the whirring paused, stuttered,
and gave out, along with the overhead lights.
“Well, I guess I’m bad luck,” the editor said as he
joined the Prof at the head of the table, seeing as the

40
electricity cut out in time with his arrival. A
smattering of laughter rose from the group.
I pursed my lips. Why did that voice sound so
familiar?
“Power should be back up in two shakes of a
lamb’s tail. This sometimes happens when the wind
knocks over a power line or something of the sort,”
Professor Davis said as people turned on their
phones to illuminate the room.
The acrid scent of burned coffee wafted over
from the table behind me. A little condiment trolley
carrying sugar packets, fake sweeteners, and creams
fit nicely beside it. I couldn’t help but notice the
selection of snacks, some more appealing than
others. The croissants had a plastic-y look, whereas
the oversized muffins loaded with berries made my
mouth water.
People broke off into small groups, speaking in
low voices. I turned to the girl who’d reassured me
earlier.
I stuck my hand out. “Hi, I’m Nat.”
She gripped my hand. “I’m Layla.”

41
“So, what are you excited to write about?” I
angled towards her in my chair.
“I’m a photographer for the paper, words aren’t
my thing. But, I take it you’re a writer?” She tilted
her head, and I nodded.
“In that case, are you interested in any specific
type of photography?” I asked, voice rising in pitch.
Did photographers like taking different types of
photos? What were the different types of photos? I
knew more about astrophysics, and that was only
because once I went down a YouTube rabbit hole
about Neil Degrasse Tyson.
“I’m all about action photography,” she said, eyes
bright. “On Friday, I’m—” She halted as light
flooded the room. Lo and behold, the power kicked
back on in minutes.
She shut her mouth as attention returned to
Professor Davis and the editor.
“Let’s finish this conversation after,” I murmured.
Layla nodded.
I turned back to the front and landed on a pair of
familiar brown eyes. A tentative smile built on my
lips. Pablo never told me he was the editor of the
paper!

42
We’d met planting trees on Charity Day, one of
the last days of orientation week. We spent all day
together under the hot sun chatting.
“Well, good afternoon, everyone. Let’s get right
back into it, I guess. My name’s Pablo Ramirez, and
I’ve been given the amazing opportunity to be
Summit Post’s editor this year. I’m excited to lead
our team and make the Post better than ever,” he
said.
He continued on, but his words slipped right past
me as I remembered the many, many pros on his list.
Definitely boyfriend material.
When I didn’t know anyone else at Charity Day,
Pablo popped up next to me, conversation easy.
Being a junior, he was a leader in charge of running
the day. Nevertheless, he truly went above and
beyond to make sure everyone was comfortable and
having fun. Well, as much fun as you could’ve had
planting trees.
As I openly stared, I was reminded that not only
his personality made it on the pros list. With a slim
and muscular build, his lips always curled into an
easy grin. People were just drawn to him. I mean, I
could see it in the way that they hung on his every
word and returned a smile.

43
Oh, and don’t get me started on his dark eyes.
They made me weak at the knees.
I nodded along to whatever he told us, stroking
my arm.
Professor Davis stood when Pablo came to a
natural pause. He clapped Pablo on the shoulder
before he turned to us and said, “Thanks, Mr.
Ramirez, but I need to get going.”
“I have one last point I forgot to bring up earlier.
Twice a year–this semester in December, then again
at the end of the year–there’s an edition dedicated to
personal pieces from the writers.”
I smoothed down my skirt and bit down on a
smile. Writing for my high school’s paper was one
of the few extracurriculars I participated in, seeing
as my business ate up so much of my time. I could
write a stellar personal piece, no problem.
“Everyone is required to submit an article, but
only a few will be chosen for publication. Start
pondering, let it percolate. The deadline will come
up faster than you think, and I want you to dig
deep,” Professor Davis said.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Every teacher
and their mother toted the same line. Yes, deadlines

44
were objects in the passenger-side mirror— closer
than they appear.
But, I had precisely a bazillion other items on my
to-do list to tick off before even thinking about this
personal piece.
“And with that, I bid you adieu,” he finished.
As soon as the door shut behind him, the decibel
levels in the room rose considerably. I followed suit
and sniffed out the coffee like a bloodhound.
The sludge I poured in a paper cup was a far cry
from the aromatic coffee blends I kept stocked in my
room, but it was somewhat warm and caffeinated.
I brought a shaky hand to my forehead and
massaged my temple, closing my eyes for a second.
I barely believed it had been only two days since
Mom dropped a truckload of crap on my head with
the amount of work that’d piled up.
“Alright, everyone, if I could have your attention
please,” Pablo said.
I slid back into my seat next to Layla.
“We’re just going to jump right into this and hand
out the first set of assignments for the September
issue.” He raised a stack of papers in the air to

45
emphasize his point as we all settled, chairs
scraping.
He began to list the options and writers
volunteered.
“Upcoming Summit University Student Council
vote.” Political-ish stuff. Bleh. Plus, interviewing all
the candidates would take for-freaking-ever.
I rubbed the back of my neck. I needed
something quick and easy.
“Covering the climate change protest.” Too
significant for me to mess up.
“The new cannabis shop opening.” Perfect!
I raised my hand, but a guy closer to Pablo
snagged it.
He went on, each option growing less appealing.
Beneath the desk, my knee bounced.
“The future of the internet opinion piece.” Did I
have forty hours to spend researching?
My stomach rolled. I grabbed a water bottle from
the middle of the table, cold condensation on my
warm skin.

46
“Student-athlete interview.”
“Me!” I blurted out as my hand shot up. Heads
turned in my direction.
“Uh, for the student-athlete interview. Me, um, I
would love to write it,” I said in a weak voice. What
I wouldn’t have given to, at that moment, slide off
my chair and crawl out the door.
“Are you sure? Most of your work has been
investigative, from what I understand,” Pablo said,
head bent as he checked his list.
Yes, well, I didn’t have time to do a deep dive
into the dark underbelly of the Summit University
Student Council, so this interview would have to do.
Instead of voicing the snarky demon in my head,
I replied, “I want to expand my skill set. Broaden
my horizons.” A little white lie never hurt anyone. I
needed a quick and painless article that would be
done faster than I could cross it off my to-do list.
“There is one issue we’ve been running into,
though.” He chewed his bottom lip, regarding me.
“What’s that? I can make it work, no problem.” I
shrugged. So, there might be a little snag in my easy
peasy article, but how hard could this really be?

47
“Well, the player has declined all our interview
requests so far, and we need to get it in this issue.”
“Who is it? I’m sure I can convince them,” I said.
“Let me check here.” Pablo ducked his head,
consulting his notes.
“It’s the hockey team’s new star rookie, Tyler
Sawyer.”
“Wait, who?” I said, voice halting.
“Tyler Sawyer.”
Of course, it had to be him.
Now, we’ve met a bunch of new characters! What
do you think of them— Nat’s mom, Professor Davis,
Layla, Pablo? I’m having so much fun meeting all of
them with you.
Are you a coffee addict like Nat? I’m partial to a
chai tea latte myself. What’s your go-to drink order?
Nat’s is clearly a double-double from Tims.
Also, exciting news! I’ve hopped onto a bunch of
different socials if you wanna hang with me over
there too. I post sneak peeks of upcoming chapters,
exclusive content, and of course, fangirl over
everything bookish. I’m @NikkiPierceBooks on

48
Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter (minus the s cause of
silly character limits). Are there any other platforms
you’re on that I should join? Lemme know!
If you’ve read this far and haven’t voted yet,
what’re you doing? *picture me side-eyeing you*
Just kidding! Or am I…
I’m having SO much fun writing Nat’s story.
Until next time!

49
3 | Fountain Pens

Nope.
My stomach churned, and not in the I-ate-a-bad-
burrito-way, but in an ohmysweetgoodness-I-can’t-
do-this-way.
This was not happening. I totally didn’t agree to
do this when my shocked brain went into autopilot,
must-be-polite mode.
I bounced a curled knuckle against my mouth as I
glared at the Summit University dry erase calendar
tacked up above my desk. A big, fat red X stared
back, mocking me.
No way, José.
Not a single universe existed where I, Natasha
Chabra, would take my butt out of this chair and go
ask Tyler Sawyer to do the interview.
I swallowed, throat dry. After I procrastinated all
day, I had to rip off the Band-aid and just do it.

50
A pro/con list wasn’t even necessary, this was a
no-brainer.
I made a commitment to the paper to get this
article done, and in order to get the article done, I
had to interview him.
But first, I had to convince him to do the
interview.
I had to convince him, the star hockey player who
Pablo couldn’t persuade.
I had to convince him, the guy who made up one
half of The Bathroom Incident™.
I had to convince him, the person who lived two
doors down from me that I barely talked to for the
three whole weeks we’d been living in the dorms,
despite running into him everywhere.
And, to squirt a dollop of Cheese Whiz on top of
these stale nachos, I told Pablo I would send him the
first draft by the weekend.
So, here I was, sitting at my desk on Thursday
night, the deadline in two days.
With restless legs, I pushed my chair back and
went straight for my closed door. I grabbed the
handle, then drew back.

51
I blew out a series of short breaths to gain control
of my spiralling thoughts.
Just do it, Nat, I played on a repeating loop in my
head. Soon, Nike would be calling me for copyright
infringement.
In one decisive motion, my sweaty hand wrapped
around the metal handle. Before I knew it, I stood in
their empty doorway, the door already open, like
usual.
I poked my head in, eyes travelling from the
patterned carpet with muted stains to the dings and
scuff marks on the walls. On one side of the room,
clothes were thrown in a clump bed and lying on the
floor. The other side had a made bed with extra
blankets and pillows folded on a shelf.
Across the windowsill sat an impressive
collection of empty tequila bottles for only three
weeks of being here.
But, there was one key thing missing. Or rather,
one key person.
“Hello?” I called out.
A thud sounded, then a muted string of curses.

52
Pausing to examine the scene in front of me
again, my gaze swept the room. I edged closer to the
source of the thud and squatted.
My head tilted to the side, and I pursed my lips.
“What’re you doing under the desk?”
The last thing I expected to find was Will, Tyler
Sawyer’s roommate, crouched in the small space,
rubbing the back of his head.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Oh,” I said, straightening. “I’m Nat from down
the hall.”
“Right,” he trailed off, giving me a sidelong
glance as his tall frame unfolded.
A flush crept across my cheeks. “I was looking
for Tyler?”
“He’ll be back in a sec, you can just chill here till
he gets back.”
I bobbed my head. We stared at each other.
“So, I—” “You can—” we both started. I shut my
mouth.

53
“Go ahead,” I laughed. The edges of Will’s lips
turned up.
“You can sit while you wait for Sawyer.” He
motioned to the messy bed.
I perched on the edge of the bed. This was
presumably Will’s side of the room, so Tyler Sawyer
had the organized side.
It was nothing surprising—a nightstand with a
bedside lamp, a desk with stationery and pens. He
had a few pictures up and a Summit University
pennant.
“Want something to drink?” Will went to the
mini-fridge in front of the window.
“I’m good, thanks.” I shifted to get comfortable
on the lumpy mattress topper.
The suction of the fridge door giving into
pressure as it opened echoed in the quiet room.
Bottles clinked on the door. Will pulled out a
reusable bottle filled with water and took a long sip.
“I was, uh, looking for my ring.” He jerked his
chin towards the desk.
“Oh, okay. Want help finding it?” I wanted
anything to get my mind off asking about the

54
interview.
“Nah, it’s all good. I know it’s around here
somewhere, I—” Will stopped when I started
looking anyways.
“Or why not, go for it,” he finished.
First, I checked his desk, but it wasn’t under the
scattered pile of papers. Ignoring the itch to organize
all the loose syllabuses, I got on my knees and
scanned beneath the bed.
I took out my phone and turned on the flashlight.
Gold metal glinted in the light.
Found it!
I grabbed the ring and passed it over to him. It
had some sort of engraving on it, an emblem.
“Huh. I swear I checked there.” He pocketed the
ring.
“You’re not wearing it?” I asked.
“Oh, no, I’m giving it to the girl I want to fu—”
He cleared his throat. “Hook up with.”
“What do you mean?” That made no sense, and I
considered myself quite smart.

55
“This is my class ring. There’s this whole thing
around giving it to your girlfriend or whatever.” He
set down his water and sat in his desk chair.
“Your high school class ring?” My brows
squished together.
“Yeah. Some people take it pretty seriously, I
couldn’t care less.” He shrugged, opening his laptop.
“But, the girl I wanna hook up with cares, and I now
have it to give to her. So thanks,” he said, eyes
scanning his screen.
I nodded like I understood what the point of his
ring thing was. “No problem.” Weird, but okay.
“Do you know when Tyl—” I started.
“Talking about me?” a deep voice said behind
me.
I whirled around, pulling my phone tight against
my chest. My breath hitched as I took in the familiar
sight.
Dripping hair. Abs. The same white towel that led
me down to— I forced my eyes away.
You know, until that very moment, I’d never
found a thermostat more interesting. I stared at it on

56
the wall behind his head and shivered from the light
breeze from the window.
I cleared my throat noisily. “So, Tyler—” I said,
but he cut in.
“Sawyer.”
“What?” I frowned.
“It’s Sawyer.” He leaned against the door frame.
“Right, ah, sorry, Sawyer,” I said, emphasizing
his name.
“How was your shower?” I blurted out. “I mean,
I heard they were having issues with the water
pressure, and that’s a very important thing. Water
pressure can make or break a shower, believe me.
I’m sure you know, having taken showers yourself,
as a person. I hope you’ve taken showers. But who
am I to judge? You don’t have—”
Ty raised a single, dark brow. I paused. Had his
eyes always been that blue? ’Cause damn, those
baby blues could rival the walls of my room when I
went through that neon phase in middle school.
“Sunshine, get to your point,” he said, eyes on
mine. I bit the inside of my cheek to fight a scowl.
Who was he calling Sunshine?

57
“Well, you see.” I gestured with my hands,
stalling. I took a deep breath and staring at those
piercing eyes, everything tumbled out.
“So, really, this all started with my Mom who
quit her job working for me to move to New York
City with her fiancé who I’ve never met, which
dumped a buttload of work into my lap so then I
needed an article that would be quick, and there was
a student-athlete interview, and my options were
dwindling and long story short, I need to interview
you for the Summit Post preferably sooner rather
than later because my deadline is this weekend and I
kind of put off asking you, which I’m sorry about,
but I promise I’ll take up the littlest, teeniest amount
of your time,” I said in one breath.
“So, you’re telling me that writing an article
about me was your last resort, and you actually have
no interest in this at all?” he said.
“Yes!” I nodded.
His face was unreadable.
“Wait, no.” I froze as my brain caught up. “That
came out wrong.” I cringed.
Will leaned back in his chair and stuck his head
out. “You’re shit outta luck, Nat. Sawyer here

58
doesn’t do inte—”
“I’ll do it, meet me after the game tomorrow,” he
said, shooting Will a look.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” I
beamed.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get changed,
unless you’d like to stay? I won’t object,” he said
with a hard smile. He moved closer, invading my
personal space.
“Nope, I’m leaving. Thanks!” I backed away.
“Bye, Will!” I looked over Tyler Sawyer’s
shoulder pointedly, then darted back to my room.
Slamming the door to my room shut behind me, I
swallowed a shout of glee, fit pumping the air.
Success!
I rested my head against the door.
But, as my racing heart slowed, I slid down the
door till my butt hit the floor.
I just made a total fool of myself for fifteen
minutes straight, and now I had the interview itself
to do. With Tyler Sawyer.

59
Great.

Was Tyler Sawyer in Witness Protection? A CIA

agent? An X-Files alien dropped on earth?
Finding information about him online was a
major struggle.
I considered myself quite the stalking sleuth, but
other than an Instagram he rarely posted on, I
couldn’t find any other social media. And, as for
other recent articles, nada.
Was it even possible to have such a small digital
footprint in the 21st century?
I leaned forward in my chair and uncrossed my
legs, ignoring the squeak and dab of a marker
against the whiteboard at the front of the class. My
tutorial could wait.
Pushing back my sleeves, I squinted at the screen
and clicked on a new little blue link.
Aha!
An article in his high school’s archives from
Grade 10 about the up and coming hockey star, Tyler

60
Sawyer. Even at sixteen, he was a “young phenom.”
I switched tabs to the Google Doc titled, “He
Who Must Not Be Named’s Interrogation
Questioning.”
The whir of the fan inside my laptop and chairs
creaking faded away as my fingers flew across
smooth keys.
Thank God this was a personal interview, and I
didn’t need to know anything hockey related. I
threw in a couple of questions about his thoughts on
the mass media portrayals of hockey and his
attitudes on safety, but otherwise, focused on the
influence of teammates, parents, coaches, and his
journey.
I paused, rolling my neck to loosen a kink. I
looked around the class, then froze.
A bout of dizziness hit me as I looked around the
empty class. I gave the clock on the wall an
incredulous stare.
Fudge berries! Lit class!
I hightailed my ass out of there, not bothering to
put my laptop in my bag.

61
With berating thoughts bouncing around my
skull, I rushed over to the English building. I pushed
open the heavy door to the class, breath coming in
short bursts.
Lit class was held in a medium-size lecture, one
where every row had tables, none of those annoying
lap desks. And, of course, there were no easy seats
to get to.
With a forced smile, I shimmied past half a row
of people, mumbling sorry’s. Oops, stepped on
someone’s bag. And another one. A guy let out a
grunt. Well, it might have been a foot that time. I
winced.
I slumped into the empty chair and dropped my
laptop on the desk. Cracking it open, I tried to catch
up with Professor Davis.
“We’re continuing our discussion of Mary
Shelley’s Frankenstein. If you recall from last class,
we discussed that gothic horror seeks to produce a
sense of terror,” he said.
The clacking of computer keys filled the room,
my own fingers adding to the hum.
“The gothic has two important attributes— it’s
the world of excess and signifies an over-abundance

62
of imaginative frenzy. It’s untamed by reason
and…” the prof continued on.
Wait. I paused. This was lit class. I smoothed
down my windblown ponytail. Lit class meant Alec.
I scanned the backs of the sea of heads, holding
still.
“Frankenstein is a tale of hubris. Shelley explores
the powers of scientific exploration— dangers of
flying too close to the sun,” Professor Davis said.
Found him! My heartbeat quickened, eyes bright
and glossy.
Alec sat near the front with distinct tousled dark
hair, chin resting on his hand as he listened intently,
nodding along with the professor.
Davis went on. Yadda, yadda, Icarus, trapped
cause of the maze thing King Minos made for the
bull he caught his wife cheating on him with, et
cetera.
I met Alec in the first lit class. We both arrived
early, and he sat next to me. We briefly introduced
ourselves before class started. While he’d carried on
the conversation, I stared at his deep brown eyes
with amber flecks. He mesmerized me with his

63
expressive gestures, asking me little questions that I
could barely force my brain to function and answer.
As a poli sci student, an English course was
mandatory for him, but he heard great things about
Professor Davis. Most people took this course
because of him, from a bunch of different faculties.
“Mary Wollenscraft Shelley lived in the shadow
of” killing “her mother in birth and her father always
reminded her of this. She grew up with this sense
that life and death are deeply connected to one
another,” he said, segueing into Mary Shelley’s life.
I rested my chin in my palm, abandoning my
notetaking.
Blinking slowly, my expression went soft. Alec
would rock Mr. Darcy’s profession-of-love-scene in
the rain. I totally didn’t envision the scene in my
head with Alec instead of Matthew Macfadyen.
I snuck another glance. His long fingers held a
pen loosely, a moleskin notebook laid out in front of
him.
Reaching into my bag, I pulled out my phone and
swiped into the notes app. I added to his growing
pros list. Knows his way around a fountain pen.

64
My stomach roiled, and I sighed, putting my
phone away.
This was as close as I would ever get to being
Keira Knightley. Or Elizabeth Bennett. Same thing.
I rubbed my forearms. Why couldn’t I dig up the
courage to go talk to him?
Professor Davis moved from behind the podium,
drawing my attention. “Young Shelley spent her
days reading her mother’s books. She was a little
weird though— Shelley and her first boyfriend
hooked up for the first time at her mother’s grave.”
Odd to hear my sixty-year-old professor talk about
hooking up, but okay.
The girl in front of me turned and whispered
something. Her friend held a hand over her mouth to
suppress a smile, but a giggle slipped through.
The skin under my eyes tightening, I sucked in a
breath through clenched teeth and focused back on
my notes.
“Shelley, her husband, and a poet, Byron, all
spent summer inside and in 1816 the trend was ghost
stories. One night Mary overheard Byron and
Shelley talking to each other; they were talking

65
about some recent scientific discoveries from Luigi
Galvani.”
My gaze drifted back to the whispering girls. I
rubbed my chest, shoulders hunched. Past them, I
spotted Layla. I remembered correctly at the
newspaper meeting, she chose this class too.
“Mary Shelley had a dream that a scientist had a
dream, and the seed for Frankenstein was planted,”
he said. Huh. Kinda like how Stephanie Meyer had
the Twilight dream. Or, I guess Mary had the dream
first, so the other way around.
“Can anyone tell me a major theme in
Frankenstein?” he asked.
A couple of hands rose, one of them being
Alec’s. Professor Davis waved in Alec’s direction.
“Frankenstein is a framed narrative, so it’s a
story within a story, within a story type thing,” Alec
said. I gave him my rapt attention, the pulse in my
throat rising.
“Yes, you’re correct, Mr. Ito-Russell.” As a
frequent contributor, Davis called on Alec by name.
“The creature is at the centre of the narrative,
filtered by Victor Frankenstein’s perspective, filtered

66
again by Robert Walton, and then finally told by the
author. The author is whoever receives letters from
Robert Walton, which happens to be his sister,
Margaret Walton Saville.” Professor Davis paused,
giving the room a sweeping look.
“So, what is the importance of the frame
narrative?”
If I were a cartoon character, my mouth would
have fallen open at that moment. The revelation
unfurled in front of my eyes.
Margaret Walton Saville = M.W.S. = Mary
Wollenscraft Shelley
The frame narrative was all about how Mary had
to sit and listen to Byron and Shelley talk and talk
and talk. Women sat on the sidelines.
But, in Frankenstein, M.W.S. had a crucial role
as the author and was simultaneously forced into the
background. Whoa.
Nobody raised a hand. I glanced around uneasily
but took care not to meet the professor’s eyes. My
tongue darted out, wetting my lip.
Raise your hand.
Just do it.

67
But, maybe I was all wrong. Maybe that was
waaay off. It would be so awkward if I answered
and was completely off base.
My hand stayed limp in my lap.
After a tense minute, Alec raised his hand,
hesitating.
Professor Davis nodded for him to speak. It was
probably for the best that I didn’t open my mouth. I
would ramble and make a fool out of myself, and I
did enough of that yesterday.
“Well, the novel is all about perspective.” Alec
waved his pen. “It’s about stories and the importance
of stories. And, since there’s always three degrees of
removal, we’re not observing the story as it
happened, we’re observing perception.”
Wow, so insightful. I leaned forward.
“You’re absolutely right, and as much as I want
to continue this conversation, that’s all the time we
have for today. See you all next week,” Professor
Davis said.
Alec packed up, making small talk with the guy
next to him.

68
I slid my laptop into my bag, but couldn’t help
but send one last glance his way.
His eyes searched around the crowd. Mine stayed
locked on him.
Then, he landed on me and gave a grin. How
many books had I read where a girl’s heart stopped
when a guy looked at her? Now, that line made a
whole lot of sense.
Alec walked in my direction, holding my gaze.
My cheeks flushed hot.
I couldn’t find my voice.
Ohmysweetgoodness.
He was coming over.
Whew! This was a fun chapter to write… all
those hot guys😏 More new characters! What do you
think of Will and Alec? What’re your thoughts about
the story so far?
I’d also love to know what you’re writing! Feel
free to self-promo in the comments 😉 Mention the
genre and a quick blurb about it so we can all find
some new reads. If you don’t write, what else are

69
you currently reading? Or do you have any
recommendations?
Also, I dedicated this chapter to Alex
(@nonfictionalex) who has helped me SO much in
understanding the writing side of being on Wattpad
after only being a reader for so long.
Aaaand here’s my lil reminder to vote! Please &
thank you :)

70
4 | For Puck's Sake

My ass was officially frozen to this seat.

With a heaviness in my body, I imagined myself
looking up with my hands raised in the why me?
position.
The whack of a hockey stick slapping ice drew
my attention back to the oblong rink. A puck hit the
boards, smack loud above the music playing over
the stereo system.
I followed the progress of the game with a stony
expression.
Why did I have to be such an idiot? From the
way I bolted out of lit class, I could’ve given Wile E
Coyote a run for his money.
The greasy scent of hot dogs cooking at the
concession stand wafted over, but I ate back at the
dorms. I wrapped my arms around myself, pulling
my jacket tighter.

71
I didn’t even give Alec the chance to get within
five feet of me before I ran out the door. Who knows
if he was coming over to talk to me? I was sitting in
the general vicinity of the exit, so he probably just
looked at me to be polite.
Plus, I had to leave to get ready for the hockey
game. The game that I had two hours to get ready
for, but that was still a reason why I had to leave.
Coaches shouting to their players overlapped
with the voices of students laughing and talking. The
stands around me were packed with fellow crimson-
clad students. The group of guys next to me wore
team jerseys and baseball caps while carrying plastic
cups of beer.
Red wasn’t really my colour of choice, so I had
slim pickings in my closet. But, buried behind the
swimsuit that I never used, I found the red shirt from
my welcome package at the beginning of the year.
With a strategic knot tied at the front, it paired
well with my pair of high-rise black jeans and a
leather jacket. However, I didn’t realize that the
other team’s colour was black, so I kinda stood out
in the Summit student section. Oops.

72
I tracked the fast-moving blades of players racing
around the rink, eyes drawn to the one with
“SAWYER” lettered across his back. I couldn’t
fathom trying to balance on thin blades, let alone
moving as gracefully as he did on the ice.
But, of course, he was the reason I had to be here
at this godforsaken hockey game, sitting among this
tiered seating littered with popcorn.
I glared at the thirteen on Tyler Sawyer’s back.
Weren’t hockey players supposed to be
superstitious? I rolled a crick in my neck and lost
him in the shuffle.
The puck thumped into the other team’s goalie’s
glove, giving rise to groans around me. It was the
third quarter, or period, or whatever it’s called, and
we were tied up.
Even though the goalie grabbing the puck was
about as important to me as the crushed peanut
shells on the ground, I groaned too. Solidarity, sister.
Or conformity, sister, but that didn’t have the same
ring to it.
The buzzer rang out, and the players left the rink,
leaving two empty hockey nets and markings within
the ice. The chatter increased.

73
A t-shirt gun catapulted shirts into the crowd. I
traced the catapulter to the front of the section,
where a student started up a cheer in the stands.
“Hey, hey, it’s time to fight!” she called out. I
squinted and leaned forward in my chair, shoes
sticking to the floor. Layla!
She wore a cropped red jersey with blue jeans. A
camera swung around her neck as she cheered. The
ends of her box braids were red, matching the face
paint smeared across her cheeks.
“Everybody yell red and white!” she said, voice
clear and louder than I thought possible of her
delicate frame.
“Red and white!” the crowd repeated. There was
a certain level of drunk I needed to be to do that, and
I had no plans to drink tonight. I had to stay sharp to
interview Tyler Sawyer.
They went on, somehow devolving into a
jumping mass that yelled, “Go, fight, win!” over and
over.
Swallowed in the crowd with her group of
friends, I lost sight of Layla. I pulled back and
rubbed my hands down the front of my pants.

74
The Zamboni cruised around the rink and left a
slick trail of smooth ice in its wake. The surrounding
seats had emptied out as people went to the
washroom or concessions. So, instead of having to
partake in that awkward, forced camaraderie
between strangers that cropped up at sporting events,
I pulled my phone out.
An email with the subject line “URGENT:”
caught my attention.
Sitting on the edge of my chair, I delved into the
long email. With a gleam in my eye, I typed out a
response. A supply chain issue I could deal with, no
problem.
Halfway through the email, my phone dinged.
New post from @alecitorussell. My mouth went dry.
I may or may not have turned on his post
notifications.
Someone tripping returning to their seat in the
narrow aisles. He jabbed me with his elbow and
splashed beer.
Tapping on the little banner, I opened Instagram.
Blades sliced across the fresh ice, then scraped to
a stop. In my periphery, the puck dropped.

75
What in the world was I going to do the next time
I saw Alec? I waited two weeks for him to notice me
again, and I missed my freaking chance.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared
down at the gross concrete floor. Spilled beer,
crumpled up candy bags, and discarded frilly paper
hot dog holders. How lovely. I guess that was why
my shoes were sticky.
I could waltz up to Alec next lit class and go for
it, be wild and crazy and ask him to go to coffee. Or
for his notes. That was more reasonable. But, I
didn’t want to be permanently friend-zoned by
becoming the study-buddy-who-wants-your-notes-
friend. Coffee was friend-like too. What are you
supposed to ask to do?
Who was I kidding? Asking him to do anything
would involve me actually going up to him to talk to
him.
Following him on Instagram, on the other hand,
was easy. We vaguely knew each other and had a
couple of mutuals. I followed all the boys I made
pro/con lists for— Summit wasn’t that huge of a
school, so it wasn’t weird. Or at least, I hoped it
wasn’t weird.

76
Oh god, what if they all think I’m the weird
stalker girl that followed them on Instagram? I sunk
back into the chair.
People burst up from their seats, all together, on
cue like I imagined people did when the LAUGH
light went off on talk shows. According to the
scoreboard, Summit scored. It was 4-3 with six
minutes left.
From the bodies tackling number thirteen, I took
it that Ty scored. Cheers echoed, and cameras
flashed.
I glanced behind me. Bad move. Half naked men
with numbers painted on their chest jumped up and
down, pennants and flags flying high.
With a pain in my jaw, I gave them a flat side-eye
before poking my nose back into my phone.
Alec sat with a group of friends in a coffee shop,
arms slung around their shoulders. The caption read,
“Othello? More like oh hell no.”
I gently bit my bottom lip, fighting a smile.
I scrolled through the rest of his feed, taking care
not to accidentally like anything. That would be an
awkward conversation.

77
It played out in my head. So, Nat, why did you
like a photo from my vacation in Florida four years
ago? Well, that’s a great question, Alec. I’m a creepy
stalker!
A sour taste filled my mouth as my eyes scanned
the pictures.
How could I ever compare to his prom date? Or
the other random girl who was on that Florida
vacation? I tapped the image once, revealing her tag.
Her last name was Ito. Cousin, perhaps. But still, my
double chins could never photograph that well.
I tipped my head back, looking skyward. Those
fans looked weird. Why did they spin so slowly?
Was a badminton birdie stuck up there?
I blinked. I could never ask Alec out. I would
never make the first move.
My future flashed before my eyes— the great
aunt on Facebook posting nightly life updates.
I ran out of soaps on the DVR.
My dearest Fluffy coughed up a hairball.
#80YearOldVirgin #LiveLoveLaugh✌

78
The final buzzer sounded, the finality of it
ringing in my ears.

Tyler Sawyer’s crisp white dress shirt came in a

close second to the usual white towel. Adding a suit
on top of that body should’ve been illegal. Now that
I knew hot hockey players wore suits after games, I
would figure out what channel showed NHL games.
After listening to the hum of the Zamboni
moving across the ice for an inordinate amount of
time, I finally made my way down to the locker
room exit to find my interviewee.
Area swarming with people, I leaned against a
concrete wall to wait. And I’d been here for half an
hour. Waiting.
Surrounded by teammates and dare I say, fans,
Tyler Sawyer talked to the never-ending stream of
people. Monosyllabic, but patient, unlike me. There
were so many items I could be checking off my to-
do list right now.
I spotted Layla here too somewhere, flitting
around the crowd.

79
My heart palpitations had devolved into a tapping
foot by the twenty-minute mark. I checked and
rechecked my phone for messages.
Crossing my arms, I fiddled with the leather cuff
of my jacket. Most of the fans left, leaving just the
guys and their friends. As much as I enjoyed the
ozone-like cement scent, a girl could only take so
much.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I complained
under my breath and squared my shoulders.
I walked over to the group of tall guys and tapped
Tyler on the shoulder. That was one broad shoulder.
“Well, you’re a dick!” a girl said to him before
walking off in the other direction. He turned to me.
Guess I caught the tail-end of an awkward
conversation.
“I’m guessing you didn’t decide to change your
name to Richard?” I gave a wry smile.
“Nope.” He adjusted his baseball cap. Only he
could pull off wearing a backwards cap with a suit
and make it look not completely weird.
“Right,” I said, strongly aware of my own
heartbeat, “So are you ready for the interview?

80
There’s a couple places upstairs still open, or—”
“We’re going to a bar, let’s do the interview
there.” He picked up his bag and slung it over his
shoulder.
My head jerked back. We? A bar?
“What? Where? Why?” I rushed out. “No.”
“Yes,” he said.
“A bar is not conducive for conducting a formal
interview like this.” I thought back to one I went to
during orientation week with strobe lights and
screaming into each other’s ears to be heard. Fun
when drunk, but not for an interview.
My gaze flicked upward to his eyes. Why did he
always have to make such piercing eye contact?
When he didn’t say anything, I continued on,
“Plus, I don’t even have a fake.” That was a lie, Mia
gave me her old health card and driver’s license, but
he didn’t know that.
“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged and started
walking past me.
A flare of adrenaline rushed through me, firing
my brain to act. I followed Tyler down the hallway,

81
footsteps dragging.
“Yes, it does matter.” I refrained from adding
Richard to the end of that sentence.
“No, it really doesn’t,” he said.
I exhaled quickly through my nose, making what
some might call a snort. Very ladylike.
“Well, you see, at establishments that serve
alcohol, one must be nineteen years old. I’m
eighteen, and so are you.” I motioned between us,
his bright eyes following. At least he was listening,
maybe.
“Thus, even with a fake, our likelihood of getting
into a bar is greatly diminished. Why don’t we just
cut out the effort of trying to get in, then failing, and
go to a coffee shop? Or a diner? Or even back to the
dorms?” I reasoned, quickening my steps to keep up
with his long strides.
“Trust me,” he said.
My nose wrinkled. Trust him? Mr. Bathroom
Incident™ Guy? Did he hit his head too hard on the
sideboards?
Before I could get another word in, Layla
bounced up next to Tyler.

82
“You ready to go?” she said. Tyler nodded. I
stumbled mid-stride. Did they know each other?
“Beckett, let’s go sometime this year, please,”
Layla called out over her shoulder, then she turned
to me.
“Hey, Nat, right?”
Will, who somehow appeared next to me, replied,
“Yeah, she’s interviewing Sawyer for the paper.”
Normally, I could function as a human and speak
for myself, but my fuzzy thoughts couldn’t keep up
with the fast-paced conversation.
“I know, I’m on the paper too.” Layla held up her
camera and gave him a pointed look. Will ignored
her, scrolling on his phone.
I followed with glazed eyes.
“So, we’re going to Karma? Everyone’s already
over there,” Will said, looking up from his screen.
The name left a bitter tang on my tongue.
“Ugh, Karma’s always all packed and sweaty,”
Layla said, echoing my thoughts. The club didn’t
have the best reputation.

83
I scowled at Tyler. At this rate, he was going to
give my gorgeous face premature eleven wrinkles.
Seemingly oblivious, he held open the door. A
mumbled thanks fell out of my mouth as the crisp
fall air hit me.
“We’re going to The Brew,” Tyler said.
I turned away, scratching my cheek. The Brew?
Never heard of it.
Yet another boy in a suit burst out the doors and
joined us, making us a group of five. He wrapped an
arm around Layla’s shoulder, their skin the same
shade of rich brown.
“Did I hear you say we’re going to Brew? I’m
down,” he said, keys jangling as he tossed them in
the air.
“Well, of course, you’d say that, ’cause Brew is
boring, and you have a girlfriend,” Will said.
Layla smiled at me, shaking her head. I clamped
my lips together.
“Nat, this is Beckett, my annoying cousin and our
DD for the night.” She pointed to the giant at her
side.

84
“Don’t try and hide it, I know you love me,”
Beckett said, and Layla promptly punched him in
the stomach.
“Nice to meet you, Nat. I play hockey with these
guys.” He slipped his hand off Layla’s shoulder to
shake mine.
My hands were all warm and sweaty, but there
was no time to wipe them on my jeans.
After hesitating for a split second, I gave him a
firm handshake. If he noticed the sweatiness, he
didn’t say anything, thank God.
“Shotgun!” Will said as we approached a black
Jeep. Layla rolled her eyes and went around to the
other side of the car.
Tyler, Beckett, and Will dropped their bags off in
the trunk. Where was I supposed to sit? I had two
options since Layla went to the other side— the
middle or behind the passenger seat. Both left me in
an enclosed space smack dab next to You Know
Who.
The middle was definitely worse. I mean,
objectively speaking, it was always the most
uncomfortable and never had a good headrest.

85
But, more importantly, it was slide-y. One sharp
turn and bam, I’m basically in Tyler Sawyer’s lap.
For all I knew, Beckett was a sharp-turn-driver, so
the middle was out of the question.
As Tyler came back around, I opened the door
“After you.”
“Ladies first,” he said, shrugging off his suit
jacket. I swallowed. Knowing exactly what was
under that thin material didn’t help my focus.
“I insist.” I smiled, voice sickly sweet.
“No, I insist.” He folded his jacket over one arm
and started to roll up the sleeve of his other arm.
Who knew forearms could look so good? Lord have
mercy.
I snapped out of it. “Get in the car, Sawyer.” I put
a special emphasis on his name.
“No.” He rolled up his other sleeve, stance wide.
“Why?” I said, raking a hand through my hair.
“I’m taller, and it would be tough for Beckett to
see.” He drummed his long fingers against the
exterior of the car.
I gritted my teeth. Couldn’t argue with that.

86
Climbing in next to Layla, I fumbled to buckle up
before Tyler could put a foot in the car, avoiding the
whole, scoot your butt over, oops touched your ass
thing.
Well, he still had to buckle up, but it wouldn’t be
awkward for me because he’d be the one having to
do the ass-touching. I coughed, choking on my
saliva. Too much thought of ass-touching.
“Thanks for deciding to join us,” said Will, who
was scrolling through Spotify, phone plugged in.
I watched a flush creep across my cheeks in the
rearview mirror, a green tree-shaped air freshener
hanging on it. Although, from the not-so-forest-fresh
smell of the car, the cardboard was likely older than
me.
Tyler yanked the door closed, and the car let out a
scraping whine as the starter tried to catch.
He buckled himself in, movements smooth and
sure. His fingers barely grazed my side, but I froze
anyways, nerve endings stirring. He stretched his
long legs out in front of him and leaned back, leg
brushing mine.
I examined the muddy floor mats.

87
With the squeak of the clutch being engaged, we
were out of there.
Layla hummed along to the song Will chose,
bobbing her head on the beat and Beckett tapped the
steering wheel to the deep bass of the song.
I cleared my throat, wracking my brain to think
of something to ask the person sitting to my right.
The person I had a whole list of questions to ask but
were nowhere to be found when I needed them.
He stared straight ahead, blue gaze clear.
Luckily, the car came to a quick, jerky stop. Huh.
We’d gone in the opposite direction of the dorms,
away from campus.
There was no long line of people waiting outside
the establishment to be let in, or a girl to take cover
fees and stamp hands with the club’s logo.
However, a well-muscled bouncer was checking
IDs. Which I said I didn’t have. Doors creaked as
everyone got out of the Jeep.
The thump of Tyler shouldering the door to get it
open jolted me. I scrambled after him.
With dark windows, from the outside, I couldn’t
tell much about “The Brew,” as the letters on the

88
brick building read.
Tyler and I trailed behind the rest of them.
“Last chance to go do the interview somewhere
normal, like a coffee shop. Tim Hortons is just over
there.” I waved to the red sign across the street. “I’ll
buy you a coffee, and who doesn’t like coffee. My
blood-caffeine level would be higher than the legal
limit if one existed. More caffeine in me than a
truckload of Red Bull. If I don’t get my cup of Joe,
I’ll go into withdrawals. You wouldn’t want that,
would you?” I asked.
He shook his head, hair curled up under his cap,
eyes gleaming.
However, we didn’t stop, we kept going closer
and closer to the bouncer dude.
Push come to shove, I’d cluck like a chicken and
whip out Mia’s ID.
“You’re really annoying, you know that,” I
mumbled to him.
“Uh-huh,” he grunted, nudging me forward.
The empty pit in my stomach was large enough to
rival the library of books I had downloaded to my
phone.

89
My fight or flight response from my prehistoric
ancestors were gonna kick in at any second as I
stared up at the dark eyes of the bouncer.
I gulped. Stupid, slow prehistoric instincts.
Tyler just stood there with that smug look on his
face.
Screw you, stupid Tyler Sawyer.
My face while writing this chapter: *PURE
EXCITEMENT*
What do you think of the book so far? Is anything
confusing? Opinion on the characters? Who’s your
fave? What about the pacing? Are the chapters too
long, too short? Just right, Goldilocks?
I’d also love to know how you’re doing! What
would you rate your day on a scale of 1-10? I’m a
solid 10 ’cause I’m SO excited to read your
comments!
(Oh, and here’s your reminder to vote! And
maybe share this story with your friends if you like
it… okay, bye for real now!)

90
5 | Dramatic Fist Slams

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me your uncle

owns the place,” I said to the boy sitting across from
me. Tyler Sawyer’s uncle freaking owned this bar-
pub-club mashup, The Brew.
“Wasn’t important.” He slung his arm across the
back of the booth, fingers brushing a forgotten, half-
empty pint of beer.
“So, the little scene outside was for shits and
giggles?” I folded my arms across my chest and
leaned forward, ridges of the rough-hewn table,
digging into my skin.
In a frazzled haze, I rambled complete nonsense
to the bouncer for so long I was sure he was going to
tell us to leave him the hell alone. When I paused to
take a breath, Tyler nodded the weird guy-chin-
raise-thing at the bouncer, who I now knew as his
cousin CJ, and let us in.
“It was fun watching you squirm,” he said, a
single dimple popping up.

91
Ugh! I dragged a hand through my dark hair.
Instead of a green crystal, dimples had to be my
kryptonite.
“I told the boys I’d go out, and since you had to
interview me, we had to go someplace I wouldn’t
get swarmed. You do realize we won the first game
of the season tonight, right?” His voice was clear
over sports fanatics shouting at the TV.
How could little old me forget Tyler Sawyer was
Summit University hockey royalty? Shaking my
head, I squinted down at my phone’s screen for more
questions. “So, we’ve covered hockey from your
pee-wee days to high school. What made you choose
Summit?”
“Had to go somewhere.” His dimple disappeared.
Tyler leaned forward, arms resting on the table.
“There are plenty of great hockey teams, why
here?” I paused to examine him. He’d been a little
less monosyllabic than usual with the other
questions.
“Why not here?” He twisted the ring on his
pinky, gaze on the wall-mounted flat-screen TVs
over the bar.

92
I rubbed my brow. Guess Summit was a no-go
topic. He turned the ring again, revealing the same
emblem as Will’s hookup ring.
“So, you actually wear your ring?” I asked.
He paused mid-ring-twist, giving me a blank
look.
I fidgeted with a thin paper napkin. “Will lost his
ring, I helped him find it, told me the whole thing
about giving it to girls to hook up, or something.”
“Right, to hook up. Of course, he’d say that.” He
scoffed, gaze going cloudy. “This ring is never
leaving my finger again, I can tell you that much.”
Duly noted.
“Last time it did, it cost me a championship.”
I strained to hear him over the loudmouth sitting
in the booth over. He banged his hand repeatedly
against the wood tables to emphasize whatever he
was going on about.
If I heard Tyler right, I wasn’t about to touch that
comment with a ten-foot pole. Nope. Not gonna do
it.
I threw him a sidelong glance, low lighting
casting shadows across his face.

93
What, he hooked up with the wrong girl, and he
lost a game? Big deal.
“Well, you have no shortage of girls here,
regardless of the ring thing,” I said. How could I
help myself? He dangled the carrot right in front of
my nose.
“True.” He leaned back and interlocked his hands
behind his head. “They all know what they’re
getting into, always no-strings-attached.” He gave an
oh-so-modest grin.
Oof. Now his head wouldn’t be able to fit into a
helmet. Better fix that.
“You did have one unhappy customer.” I crossed
my legs. A waitress dressed in a short black skirt
with a money pouch and apron holding a pen and
notepad passed by.
“What?” He tucked in his upper lip, eyes looking
up and slightly to the left. “Who?”
Your turn to squirm, buddy. Face upturned, I
didn’t even wrinkle my nose at the cigarette odour
wafting off a smoker’s clothing nearby.
His lips pursed as my fingers formed a steeple
between us. Soon, our noses would be touching.

94
“The girl that was mad at you earlier, Richard.”
Obviously, he did something to upset her.
He shook his head.
My mouth twitched, itching to grin. Gotcha with
that one.
“She wasn’t mad.” He waved a hand.
My power steeple crumbled as I drew my hands
back. So much for my career as a supervillain.
Doofenshmirtz always had a killer steeple hand pose
for his villain monologues.
“She called you a dick,” I countered.
“Well, she wasn’t mad at me, per se. It’s really
your fault.” He laughed, flashing straight pearly
whites. Actually, the pointy one had a chip.
His laugh died off, lips covering the teeth openly
stared at. I flicked my gaze up.
“How could that possibly be my fault?” My
palms dampened.
His eyes glinted. Did he think I was looking at
his lips for any other reason to than to find the
imperfection that had to be there? Because I

95
certainly hadn’t noticed his full, pink lips. Or his
dimples. Eyes only on his dental work.
“I had to blow her off tonight for your interview,
so you’re welcome.” He raised his cap with one
hand and ran the other through his hair before
tugging the hat back on.
“Oh. Thanks, I guess.” I could’ve sworn he had
dark hair. Had I only seen it wet? It was a whole mix
of different shades of brown, some blonde in there
too. It had to be dyed, nature didn’t make hair that
nice.
The gurgle of foam spitting out of a tap attached
to a nearly empty keg interrupted my new career in
hairdressing. So much for hard-hitting journalism,
sorry Christiane Amanpour.
“Alright, back to the matter at hand. I need
something personal, a fun fact,” I said. This article
was shaping up to be a timeline from birth with no
hint of who Tyler Sawyer was off the ice.
“No, you don’t.” He rolled his eyes, dart
thumping the board on the wall behind him. A little
to the right, please, drunk lady wearing Juicy sweats.
On second thought, a dart to the head would likely
just bounce off the hockey star.

96
“Yeah, I do. We have to show the whole picture,
you’re not on the ice 24/7.” I gestured in a circular
motion. Perhaps my words didn’t penetrate his thick
skull. I wanted the whole, entire painting of his life.
Better than the Mona Lisa.
“Who says I’m not? Hockey’s a big part of my
life.” He pressed a fist against his lips.
My blood pressure rose, the scrape of forks and
knives grating on my nerves.
“Me,” I spoke through clenched teeth, “I say
you’re not.”
His eyes twinkled. Was he smirking under that
hand? Ugh!
I scrubbed a hand over my face. Give me
something, please. Like… “Like, why thirteen?”
He moved his hand to rest it between us,
displaying a wide smile. Knew it. I held my chin
high, taking a deep breath.
“Thirteen’s my lucky number.” His broad
shoulders gave a half-shrug.
“It’s literally the unluckiest number. Women get
their period thirteen times a year, that alone makes it
unlucky.”

97
“Didn’t know that, thanks for sharing,” he said
sarcastically. Who knew Mr. Stoic had that setting?
“Shut up.” I swatted his arm.
He chuckled. “It’s always been a good number
for me.”
I examined the long wooden bar with local craft
beer taps and a selection of international beers.
“Look, today’s the 13th, and we won,” he said.
My eyes snapped to him. “Wait, today’s Friday
the 13th!”
“Yup.”
The washroom door creaked. I flinched.
“Doesn’t that mean bad juju?” I glanced over my
shoulder. Instead of Slenderman looming, the only
tall guy in a suit was Beckett. He danced with Layla
on the small dance floor. Will leaned on the wall
next to the computer for placing orders, head angled
towards a blonde waitress.
“Juju?” Tyler shook his head. “No such thing,
Sunshine.” So much for being a superstitious hockey
player. Or a flake. Or rude. Apart from being

98
occasionally distracted by the football game on the
screen, he acted like, dare I say, a normal human.
“How have we been living on the same floor for
three weeks, and this is the first time I’ve had a
conversation with you? We live almost across the
hall from each other,” I said.
“Not my fault. I’ve said hi. You run away like
I’m Charles Manson,” he said. Touché.
A tingle swept up the back of my neck and across
my face. I stared at water rings on the tabletop.
“Don’t take it personally.” I drew a finger
through the water. “If anything, you’re more a
Bundy.”
The dimple made a comeback.
He opened his mouth, but before he could say
anything, Layla plopped down next to me, plastic
cushioned seat sighing. I scooted closer to the wall.
Pretty sure these booths weren’t designed for two.
“’Kay, it’s been like two hours, ladies. You need
to catch up.” She snapped her fingers in the vague
direction of Will.
“You’re right, I have enough for the article. I
should get going.” I patted my jacket, looking for

99
my phone to order an Uber.
“Don’t leave, Nat!” Layla threw her arm over my
shoulder, pulling me close. Vodka and sweat,
awesome. “We havta celebrate!”
Will clutched four shot glasses, carrying them
above his head as he navigated between bodies.
“Shots, shots, shots, everybody!” Layla sang off-
key.
Tyler clamped his lips together as I confined a
laugh to a snort.
I toyed with the zipper of my jacket. Mia’s words
echoed in my ears.
Natasha, you need to stop being so scared of
putting yourself out there, using all your silly
pro/con lists.
Will’s mouth moved as he said something to
Tyler.
Gosh, you’ve never even had a boyfriend.
Layla’s arm rested on my shoulder, warm through
the leather.
All you accomplish is pushing people away.

100
Thud.
Will slapped the shots on the table, tequila
sloshing.
“Stay,” Tyler said. Did I imagine his lips moving?
’Cause his face conveyed nothing.
My chest tightened, gaze ping-ponging between
them all.
With icy, blue eyes on me, my fingertips found a
cold, salt-rimmed glass.
“Cheers,” I called out and lifted my shot.
Three glasses clashed against mine.

I lost count after the first six rounds of tequila

shots.
At Layla’s request, Taylor Swift blared around
The Brew. We ignored the loudmouth when he
flipped us the bird.
Layla danced, arms raised high.
“They say I did something bad.” I moved, maybe
on the beat, though probably not. My sweaty

101
Summit shirt stuck to my skin, leather jacket
somewhere around here.
“Then why’s it feel so good?” we sang, or, uh,
screamed.
The bass thumped in my chest, banishing
anything Mia-related.
The song ended. I mimed drinking water. Layla
grabbed my hand, pulling me past the Juicy sweats
lady whose tongue was down CJ’s throat. Rawr,
cougar.
At the bar, Layla leaned over to talk to the
bartender, but her words were about as clear as my
thoughts.
I used the brass foot rail to hop up on a wooden
stool that butt up against the high counter. Oopsie. I
slid off the other side of the twirling seat.
A giggle erupted. Why wouldn’t it stay still? The
seat spun, mirroring the spinning sensation in my
stomach.
I leaned against the bar, stool forgotten.
A cup of water appeared in front of my face.
Layla turned to the bartender, laughing at the
brunette’s not-so-funny joke. Flirt away, girl.

102
I grabbed the plastic cup, condensation on my
palm. The cold liquid slid down my parched throat,
so different from the burn of tequila. Or rum. Or
vodka. Not that I drank all of them that night.
My calves and feet ached. I turned around, back
sagging against the bar.
I surveyed the booths. Tyler sat in the same booth
from hours ago. He spun a highball glass between
his hands, jaw set.
“Oh look, it’s Tyler Sawyer.” My voice came out
louder than expected.
He lifted his head, eyes pinning me.
That seat sure looked comfy. I went over, holding
my half-full cup.
“Why are you sitting all by yourself?” I stumbled
as I got to the table.
He reached out to steady me, hand gripping my
waist. Water splashed me, cold contrasting the
warmth flooding me.
I swallowed, tongue darting out to touch my lips.
Tyler cleared his throat, hand still on my waist. I
jerked away and slid into the booth across from him.

103
Much easier than the stool.
“I’m not by myself, you’re here,” he said.
“Makes sense.” My head was heavy, so I rested it
in my palms, elbows on the table.
He tilted his head, regarding me.
“Why do I have to call you Sawyer?” I blurted
out. “Why is your hair so shiny? Where do you get it
done? I want highlights like yours, so if you have an
ounce of humanity in your muscles, you’ll give me
the name of your hairdresser.”
He gave me a wide-eyed look.
“Did I say muscles? I meant body. But, I mean,
for you, it’s basically all the same. I know, I’ve seen
under that.” I motioned at his stupidly crisp white
shirt.
He smirked. “You don’t have to call me Sawyer.”
“Well, I can’t keep calling you Mr. Bathroom
Incident Guy, can I?” I didn’t give him the chance to
reply.
“No, I didn’t think so. And Tyler is not accurate
at all, doesn’t match your face. What were your
parents thinking? Calling you Tyler is like calling

104
me Tasha. Puke-worthy. So, what am I left with?” I
scowled.
“Bubkis, that’s what.” I slammed my fist.
Nobody around even reacted.
“I thought my dramatic fist slam would be louder.
Underwhelming,” I said.
“My hair’s all-natural, I have the sun and genetics
to thank. Ty’s an option if you want.” He spread out
in the booth, arms stretching, highlighting toned
muscles.
“That’s just great.” I threw my face down, resting
flat on the germ-infested table.
“You good?” he asked.
“It’s fine, I’m fine. I don’t care anymore that I’ll
never have a boyfriend. Who cares if I’m an eighty-
year-old-virgin? Not me. And clearly, you don’t care
either, ’cause your hair’s not fair.” My voice was
muffled by the table.
“That rhymed.” I sniggered. “And I want Ty. That
sounds wrong. You know what I mean. Ty works.
I’ll take it, sold for the free price of nothing.” I lifted
my head, so my chin rested on my splayed hands.

105
“Glad we cleared that up. Drink some more
water.” He nudged my cup over.
I grumbled but gulped it down.
“Happy?” I sat back, leaning into the cushioned
seats.
“Very.”
A greasy scent wafted past. Chicken wings? No.
Nachos?
“You’ve never had a boyfriend?” Ty’s voice rose.
“Yessiree. How do you know?” I scanned the
considerably less busy seating area in search of the
source of the greasiness. “Whatever, doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?” he said.
“Why not what?” My eyes narrowed. The blonde
waitress carried a red basket. Fries! I wanted those
fries in all their salty glory. Yum.
“No boyfriend,” Ty repeated.
The fries disappeared from view. “Ah, yes.” I
nodded sagely, “Boy looks in my general direction, I
run. Alec, point in case. Case in point?”
“Alec?”

106
“Mhm, cute guy in lit class.” I sighed, hunching
in my seat. “I’ll never make the first move, and I
missed my chance at my Mr. Darcy.”
“Why don’t you text him?” His brow furrowed.
Squirmy caterpillars. At least he had bushy
eyebrows. Would he let me tweeze them?
“Thumbs not capable.” I wiggled them in front of
his face.
“Give me your phone, I’ll do it.” Ty held out an
upturned palm.
“Why?” I jutted my chin out.
“Why not?” he said.
Makes sense. I dug around in my back pocket for
my phone and slapped the pastel case into Ty’s hand.
I grabbed two little plastic sword drink
embellishments left over from Layla’s bellinis, one
in each hand. En garde, Monsieur Finger!
Ty’s thumbs moved across the screen, clicking
sound as he typed. Monsieur Finger 1 defeated
Monsieur Finger 2.
“Here, send that.” He turned the phone to face
me.

107
The words swam in front of my eyes. I snatched
it out of Ty’s grasp.
“I can’t.” I didn’t even read the gobbledygook.
“Yes, you can,” he assured me.
“Nope.” I frowned.
“I dare you to send it.” He tapped the top of the
phone. “And, in return, I’ll do a dare too. Or truth,
whatever.”
“Anything?” I asked.
“Anything.” Ty agreed.
I tilted my head in a side-to-side rhythm. A
pro/con list tried to form in my mind, but I kept
forgetting how many I had on each side.
All you accomplish is pushing people away.
Did you ever think it’s smarter to keep them out,
Mia?
“I can’t!” I tore my eyes from the screen.
“Just press send, Nat,” Ty said.
My stomach roiled. I swiped out of the app and
turned off my phone, shoving it back in my pocket.

108
“I’m gonna yack,” I announced.
“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Ty broke eye
contact.
“You are so not fair,” I mumbled as he helped me
out of the booth.
“Gonna have to help me out with that one.” He
ducked under my arm.
I gripped his shoulder tighter when the world
went all swirly. We moved towards the door.
“You drank as much as me, and you’re sober.” I
flinched when the cold air hit my skin.
“No, I switched to water after my second shot.
Hockey season,” he said, warm breath against my
neck as he spoke directly in my ear.
I fumbled, lightheaded from the alcohol.
“Annoying.” I glared at him.
“Logical,” Ty said.

Head pounding, I rolled over and curled into

myself. Lumpy bed.

109
Behind my eyelids, Ty’s lips moved. Just press
send, Nat.
Pulling my phone out my pocket, I held it in front
of me. I groaned as the light illuminated the space
between the screen and my face.
Just press send, huh? Simple as that?
I copied the pro/con lists from my notes and
opened each of my crush’s Instagrams.
@PabloRamirez. Send.
@BlakeHill. Send.
@ColbyScott. Send.
@LoganKalua. Send.
@AlecItoRussell. Send.
My eyes drooped closed, and I dropped the phone
to my chest.
Five crushes, five messages sent.
SHE SENT THE MESSAGES PEOPLE. THE
MESSAGES HAVE BEEN SENT. EEK!
What do you think is going to happen next? So
far, have I met your expectations for the story? Is it

110
easy to follow?
Also, how did you discovered JPS? Was it
recommended to you by a friend? Did you just
randomly click on it (if ya did, where’d you see it?)?
Did you find it on IG/Twitter/other socials? Lmk,
I’m curious!
Speaking of socials, don’t forget to tag me and
use #JustPressSend if you post a quote or anything
like that so I can repost and share it! Wattpad makes
it super easy where you can just highlight text from
the book and share it as a quote
And, how could I forget to remind you to vote?
Thank you so much for all your support, can’t
wait for you to read more!❤

111
6 | The Great Whipped Cream
Debate of '19

Dear idiot blow-drying your hair before the butt

crack of dawn,
I wouldn’t be mad if you strangled yourself with
the cord.
Sincerely,
The girl next door trying to sleep.
The idiot changed the setting, emitting a higher-
pitched screech through the wall.
My body temperature under the tangle of
blankets rose to an uncomfortable level. I kicked off
the sheets, face in the mattress. Throwing out an
arm, I patted blindly for a pillow to hold over my
bleeding ears.
I found soft, cotton sheets, no pillows. Huh.
With a groan, I lifted my throbbing head and
pried my crusty eyelids open.

112
Light shone through the thin, university-provided
curtains, right into my delicate eye sockets.
Ugh!
I dropped my head back into the mattress, dark
purple sheets providing momentary relief. But, the
buzzing didn’t stop, whooshing as Rapunzel dried
her precious hair. She could take her hairdryer and
shove—
Wait. Purple sheets. Not the pastel pink sheets I
spent an inordinate amount of money on.
My mouth went dry. I rolled over onto my back,
ignoring the protest of stiff muscles. Where did I fall
asleep last night?
Hayley Kiyoko stared down at me from the
ceiling.
I poked my tongue into my cheek. Awesome
poster, but not mine. I swung my legs off the side of
the bed, and my bare feet hit the cold carpet. My
spine straightened faster than a puppet on a string.
Frilly pillows piled up on the opposite end of the
bed.
I shook my head. How did I manoeuvre myself to
sleep with my head at the foot of the bed?

113
Everything in the single room had a place, from
the full shoe rack by the door to the highlighters
organized on the desk. The mystery room owner
went so far as to tack their schedule on their Summit
cork board with a purple tack.
I dragged my butt closer, feet shuffling against
the carpet.
The weight on my chest lightened as my eyes
narrowed on the glorious eight and a half by eleven
slip of paper.
Umaru, Layla: Student Number 436897 read the
small print of the schedule.
Tension drained from my muscles. I flopped into
Layla’s desk chair and pressed a hand to my heart.
Crisis averted.
Someway, somehow, I ended up here in Layla’s
room. What happened last night? We did the
interview, I danced with Layla, but the rest was
fuzzy.
I rubbed my bottom lip. Why’d Layla let me stay
here last night?
A collage of stunning photos was pinned above
the schedule.

114
I wrapped my arms around myself. Certainly, I
was no expert, but I recognized professional-quality
photos.
Scattered among the artsy shots were pictures of
Layla with groups of people. They were those blurry
ones taken in the moment, not that I had many of
those to put on my wall.
I turned away from the collage, fidgeting with the
hem of my shirt.
My clothes from last night were still on my body,
stiff and sweat-encrusted.
Lifting my arm, I took a whiff. Jeez. Why didn’t I
go back to my room, the room right down the hall
from Ty’s?
Ty? A wisp of a memory floated by, but it slipped
away before I could catch it. For some reason, now
Tyler Sawyer was Ty to me. Weird.
The hairdryer droned on.
The ache in my skull refused to leave, more
stubborn than Mom when she went on one of her
diets. I massaged my temple, squeezing my eyes
shut.

115
My bra straps dug into my sore shoulders, waves
of nausea ebbing and flowing.
I shifted on the cushion-less chair and ran a hand
through my hair. Well, my hand got stuck in tangles
halfway through, so I yanked it out. Ouch.
My stomach lurched. Look at the bright side,
right? Be a cup half full person, Nat. At least this
wasn’t as bad as orientation week.
I shuddered. Tequila was never a good idea.
Showers were good ideas, though.
Pushing the chair back from the desk, I knocked
over a little desk calendar. I bent to grab it, nausea
back with a vengeance. Fighting past it, I returned
the calendar to its rightful place.
I flipped the pages back to the correct month,
September. My eyes followed the trail of black X’s
on the calendar to Saturday, September 14.
My legs went shaky. I clutched the edge of the
flimsy desk. Shiitake mushrooms! The article! What
time was it?
I whirled around, chewing the inside of my
cheek.

116
Pastel pink poked out from the tangle of purple
blankets.
Aha! I grabbed my phone and flipped it over.
The screen lit up, revealing banner notifications
with the Instagram logo.
A bout of dizziness hit me. I dropped the phone
faster than I stopped watching Dr. Who when Matt
Smith left. A hand flew to my chest, fingers fanned
out against my breastbone.
Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.
I sent the pro/con lists.
“No, no, no,” I mumbled, shaking my head.
My back hit the wall. I couldn’t draw enough air
into my lungs.
The phone sat on the bed, an evil reminder of
what I did.
The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth from
the raw skin of my inner cheek.
A breeze drifted in through the open window,
cooling my overheated skin. I smoothed my clothes,
reigning in my galloping heart.

117
I had to reply. I had to do something.
Exhaling, my eyes went up to the ceiling. Haley
stared at me, disapprovingly.
I licked my lips. All I had to do was make a
pro/con list and decide whether or not to reply. Easy
peasy lemon squeezy.
The cons roared to the forefront of my mind.
Having to actually text them back and explain my
unexplainable, idiotic lists. Face them in-person.
Rejection.
Maybe I’d move to Timbuktu. They must have a
university there.
Pro/con lists got me into this mess in the first
place, how could they help me now?
My momentary burst of energy faded. I sat back
down, the springy give of the bed welcoming.
Rubbing at my eyes, my shoulders hunched.
I slid back under the sheets, head on a pillow this
time around.
My head pounded, and nothing made sense, not
even my pro/con list. With a numbness in my core, I
curled into myself.

118
The blow-dryer shut off. I’d deal with this later.
With that thought, I let go, drifting off into a
listless sleep.
But, somewhere buried deep, I knew nothing
would be the same.

“Excuse me, there is no such thing as too much

whipped cream, thank you very much,” I said,
adding another squirt to my plate. Yummy, fluffy
waffles. Perfection.
“I respectfully have to disagree with you there—
you need the right waffle to whipped cream ratio,
and that’s a fact,” Layla said, shaking cinnamon on
her minuscule dollops of whipped cream.
“I’m glad we can agree to disagree.” I smiled,
shaking my head.
We lined up to pay, meal cards ready to be
swiped.
Around noon Layla came back to her room with
two coffees in hand. As it turns out, she lived in the
same dorm on the other side.

119
We made small talk, then I went back to my room
to shower and change ’cause I smelled worse than
the time I got sprayed by a skunk. I maintained that
it was Mia’s fault for scaring the demonic animal,
but whatever. I had nobody to blame but myself this
time.
Layla and I agreed to meet at the Saturday waffle
bar, resulting in The Great Whipped Cream Debate.
I dusted crumbs off a hard plastic chair before I
settled at the end of a long table.
Garish fluorescent light strips ran across the
ceiling in addition to the rays pouring through the
windows.
I angled my head down towards my tray. Why
did it have to be so bright in here?
Layla came up behind me. She lagged, chatting
with the kitchen staff wearing white aprons and
hairnets. Her tray slammed down on the table.
I winced, head still sensitive, despite the two
coffees and aspirin in my system.
“Oops, sorry,” she said, sliding into the seat
across from me.

120
I waved a hand and focused on cutting up my
waffle. The sooner I finished eating, the sooner I
could go deal with the article.
“So, last night was really something, huh?” Layla
leaned forward and sipped her mug.
My stomach knotted. I grimaced, a strand of wet
hair falling out of my bun. “From the little I
remember, we had quite the night.”
Layla paused mid-sip, gaze sharpening. “You
don’t remember?”
“You do?” I raised a brow. “You drank more than
me, woman.” I popped a piece of waffle in my
mouth.
“Well, I drank a ton of water last night, and you
spilled the water all over your shirt when I tried to
get some in you,” she laughed, sound clear over
dishes clattering and clanging in the kitchen.
My chest tightened. I rubbed the back of my
neck, leaning back in my chair. “What did happen
last night?”
“We danced and went to go get water, you
disappeared, then reappeared with Sawyer, don’t

121
know what you guys did.” She displayed a broad
grin.
I dragged a sweaty palm down my sweats. We
did something ending with me calling him Ty.
“Anyways, Beckett drove us back to the dorm,
but of course, we stopped for McDonald’s.” Layla’s
eyes twinkled. Uh oh.
“I literally have no clue what you’re talking
about.” I set my fork and knife down. The waffle
became less appealing by the second.
“You got chicken nuggets?” she said, voice rising
at the end.
I stared at her, expression blank. The suction
sound of a sealed fridge door opening echoed.
“You refused to share the nugs with Will, then
got mad at him when he stole the honey mustard
dipping sauce. You poured ice down his back, that
was hilarious.” She slapped her knee, giggles
escaping.
My cheeks heated as my eyes flitted over the
room. We caught the attention of a group of guys at
the table over. I leaned closer. “I poured ice down
his shirt? You’re joking,” I whispered and gave her a

122
wide-eyed look that got her dissolving into laughter
again.
“Seriously,” she gasped for air, “You’re very
protective of your food.”
My face, neck, and ears were impossibly hot. I
shoved my hands into the pockets of my hoodie.
“Go on,” I said.
“Beckett dropped us off, we all went back to
Sawyer and Will’s room. You started reciting The
Bee Movie script, by the way, how do you know
that? It was so spot on.” Layla cupped an elbow with
one hand while tapping her lips with the other, both
our trays abandoned.
“Irrelevant, continue.” I prodded her to keep
going. She didn’t need to hear about my weird Bee
Movie phase in the eighth grade, she already had
enough ammunition against me.
Shoes squeaked against the floor as more
students came in for a late Saturday lunch.
Layla continued on, voice loud, “We all hung out
for a bit, then the room started getting busy, so me
and you went out to the quad.”

123
“Will and Ty didn’t come with us?” I asked,
tongue darting out to wet my lips.
“Nope,” Layla said.
I briefly closed my eyes. Nothing else to
embarrass me, thank goodness.
“But, we were lying out there, and some RAs
found us,” she chuckled.
That was great, just great.
“I talked us out of getting a strike, ’cause you
were rambling about how unlucky Friday the 13th
was, even though I told you it was past midnight and
officially the 14th,” Layla went on, but the whir of
the microwave zapping someone’s leftovers roared
in my ears.
My head jerked back, breath hitching.
Friday the 13th. Manson. Bundy. Eighty-year-
old-virgin. Fries. The dare.
Ohmysweetgoodness, I’d never be able to face Ty
again.
“By then, it was time to call it a night, so I took
you back to your floor, but neither of us could figure
out where your room key was,” she said.

124
I blinked, eyes wide.
“It’s right here on the back of my phone.” I
pulled out the object in question and waved the
cardholder at the back in front of her face.
She shrugged. “We weren’t quite at our best at
four in the morning.”
I stared at my palms like they knew the reasoning
behind my decisions last night.
“Sawyer heard us laughing in the hallway, and he
helped me get you back to my room, where you
passed out on my bed.” She rested her elbows on the
tabletop perpetually covered in salt granules.
“I remembered dancing with you, you flirting
with the bartender, but now it’s coming back to me,”
I cringed.
“Oh yeah, she’s hot. Got her number, I should
text her,” Layla said, pulling out her phone.
My ribs squeezed tight at her effortless ability to
just text the girl she likes. As simple as that. My
mouth thinned. She didn’t need to get blackout
drunk to send stupid pro/con lists to her crushes, did
she?

125
The whoosh of an iMessage being sent sounded,
and she looked back up at me.
“Ugh, don’t get me started on texting,” I groaned.
“Someone needs to take my phone away from me
forever.” I slid the thing farther from me on the
table.
“Why?” she said, picking at her now cold waffle.
I pulled at my ear, avoiding her gaze. How could
she understand my awkwardness? But, we must
have formed some sort of bond through the events of
last night, because something inside me let the
words fall out.
“So, for the past couple weeks, I’ve been making
these pro/con lists for all the boys I kinda have
crushes on,” I said.
She nodded, taking a long sip from her mug.
“Well, at some point last night, I sent all five of
them their very embarrassing pro/con lists.” My
knee bounced, almost hitting the bottom of the table.
Layla spluttered, choking on the coffee. “You
didn’t!”
I buried my face in my hands. “I did!”

126
“What did they say?” she asked, chair scratching
against the ground as she slid closer.
“I don’t know!” I said, voice muffled through my
hands.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Layla
tilted her head to the side.
I looked at her through my fingers. “I still haven’t
checked, I can’t.”
“So who are the mystery boys? I need all the
details, girl,” she said, slow smile building on her
lips.
I gave a sheepish grin. “There’s Alec, this cute
guy from my lit class who’s smart and all-around an
amazing human. Pablo, he’s so nice, he’s the editor
of the paper. Well, you know that,” I said.
I eyed the double swinging doors out of the caf,
but couldn’t stop the train wreck coming out of my
mouth.
“Um, there’s Blake, this guy I met at a concert
during orientation week. Colby, who I met on the
day in the summer when we came to pick our
courses and whatnot,” I said.
Layla nodded, motioning for me to continue.

127
I looked up, counting in my head. “Oh, and
Logan, I know him from summer camp. I saw him
in line at Tims the other day, and all the reasons I
had a crush on him back when I was thirteen popped
up, like a Whack-A-Mole.”
Layla held up a hand as if to say No more!
“That’s so crazy, you’ve got balls, I’ll give you
that.”
I opened and closed my mouth, regarding the
phone. In one decisive motion, I shoved it over to
Layla. “You read it and tell me, I can’t do it.”
When she picked up the little pink phone, it
buzzed.
My heartbeat picked up. “Who?” I asked in a
halting voice.
She squealed, and I swallowed, hard. Dear God,
knowing my luck, it was Alec.
Her bright eyes met mine.
So, whaddya think? We saw more of Layla in this
chapter, so what’re your thoughts on her, or the
antics they got up to?
I’m so excited to read your comments and reply
to them all— it’s my favourite part of the day. I’m

128
sending you virtual hugs, especially those of you
who leave a whole bunch of lovely comments
Don’t forget to press that little itty bitty star on
the corner of your screen to vote for this chapter!
In the next chapter, we’ll find out who texted
back! Eek!

129
7 | Crappy Comebacks

“Just tell me who it is!” I said.

The girl wearing pyjamas seated behind Layla
slurped pop through a straw and stared at us, openly.
My jaw stiffened as my fingers tapped the
tabletop. Nothing to see here, plastic-straw-using-
turtle-killing person.
Layla’s eyes lit with an inner glow. She shoved
my shoulder, offering a smile.
“Chill, Nat. It’s @ColbyScott, ’kay?” Layla put
my phone down and skewered a strawberry on her
fork, juice running down the metal prongs.
I pressed the heel of my palms to my eyes. Not
Alec. I swallowed and nodded, shoving my hands
into the pouch of my hoodie.
“What did he say?” I fidgeted with the weird fluff
that always accumulated on the soft side of the
fabric.

130
I rolled my stiff shoulders. Jeez, could Layla
chew a strawberry any slower?
Layla wiped her mouth with a brown napkin. “I
thought you didn’t want to know?”
“Well, I changed my mind. I can’t not know.”
Tiny beads of sweat collected on my upper lip. I
pulled the hoodie away from my body. I’d take it
off, but nobody would appreciate seeing my hot pink
bra. Should’ve worn a shirt.
Layla unlocked my phone, thumb sliding over the
glass screen.
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. How’d
Layla get my password? I shut my mouth. Probably,
something last night required her knowledge of my
6-digit code.
“He basically said that he’s flattered, but he
dropped out before school started. Doesn’t want to
do the whole long-distance dating thing, so this one
was a miss,” she said.
A soreness scratched my throat and lungs. I
picked up my knife and fork and sawed off a piece
of hard waffle. My grip tightened on the cold metal.
I’d only known Colby for a day anyways. I stabbed

131
the fried dough and shoved it in my mouth. What
did I expect?
“Let’s look at the rest of them.” Layla drummed
her feet against the floor.
“No!” I shook my head. “I don’t think I can
handle any more rejection,” I laughed, the sound
hollow.
Layla swatted my arm. “Pfft, that wasn’t a
rejection. This Colby guy doesn’t even go here, so
it’s onward and upward from here.”
My gaze drifted to the heat lamps that turned on
as the kitchen staff began serving lunch. A ladle full
of lasagne slopped on a plate, sauce splashing over
the sides.
My nose wrinkled. “I don’t know.”
“You know you wanna,” she teased.
Pyjama girl tore open a crinkly chip bag. I
crossed my arms. Did I want to be her, the girl
eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation,
sitting alone?
“Okay, fine, who else replied?” I squared my
shoulders, but without any real strength behind me.

132
Humming, Layla swiped into my DMs.
“@PabloRamirez and @BlakeHill. Blake’s pretty
cute, I approve.” She scrolled, presumably through
his feed.
My adrenaline spiked.
“Don’t like anything!” I shuddered Liking their
photos was the kiss of death— I’d be forever
labelled the creepy stalker girl.
“This isn’t my first rodeo, I got it.” Layla rolled
her eyes, the light green not red-rimmed like mine.
Not fair that I had to be such a lightweight.
“Okay, tell me what they said,” I muttered, “But
don’t open them, because then they’ll know I’ve
read it. Just tell me what you know from the little
preview thing.” I uncrossed and recrossed my legs.
Layla pursed her lips. “Not a lot to go on.”
She stared at the screen.
My breathing grew louder. I motioned for Layla
to hurry up. “Tell me before I change my mind.”
Oil hissed and bubbled as a basket of fries
lowered into a vat. Layla glanced over her shoulder
at the loud distraction.

133
I tilted my head up, gaze looking heavenward.
Someone give me patience before I go Hulk crazy.
Layla turned back to me. “From what I
understand, Blake wants to hang sometime, and
Pablo’s just says nice things, no actual asking to go
out, but it could be later in the message.”
A fluttery feeling swung up my belly, but less
butterfly-like and more squirmy-wormy. I gave
Layla an incredulous stare.
“What? They want to go out? Like on a date-
date?” I asked, shaking out my hands in an effort to
relax.
Layla bobbed her head. “Yeah, seems like it. You
should go!”
A crumpled napkin sat on the table next to a dried
blob of ketchup, discarded and forgotten.
I pinched the skin between my thumb and
forefinger.
“No, no, no, I can’t.” My voice wavered.
“Why not?” Layla asked.
My stomach went rock hard, sickly sweet taste of
whip cream lingering on my tongue. “Me, on a

134
date?” I pointed at myself, “Yikes.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad,” she giggled.
I waved a hand between us, trying to find words
to articulate the many reasons this was a bad idea,
and knocked over her mug. Whoops.
“I’ll go grab some napkins.” I pushed my chair
back. While I walked over to the station with cutlery
and whatnot, my head stayed bent down at my
slipper-clad feet.
With napkins in hand, I fretted over the spill.
Layla couldn’t understand— she was probably
popular in high school with a huge group of friends
here at Summit. She didn’t need or want me to dump
my crap on her lap.
“I don’t think I’ll reply, I’ll just deal with it later,”
I said, fidgeting with the unused napkins.
“Well, let me know if you change your mind. I’m
great at picking out date outfits, it’s my specialty.”
Layla stood up too.
“I’ll let you know,” I said. Yeah, right.
Me replying was about as likely as me voluntarily
talking to Ty again.

135
Well, it turns out talking to Ty again was more
likely and unavoidable than I thought.
Sighing, I took in the small room.
Sturdy bookshelves lined the walls, mainly filled
with musty encyclopedias, thick dictionaries and
obsolete atlases. Shoes tapped on the staircase
outside, followed by laughter as a group of students
passed by.
I brushed little eraser bits off the table before
resting my elbows there.
The clock above the door ticked, audible over the
creak of my chair.
Did I get the time he said to meet wrong? I pulled
out my phone and swiped into our brief
conversation.
Saturday, September 14th, 4:32am
“Tyler Sawyer” name changed to “Mr. Bathroom
Incident”
My stomach dropped. Right. Friday night was a
thing that happened. I dipped my chin and continued
reading.

136
Saturday, September 14th, 3:48pm
“Mr. Bathroom Incident” name changed to “Ty”
Sunday, September 15th, 8:46pm
Did you turn in the article yet, or can you make
changes?
I sent in the rough draft to my editor, but I can
still make some changes if need be, no problem.
Thanks again for doing the interview!
I used one exclamation mark, normal, not psycho.
Can we meet before you turn it in?
Yeah, for sure! 😊 I’m free for the rest of the night
or Tuesday afternoon. Tuesday’s cutting it a little
close cause it’s due Wednesday tho
Okay, the creepy smiley face bordered on psycho,
but oh well. Couldn’t take it back now.
Can’t tonight @ dinner w fam. Tuesday?
Sure! See you then!
Tuesday, September 17th, 8:43am
Where and what time do you want to meet? I’m
done classes at 3:00, so any time after that works for

137
me! I’ll come back to the dorms, so somewhere here
would be best for me.
Library @ 7
Okay!
I put my butt in this chair at 7:00. Unless I forgot
how to read the hands of a clock, it was almost 7:20.
Tick.
A backpack zipper opened.
Tock.
A mouse clicked.
Tick.
A printer whirred.
Tock.
I glared at the string of messages.
7:20. Son of a gun.
My fingers flew across the screen. Was I ever
going to send this? No. But, a girl’s gotta vent. Does
7 have a different meaning for you? Because, in my
book, 7 means 7:00 pm Eastern Standard Time, not

138
on Ty Time. Got things to do, people to see and all
that. I have half a mind to get up right now and—
“Waiting long?” a familiar, deep voice said.
I held the phone tightly against my chest.
“Nope, all good,” I replied. Thank you for
gracing me with your presence, Ty.
He pulled out the chair across from me and set
down his bag.
I glanced down at my phone. Delete, delete,
delete. My finger slipped, and I pressed the little
blue arrow. Crap!
His phone dinged, the sound muffled by the
fabric of his bag.
My spine straightened. I took deep, controlled
breaths. Be chill, Nat.
He sat, tall frame folding into the chair.
I chewed my bottom lip, eyes darting to his bag.
Where was the unsend button when I needed it? I
gulped.
“You’re not gonna check that?” I blurted out.

139
“Nope.” He leaned his elbows on the armrests,
spreading out.
My scalp prickled. “Well, just ignore it when you
see it,” I said and cleared my throat. How did Ty
make a hoodie look hot? I wore ’em for comfort but
was well aware that I resembled a sack of potatoes.
“Now, I’m curious.” He smirked and leaned
down to grab his phone.
Ugh. I squirmed, sinking lower in my chair.
The screen lit up the sharp contours of his face.
“You really don’t have to—” I stammered.
His eyes flashed to me. “So you were waiting.”
He cut in.
“You said seven, I was here at seven.” I shrugged,
shoulders almost brushing my ears.
“I did say that,” Ty said.
Staring at a sign about and the importance of
literacy, I avoided the bright blue eyes that made my
mouth move without permission from my brain.
From the rustle of fabric, I assumed Ty put his
phone away.

140
My knee bounced. Please say nothing about
Friday night. Friday night did not happen, it’s wiped
from my memory Men In Black-style.
“No more Mr. Bathroom Incident, huh? I liked
that name,” he said, pointing at my face-up phone
left on our conversation. Rookie mistake.
Ears hot, I rubbed my palms on my jeans.
“I didn’t actually think of you as Mr. Bathroom
Incident,” I trailed off, “I was drunk and said a lot of
things that are very, very not true.”
“What’s that saying?” He tilted his head to gaze
out the window.
Look at him, pondering out the window, musing.
If only Shakespeare wore a baseball cap, Ty would
be a splitting image.
His eyes returned to mine. “A drunk tongue’s an
honest one?”
“You can believe whatever you want to believe.”
I raised my chin. Why couldn’t I think of a wittier
reply? Instead, I’d be replaying this conversation in
my head while I tried to fall asleep and come up
with a real zinger.
“Sure, Sunshine.”

141
“Ew. Stop it with the nickname.” I folded my
arms across my chest.
“I let you call me Ty, it’s only fair I get a
nickname. That is unless you’d prefer, say, Tasha?”
He settled back into his chair with exaggerated
casualness.
I scowled. Footsteps thudded overhead.
“Whatever,” I said. My annoying twelve-year-old
cousin had better comebacks than me.
My phone buzzed.
I snatched it off the table and into my lap before
Ty could snoop any more.
“So, why did you want to meet?” I asked.
My eyes darted down to my lap. For a split
second, my breathing suspended. I tightened my grip
on the phone. Ohmysweetgoodness.
“Coach found out about the article and wanted to
make sure that we’re on the same page about the
whole misunderstanding with the fan at the game on
Friday.” Ty rubbed the back of his neck.
“Right, the misunderstanding,” I said. The
notification across my screen came from

142
@AlecItoRussell. @AlecItoRussell! My pulse
quickened, a grin breaking out.
@AlecItoRussell replied to my message.
“Yeah, I apologized, and we cleared it up, but the
team’s been getting some backlash,” he said,
scratching the dry skin on his hand.
I nodded rather than speaking. Biting down on
my smile, I smoothed down my shirt. Alec replied!
“So, Coach wanted me kinda make sure you’re,
uh, what did he call it— painting me in a good
light?” he stumbled over the words.
“Yup, for sure.” I looked down at the shiny
message. What did Alec say?
“Glad that’s all cleared up then. See you around,
Sunshine.”
I stared at the empty seat across from me.
Wait.
What did Ty do at the game?
Another chapter bites the dust! What did you
think of Nat, Layla, and Ty? Or the responses to her

143
messages? Ou and what do you guys think happened
at the game while Nat had her nose in her phone?
Real question for you though: Pancakes or
waffles? Waffles all the way for me!
VOTE
THANKS
PEACE✌
(me trying to be concise)

144
8 | Banana Peels

@AlecItoRussell: Hey, Nat! Nice to hear from

you. Not gonna lie, this was a little unexpected,
but…
The urge to giggle slapped me across the face.
Me? Giggle?
Shaking my head, I leaned back in the chair. Alec
Ito-Russell messaged me.
I glanced around as if others were experiencing
the same smorgasbord of feelings. A guy drooled
one of the other desks in the small library as he took
a nap, Google Doc on his screen abandoned.
The message lit up my phone again.
I gripped the chair’s armrests and grimaced. No,
Instagram. I’m not going to click to expand, ’cause
then he’d know I read it.
To reply, or not to reply, that was the question.
Basically, I became the whiny main character of a
Shakespeare tragedy that never shut up.

145
The sleeping guy mumbled something in his
sleep.
My jaw clenched. Since when did I become that
girl, obsessing over boys? I had an article to hand in
tomorrow, and I was farther in space than Pluto
when Ty told me about whatever happened with a
fan. Clearly, the Bathroom Incident™ wasn’t
enough drama for him.
I tapped a loose fist against my lips.
Grabbing my phone, I typed out a quick message.
There was one person who’d know what happened
and lived in the same dorm— Micah Miller.

I pressed a hand against the cold glass door to

enter the caf.
A smattering of students sat on the uncomfortable
plastic chairs spaced along the rows of long tables,
but Micah was nowhere in sight.
Scratching my temple, I pulled out my phone and
swiped into our conversation. I texted Micah in the
library, and she responded right away. For sure,
come meet me in the caf!

146
I passed the booths and round tables, but her
blonde head wasn’t there either. The burned stench
from spillovers greeted me as I crossed into the area
where they served food.
None of the late-night deep-fried snacks appealed
to me. I scaped a hand through my kind of greasy
hair. Yikes. After I got this article over with, a hot
shower was next on my list.
I found dented stainless steel counters and hot
plates that kept food trays warm for serving, but no
Micah.
Rubbing a hand down the leg of my sweats, I
rounded the corner to the deli section.
A group of students lined up at the cash, one girl
among them.
I poked my tongue into my cheek. Same petite
build as Micah, but no blonde hair. Er, kinda blonde
hair? More strawberry blonde with highlights. A lot
could change in two years, I guess.
With her back to me, she laughed, light sound
twinkling like a Disney princess.
I let out a soft exhale. Definitely Micah. I
couldn’t forget that laugh.

147
One of the guys said something to Micah after
she swiped her card. Micah turned around. Her eyes
lit up when they landed on me.
“Hey, Nat!” Micah bounced over and wrapped
her arms around me.
“Hi, Micah.” I returned the hug.
Micah pulled back, holding me at arm’s length.
“Gosh, how long has it been?”
“Since you moved at the end of Grade 10,
Redview wasn’t the same without you,” I said. High
school had a little less drama and became a little
more boring without her.
“Aw, I’ve missed you!” She grabbed my hand
and pulled me along with her. “How’ve you been?”
“Good, busy, you know.” I shrugged. We passed
the register and at sat in a nearby booth.
“Oh, right! I heard about your business, that’s so
awesome! I had no idea you were doing any of that,”
Micah said. She poked a nail into the top of her
banana to peel it.
“Yeah, I didn’t talk about it much,” I nodded. It
wasn’t like many people wanted to talk about profit
margins in high school.

148
I cleared my throat. “How’re you doing?”
“I’m doing so great,” she said, slapping the table.
“A bunch of people from Paramount came to
Summit too, so that’s been nice.”
I leaned forward and clamped my hands in my
lap. Precisely the reason I wanted to talk to Micah.
“Speaking about Paramount, did you happen to
know Tyler Sawyer? He went there too, played
hockey, uh, about 6’4, brownish-blonde hair, doesn’t
talk much—” I said, and Micah cut in.
“Yeah, I know, Sawyer.” She blew out a noisy
breath. “Why?”
“Perfect.” I gave a curt nod. “The story would
take longer to tell you than when Ms. Flagerty used
to go off on tangents, so I’ll give you to SparkNotes.
Apparently, something happened with a fan at the
game on Friday, and he’s getting backlash for it. I
have to write a profile on Ty for the paper and—”
She cut in again, not that I blame her.
“Ty?” she squinted, brow lowering.
“Yup, Tyler Sawyer. You said you know him,
right?” I tugged on an ear. Please, please know
something about him.

149
“I dated Sawyer, so I’d say I know him pretty
well.”
Oh. I blinked slowly. Maybe Micah knew a little
more than something. “You dated him?” I
stammered.
“Mhm, for two years, and I’ve never heard
anyone call him Ty.” She peeled her banana, eyes
focussed on the task.
“It’s part of a whole long story, the bathroom
thing, tequila, it’s whatever, but I was wondering if
you knew what happened at the game?” I wrung my
hands.
She took a bite of the fruit and chewed, crossing
her legs. “Sawyer threw a water bottle at some fan
that was heckling him. This girl caught it on video,
and it didn’t look that great for him.”
I went still and pressed my lips together. Ty had
to keep complicating my life. How could I spin this
to be positive in my article?
“What? When did that happen? I was there, and I
didn’t see that,” I said.
“Really? It was a pretty big deal. It was like
before the last period.” She gave me a sidelong

150
glance.
“Oh.” Might have been a little distracted by
someone’s Instagram then.
“I’m not surprised, though.” She took another
bite.
I tilted my head to the side. “What do you
mean?”
Micah sighed and set down the rest of her
banana. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her
hand.
“Sawyer’s a total hothead. He dumped me right
before prom because he blew this one thing out of
proportion. But that’s in the past, moving onto
bigger and better things. Emphasis on bigger,” she
snickered.
“Micah!” I exclaimed, toes curling up. Too weird
to think or talk about Ty’s— yeah, nope.
“I’m sure you’re no nun, Nat,” she laughed.
“What’s happening for you?”
“Ugh, don’t get me started.” I looked down,
unable to meet her eyes.
She shoved my shoulder. “Spill!”

151
“It’s all Ty’s fault, actually.” I rolled my eyes.
She snorted.
I poked the skin of her banana, pressing into the
slight give of the ripe fruit. I should trust her, tell her
the whole story. My nail dug in, leaving a crescent-
shaped mark.
The whole kit and caboodle tumbled out my
mouth. So much for the SparkNotes version.
The kitchen staff dragged down the huge metal
shudders to close up the caf. Jeez, I had to get back
to fix up the article for the newspaper meeting
tomorrow.
Micah rubbed at an eyelid. “So, you’re telling me
you have three guys lined up to take you out, and
you’re not doing anything about it?”
“I wouldn’t say they’re lined up,” I trailed off.
She scoffed. “You should go for it! Why not?”
My throat squeezed tight, chin dropping to my
chest.
“I didn’t exactly have the best dating track record
in high school if you remember. In fact, I have no
record at all, I’ve never even been on a date,” I said.

152
“What’s a better time to start than now?” she
asked.
The kitchen lights turned off. Chairs scraped the
floor as the group Micah was with earlier left.
She grabbed my shoulder. “Look, Nat. High
school’s in the past. This is university, the time to try
new things and have fun.”
“I guess.” I steepled my fingers in front of my
mouth.
“Babe, the world’s your oyster. Or whatever the
saying is. Text them all back.” she looked me in the
eye, her amber eyes warm.
My breath bottled up in my chest.
“I think I will, Micah. Thanks.” I licked my lips
with cautious hope.
“Anytime.” She slid out of the booth, “Don’t be a
stranger, snap me some time. And good luck with
the article.”
Right. I already agreed to make Ty look good in
the article, even though throwing a water bottle at a
fan was quite damning.

153
Who said I had to include it? I could just leave
the article as is and not poke that bear. Simple as
that.
I took out my phone and opened Instagram.
My thumbs slid across the screen.
Hey Alec, sober Nat here…
Here we go, Nat’s replying! Let’s gooooo
New character alert! Whaddya think of Micah?
What do you think about Ty throwing a water
bottle at a fan?
I’m also curious about what you think Nat’s
business is! Lmk your guesses!
If you could do me a favour and vote, that’d be
swell.

154
9 | Aye, Aye, Captain

“I feel like I’m gonna break this.” I chewed the

inside of my cheek and gave the teetering box light
in my hands a fixed look of concentration.
“Here, I’ve got it, you unroll the backdrop,”
Layla said. She waved me away and tightened the
knob attaching the head of the box light to its stand.
I pressed the heel of my palms to my eyes. “That
I can do.” The plain tile floor with mildew-darkened
grout and concrete walls of the arena weren’t the
best background for photos.
A crack sounded when I arched my back. Tilting
my head, I rolled my neck. When I signed up for
this, I didn’t realize Layla’d need me at 7:00am on a
Saturday, but she bought me a Tims coffee, so how
could I complain?
“Have I told you how much I appreciate you
helping out?” Layla clasped a hand around my
forearm, “I thought I’d get Beckett to help me, but I
kinda overlooked the fact that he’s on the team and
has team stuff to do, or whatever, so you stepping in

155
is such a huge help.” Her eyes beamed with a soft
inner glow.
With a swelling feeling in my chest, I avoided her
steady gaze. “No problem, didn’t have anything
better to do.”
Behind Layla, the box light teeter-tottered. Fudge
berries!
I lunged over and grabbed the metal legs,
steadying the light.
Letting out a shaky laugh, I righted the thing.
Saved it.
“Thanks.” Laya dropped a sandbag on the legs of
the light, “Anyways, now you get to see Sawyer.”
She wiggled her brows.
Scratching my cheek, I turned away to focus on
the task at hand. Echoing shouts came from the
locker room, along with the clink of locks bumping
against metal.
“What’re you talking about?” I asked, fumbling
with the white backdrop.
“C’mon,” Layla closed her eyes and sighed,
“You’re telling me nothing’s going on between you

156
and him?” She moved to the other end of the
backdrop to help me unroll it without creasing it.
The lemony scent of antibacterial cleaner stung
my nose.
“Yes. I’m telling you exactly that. Nothing at all.
He’s, well, he’s Ty, and I’m Nat. That’s like saying
Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter should be together.
Everyone knows the Stucky bromance is way
better,” I said, movements jerky as I unrolled my
end in time with Layla.
We rolled out the material to the floor. I
straightened, tucking an unruly strand of hair behind
my ear.
“Stucky?” Layla nudged her chic, clear glasses
up the bridge of her nose. She’d rock Clark Kent
glasses if she had to.
My chin dipped down. “Y’know, Steve Rogers
and Bucky Barnes.”
The muffled thump of duffel bags and equipment
being dropped on benches distracted me.
At her blank stare, I continued. “Captain America
and the guy with the metal arm?”

157
“Ah, gotcha. But doesn’t Cap end up with Peggy
Carter in the end anyway?” Layla trailed off,
fiddling with the box light. She flicked one on,
counteracting the bright fluorescent overhead
lighting.
“I try not to think about that,” I deadpanned and
sipped my now lukewarm coffee.
Layla nudged me. “Just like you try not to think
about Sawyer. How many times have you seen him
shirtless now?”
“I never should’ve told you about that,” I shook
my head, chuckling. “And it’s only been twice, for
the record.” My traitorous nerve endings stirred at
the memory.
“Keeping track, are you?” Layla cocked her head.
I folded my arms, red Tims cup in hand. “You
just asked me,” I accused.
“Mhm.” She pursed her lips, giving me a
knowing smile.
I raised my brows and offered a questioning gaze.
“Ty was nice when I was very, very drunk, but
nothing will ever happen between us. Probably.”
Layla opened her mouth.

158
My stomach fluttered, but I held up a hand. Me +
Ty = bad idea. Majorly bad idea. “End of
discussion,” I said.
She shut her mouth but pouted, expression
exaggerated. I couldn’t help but laugh, and she
joined in, snorting along with me.
My back pocket buzzed, then dinged. I dug out
my phone, familiar name crossing the screen.
Heat radiated through my chest as I swiped in to
reply.
Layla leaned closer. “Who’s that?”
“Alec,” I said, delighted.
An athlete walked by, dripping sweat with a
towel draped around her neck.
“Alec? Like one of your pro/con list guys, Alec?”
Layla whispered in a hushed tone, words rushing
out.
“Yea—” I paused. “Oh, I completely forgot to tell
you!”
Layla gaped. “Yeah, you did! You texted them
back?”

159
“I meant to tell you at the newspaper meeting on
Wednesday, but since Pablo was sick, I had to help
out with— you don’t need to know the details,” I
rubbed the back of my neck.
Layla bounced from foot to foot.
“But, yes, I texted them all back on Tuesday, and
I’ve been texting with them all week! Especially
Alec,” I said.
She grabbed my arms. “Tell me everything.”
My face felt stretched from so much smiling.
“Blake takes a while to text back. Pablo’s sick, so
we just texted a little. He’s hilarious. Alec is
amazing, as expected,” I said, voice soft.
Layla nodded her head rapidly. “Any dates
planned?”
Ribs tightening, I took a slight step back.
“Ha, you’re funny. Vaguely, with Pablo, we said
we’d hang out after he gets better, but I have no clue
if that’s like date-date or friends.” I frowned.
“I think you were pretty clear with your dating
intentions by sending them reasons why they would

160
or wouldn’t be good boyfriend material,” she said,
gleam in her eye.
“Touché.” I drained the rest of the coffee, more
bitter than sweet.
Layla crouched by the wall next to the backdrop.
She unzipped her camera bag.
She lifted her head and blinked at me. “If things
are going well with Alec, why don’t you guys go
out?”
I sat on the bench across from her and crossed my
ankles. Good question, Layla.
She took out her camera and messed with the
settings. The vending machine at the end of the hall
grumbled as the athlete from earlier punched its
buttons. Soon, the crinkle of a potato chip bag
reached my ears.
“He hasn’t asked.” I gave a weak smile.
“Ask him.” Layla shrugged.
“Me?” I blurted out, gripping my phone.
“You texted him first, go for it,” she said. The
clang of metal doors opening and slamming shut
rang out.

161
My palms dampened. “I’ll need another bottle of
tequila for that,” I joked.
“Text him, right now, so I know you’re not gonna
chicken out.” She pushed her shoulders back.
Muted laughter from inside the locker room
resonated in me. I pinched my bottom lip and blew
my cheeks out, then released the air.
“Fine,” I said, fingers hovering over the screen. I
gulped and pressed send. Wanna hang out next
weekend?
“There, I sent it.” I set my phone down on the
bench.
Layla pulled her glasses down and looked at me
over the rims. Apparently pleased by what she saw,
she nudged her glasses up and focussed back on
setting up her camera. “Great, now can you go get
Beckett from the locker room? He’s first up for
headshots.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” I mock-saluted her. My lips
curled upwards as I stood. I took my empty cup with
me to throw out.
As I turned the corner, another door creaked open
somewhere in this maze of a basement under the

162
arena.
I squinted. Those voices sounded oddly familiar.
Was that Ty and Will? I kept walking to the locker
room— I’d have to grab them too for their
headshots.
“Nat? What’re you talking about?” Ty said. I’d
recognize that deep voice anywhere from the
number of times it surprised me.
Coldness shocked my core. I froze, swaying
slightly.
“Don’t play dumb, Sawyer,” Will said. I heard
the smirk in his voice. “You and Nat—” Ty cut in.
“Are you crazy?” Ty sighed noisily.
I flinched.
“There is no me and Nat. She’s not my type at
all.”
I stumbled back, vision blurring as I tried to fend
off the stupid tears pricking my eyes. Pain grew in
my palms from my fingernails digging into the skin.
I let out a forceful breath.
Turning on my heel, I stalked away, throat tight.
Way to blindside a girl, Sawyer.

163
I bumped into the trash can, and my spine
stiffened. I slammed my cup into it.
The metal flap swung back and forth, squeaking.
I shook my head. Snap out of it, Nat! Why was
he worth getting all worked up over? I didn’t even
like him. At all. Period, full stop.
He was absolutely right. No Ty and Nat, and I
needed to remember that.
Cursing under my breath, I walked back to the
photography set up, Beckett forgotten.
Sawyer could take whatever his stupid type was
and shove it where the sun don’t shine. Clearly, I
didn’t fit the bill, nor did I want to.
I stopped in front of her. “Layla, you won’t
believe wha—”
My phone buzzed from its spot on the bench. Our
heads swivelled to look at it, then back at each other.
Alec.
I wet my lips.
Layla squealed. “Go check it!”

164
My pulse picked up from the Sawyer sludge I
crawled through.
I grabbed the phone and swiped into the
conversation. After I read the message, I dropped
my butt to the bench.
I’d already had one slap in the face today, what
was one more? Well, Alec used the force of a
feather, whereas Sawyer wielded a sledgehammer.
My shoulders sagged. “Alec can’t, he said he’s
busy with Pre-Law society stuff,” I told Layla.
She plopped down next to me. “Well, that sucks.”
Suck it did.
“I know, but I’m gonna text Blake right now.” I
smiled with over-bright eyes.
“You go, girl.” Layla wrapped an arm around my
shoulder.
My phone whooshed as I sent yet another
message. Nobody, not even Sawyer, could stop me.
This chapter hit me *right in the feels*
Soooo how do you feel about this chapter?
Comment and let’s chat!

165
I’d love to know what else you’re reading for
some book recommendations. If you’re looking for a
new book to read, you can check out the comments
here too and we can fangirl over books. ’Cause I’m
pretty good at that, if you couldn’t tell😉
Anywho, you guys know the drill by now—
please vote. Merci beaucoup (that’s all I remember
from 12 years of French classes, glad it’s coming in
handy).
Live long and read

166
10 | Windows Should Be
Unlocked

Layla pulled my room door shut. “Let’s pick out

your outfit for your date tomorrow!”
“Right, that.” I sat on the bed, tucking one ankle
behind the crook of my other knee.
My lips pressed together in a slight grimace. I
twisted the lid off the carton of ice cream I grabbed
in the caf and shoved my spoon in.
Layla leaned against the wall next to my closet.
She crossed her arms, observing me. “You were so
excited last Saturday when you messaged Blake,
what happened in a week?”
“Alec happened.” I swirled the spoon in the
creamy dessert, wetting my lips. “He’s so sweet and
fun to talk to when he’s got time. Which isn’t a lot
’cause he’s hella busy. But I’m busy too, so it all
balances out.”
“Uh-huh.” Layla raised a brow and disappeared
into the closet. Voices from the courtyard came in

167
through the open window as other students went to
and from dinner.
I leaned back, savouring the sweetness on my
tongue. Chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream all
the way.
Hangers scraped against metal as Layla perused
the closet.
“He even gets my niche Shakespeare memes. I
found an Othello one, and he loved it,” I said with
an unfocused smile. My subtle online stalking paid
off.
“Glad you have similar tastes. I like those Stucky
edits you sent me, by the way.” Layla changed the
topic, voice muffled.
“Anytime.” I crossed my legs, shifting to get
comfortable. “Got some awesome Marvel fanfic too
if you’re ever interested. I can hook you up.” Did I
spend too much time on Wattpad when I should be
sleeping or working? You betcha.
“I won’t take you up on that, but it’s the thought
that counts,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah,” I laughed.

168
Drawers scraped opened and shut as she searched
my closet. After years of wearing a uniform, this
summer I bought a whole new wardrobe— basic
stuff. I found what I liked and purchased it in other
colours.
“How’re things with Emily?” I asked, balancing
my ice cream carton in my lap. Layla hadn’t
mentioned the bartender from The Cursed Night™
in a while.
She poked her head out of the closet, eyes
glowing. “It’s going great! We’re going out later
tonight.”
“That’s nice.” I rapped my fingers against my
thigh. At least one of us had Friday night plans.
I fluffed a pillow and put it behind me to lean on.
“How about this?” Layla held up an outfit. She
looked it up and down, pursing her lips.
“Never mind, this isn’t it,” she muttered to
herself before I could say a word.
I picked at my chipped pink polish. “Alec just
gets me, should I bother going on this date with
Blake? We’ve barely texted all week.”

169
“You’ve gotta kiss some frogs before you find a
prince,” Layla said, voice firm. She threw the black
jeans and white top over her arm.
I traced the condensation on the cardboard ice
cream carton, nodding along as she spoke. “I’ve
found mine already, and it’s Alec.”
Layla paced in front of the bed, avoiding the
shoes and crap scattered on the floor. “Blake is a
practice prince.”
I rubbed my forehead. A what?
She paused mid-stride. “Okay, bad analogy, even
I’m lost.”
Chuckling, I ate another spoonful of ice cream.
Layla turned to face me, braids whipping around.
“All I’m saying is go on the date. The worst thing
that happens is you waste a couple hours of your
Saturday.”
Her features tightened as she awaited my
response, an argument in the hallway bleeding
through the walls.
“I guess,” I mumbled, looking down at my now
soupy ice cream, chocolate chunks floating around.

170
“I’ve never been on a date before though, what do I
do?”
She hopped on the bed next to me, bedsprings
chirping. “Hm. It’s like you’re hanging out with a
friend you’re attracted to plus flirting.”
The arguing voices outside faded, and the slam of
a door shook the wall behind my back.
“That’s not super helpful.” I wrinkled my nose.
I’d appreciate a step-by-step PDF, thank you very
much.
“Trial by fire, girl.” Layla shrugged and went
back into my closet.
My heartbeat throbbed as I chewed the inside of
my cheek. “Also not helpful. I’d rather be prepared,
so I don’t get burned.”
A breeze ruffled the papers on my desk. I
unfolded my legs and pulled the window shut, rusty
metal hinges protesting.
“A few burns here and there are inevitable, but
one thing you can do is have a bomb outfit,” she
said.
“Ah, yes.” I settled back on the bed, facing the
closet. “How’s it going in there?”

171
“Meh. Where are you going again?”
I blew out a breath that rattled my lips. “Karma.”
A.K.A., the club Will wanted to go on The Cursed
Night™.
“Yikes, interesting choice.” She let out a derisive
snort.
“He picked it, not me.” I rubbed the back of my
neck.
Layla came back out of the closet, footsteps
shuffling. “I don’t doubt you there.”
My mouth flattened in a slight grimace.
She planted her hands on her hips. “Well, the
outfit I was thinking of is a bust. It’s more dinner-y.”
“I haven’t even decided if I’m going.”
Layla grinned. “Yes, you are going, and I know
the perfect outfit for you.”
Abort mission. I repeat abort.
I turned around to face the other girl in the
washroom. She rested an arm on the condom and
tampon machine. Don’t know if I’d wanna touch
that, sister.

172
“What’re you doing?” she repeated, pulling up
the spaghetti strap of her short, silky dress that clung
to all her curves. Stumbling closer, she tilted her
head to the side.
My jaw ached from clenching my teeth.
“It always works in the movies.” I shoved the
window, metal rattling.
“What?” she asked, yelling over the D.J.’s
announcement coming over the loudspeaker. The
heavy bass pounded through the washroom door.
“You know, climbing out the window ’cause I’m
on the worst date in recorded history?” I folded my
arms across my chest and glared at the window,
moonlight reflecting off the pane.
She giggled. “You’re funny.”
“I’ll be here all night, folks.” I gestured, arms
wide.
Her friend came over with a damp line on the
front of her shirt from the counter. The fumes
coming off her could knock out a grown man.
I blinked. How was she functioning?

173
“The best way to get out of a crappy date is to get
your friend to call you. Or fake a text emergency
and dash,” the newcomer said, eyes round, with very
few blinks.
Alrighty then.
I shrugged half-heartedly. Believe me, washroom
stranger— I would’ve done that if I could. “My
phone’s dead, so I had to put a pin in that plan.”
“I guess climbing out the window is your best
bet, then,” she replied, nodding.
My lips flattened. “Too bad it’s locked shut.”
“Yeah, sucks. Good luck with that!” She cleared
her throat and tugged her friend away.
Toilets flushed and gurgled as they refilled.
My shoulders slumped. Ugh.
I washed my hands, stray hair strands clinging to
the white sink. Ew. Pink soap oozed out of
dispensers and streaked the sinks.
Time to go back out and face Blake. I almost
physically shuddered.

174
A blurry Nat stared back at me in an aged mirror
that was losing its silver. Even the cute crop top
Layla found me couldn’t improve this night.
Usually, I thought crop tops showed off too much of
my chub, but with my high-rise blue jeans and
Layla’s encouragement, I looked pretty damn good.
I ripped off a scratchy paper towel.
Staring down at my feet, I shook my head. I
thought it’d be the two of us, me and Blake, but he
brought along friends. Not my definition of a date.
I tossed the paper towel into a garbage bin
overflowing with used brown wads. My teeth bit
down on my bottom lip. Only copious amounts of
alcohol could get me through the rest of our mind-
numbingly boring conversation.
I pushed open the door to the masses, and pulsing
strobe lights greeted me. Pressing against people to
move past them, I passed everyone from waitresses
dressed skimpily with glowing trays of shooters to
pairs making out uninhibitedly.
Finally, I emerged victorious at the bar.
I scanned the length of the bar while I waited for
a bartender. My eyes landed on a familiar dark-
haired boy, and my head jerked back. I turned away

175
to hide my face. Please don’t see me, please don’t
see me, please don’t—
“Hey, Nat!” Will called out, voice loud and
demanding my attention.
My stomach dropped.
Slowly, I turned back around and scraped a hand
through my loose curls. I gave a small wave, a tight
smile on my lips.
“Come here, I’ll buy you a drink.” He waved me
over.
I stared at nothing for an overlong moment. On a
scale of 1-10, how rude would it be to pretend I
didn’t hear Will? Probably a ten, ’cause people were
staring at this point.
Looking back at Will, I tucked my hair out of my
face. With Sawyer nowhere in sight, I shuffled over.
Will set down his beer, glass clunking against a
table. He clapped me on the back. “What’re you
drinking?”
Behind the bar, a glass fell and shattered. I
cringed, head pulling back as my shoulders pushed
forward.

176
“Vodka cran.” I focussed back on him with my
default response. The conversation Sawyer and Will
had last Saturday banged around my skull.
Bottles of booze lined the mirrored wall behind
the bar, neon lights distracting. Will caught the
attention of the bartender and ordered my drink.
He turned back to me, head tipping to the side as
he leaned on the bar. “I have to say, I’m surprised to
see you here.”
“Why?” I squinted at him, brow lowering. Why
couldn’t I be here too, huh?
The bartender held out my red drink, and I took
it, glass cold against my fingertips.
“Karma’s not your scene, per se.” Will motioned
at the club.
I turned, elbow resting on the counter. Small
round tables with stools stood around the perimeter,
discarded beer cans and bottles left forgotten. People
danced, if you called jumping up and down dancing,
on the floor and atop special platforms. The whole
place had dark-hued walls with neon signs scattered
around.
Okay, maybe he had a point.

177
I released a long exhale. “You’re not wrong.”
“So why are you here?” he asked, bending closer
to hear. Will wasn’t quite as tall as Sawyer, but both
had a good four or five inches on my 5’9 “frame.
I sipped my drink, leaning away from him. “Why
do you care?”
Before Will could answer, Sawyer melted out of
the crowd. Oh, great. Think of the giant, and he shall
appear. Just what I needed tonight.
I lifted my chin, posture stiff.
Sawyer came up on my other side. “What’re you
talking about?”
“Nat here was about to tell me why she’s at
Karma,” Will said, bumping shoulders with me. I
turned back to face the bar, elbows resting on the
black counter.
“Right, Will.” I inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring.
“I’m here on a date.”
“A date?” Sawyer’s eyes widened before he
schooled his expression.
I fidgeted with a napkin. Yeah, buddy, just ’cause
I’m not your type doesn’t mean other guys don’t like

178
me.
“Why is that so surprising?” I cut my eyes to
Sawyer, a hard edge to my tone.
Sawyer tucked his hands in his pockets, giving
me a sidelong glance.
On The Cursed Night™, I did make that whole
eighty-year-old virgin with no boyfriend comment.
“I don’t see any date,” Sawyer said.
“He’s over there.” I threw a hand up in the vague
direction of where I’d seen Blake last. My fingers
tightened around my glass.
Will wandered away. Bye to you too! Thanks for
leaving me with Sawyer.
“Vodka cran?” Sawyer smirked. “Would’ve
pegged you with something more original than that,
Sunshine.”
Guess you don’t know me then, Sawyer, “I
scowled.
In front of me, a bartender dug into the ice and
grabbed a nozzle. The spray of an unknown liquid
filling a glass hissed.

179
Sawyer rubbed his jaw. “How’s your date
going?”
“None of your business.” I stared straight ahead
at a bowl of lemon and lime wedges.
My chest tightened, neck prickling with his gaze
on me.
He said nothing, but he was the type where his
silence told me more than his words.
Coloured lights flashed in the reflection of the
mirrored wall behind the bar. Phones buzzed, voices
overlapped, and I stewed. My hands balled into fists.
“Nat—” he started.
I whipped my head to meet his gaze. “The date
sucks, alright?”
Sawyer flinched, the movement so slight that
maybe I imagined it. My throat tightened.
“It’s your fault I’m here anyway.” I jabbed the air
for emphasis.
“Huh?” he grunted.
My lips pressed into a white slash. Why did
everything in here have to be so loud? I tapped the

180
tabletop.
“You and your stupid dare started all this! If you
hadn’t dared me to text my crushes, I would never
have texted Blake in the first place, and I wouldn’t
be here trying to escape out the bathroom window.
Which is nailed shut, for your information. Isn’t that
a fire safety violation? Whatever. Moral of the story,
you started all this, Sawyer,” I said, drawing out
every syllable of his name.
He flexed his fingers, Adam’s apple bobbing as
he searched for words.
“I told you to text what’s his name, Alex.” He
dragged a hand through his hair.
“Alec,” I cut in, folding my arms across my
chest.
He levelled me with a dry stare. “Same
difference. I have no culpability in this date
happening.”
I opened my mouth to criticize but stopped short.
My heartbeat picked up.
Over Sawyer’s shoulder, the green-eyed blonde I
came here with weaved through the crowd. Blake.

181
“Crap, he’s coming over,” I hissed through
clenched teeth.
“Who? Your date?” Sawyer followed my gaze
over his shoulder. “Don’t you like him?”
My shoulders curled over my chest. “I met Blake
on one very drunk night during orientation week. He
was hot until he opened his mouth.”
“Right.” Sawyer moved closer. I shifted back.
“Hey Nat, there you are!” Blake said as he broke
through from the crowd.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Hi Blake, I was just getting a drink.” I gave a
tight smile, holding up said drink.
“Chill.” Blake nodded, coming up beside me.
“Hey, man.”
He did the weird-man-chin-nod to Sawyer, who
didn’t return the gesture.
My eyes darted between the two, tongue darting
out to wet my lips.
“Uh, Blake, this is Sawyer, Sawyer, this is
Blake.” I pointed between them.

182
Sawyer said nothing.
“He lives on my floor,” I explained to Blake,
rubbing the back of my neck.
Blake raked a hand through his hair. “You play
hockey, right?”
“Yeah.” Sawyer looked at me, blue eyes
unreadable, but what else was new?
Aaaand he said nothing else. Amazing social
skills, bro.
“Okay, so—” I said.
Blake interrupted. “We’re gonna head back to
Quinn’s place, ready Nat?”
Ew, no.
I clutched my drink. “Uh—”
“Nat’s coming back to the dorms with me,”
Sawyer cut in.
Blake bobbed his head.
I grabbed Blake’s arm to keep him from leaving.
“No, I’m not.”

183
He gave me a look, but clearly, we weren’t on the
same wavelength. Who did Sawyer think he was?
“Yes, you just said you were,” he said, drawing
out the words.
Tryna weasel me out of this? Well, I didn’t need
his help.
“Changed my mind,” I snapped.
“That was fast.” Sawyer thumbed his ear.
“I’m decisive.” I released Blake’s arm. “And
smart. Really, I’m a great person.”
Blake’s eyes ping-ponged between us.
“Never said you weren’t,” he said, brows drawing
together.
“Mhm.” I dropped my empty glass on the
counter. “Bye, Sawyer.”
I marched outside, and Blake followed. A line of
people waited outside the establishment under
skeletal trees. A girl took cover fees and stamped
hands with the club’s logo.
Turning to face Blake, I rubbed at the logo on my
own hand.

184
“Blake, I had a good time tonight, but I’m gonna
take an Uber back to the dorms,” I sighed.
His gaze clouded. “But I thought you said that—”
“I know, I changed my mind.” I waved a hand,
then wrapped my arms around myself.
“Oh. Want me to come with you?” Blake glanced
at his group of friends that were waiting for him.
“No.” I rushed out, stumbling back a step. “No,
it’s okay, I only had one drink,” I said, slower. As
nice as the offer was, I didn’t want to bring Blake
back to my dorm.
I used Blake’s phone to order my Uber since my
phone died.
I shuffled under an awning to wait. Within
minutes, it pulled up. I double-checked that the
license plate matched and gave Blake back his
phone.
“Chill. See you around,” he called out over his
shoulder.
I tugged open the car door.
“Uber for Natasha?” I asked.

185
I threw a glance over my shoulder. A familiar,
unreadable face stood outside by the club, brownish-
blonde hair mussed,
“Yes, Natasha Chabra,” the balding driver said.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, then turned back
to climb into the car.
Sneaking out the window would’ve been so much
easier.

Sometimes, sneaking out the window is the only

option (me @ every family get together ever)
Thoughts on Chapter 10? Whaddya think of
Blake? Layla, Will & Ty made appearances too.
Also, thoughts on the chapter divider? My sister
drew it for me to match the chapter, so keep an eye
out for those in future chapters… if I can convince
her to make me more. I’m competing with her
Animal Crossing time, so we’ll see.
Anywho, if this chapter was somewhat bearable,
leave a vote to let me know!

186
11 | Waffle Cones > Sugar
Cones

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a

selection of exclusive stories that help support
Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on
the Wattpad app.
Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias
Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las
que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí
para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

187
12 | wikiHow Sucks

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188
13 | The Sawyer Experience

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189
14 | RIP Nat's Dignity

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190
15 | Ghouls & Ghosts

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191
16 | Out With The Old, In With
The New

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192
17 | Foam Mustaches &
Flirting

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193
18 | Dimples & Backward
Baseball Caps

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194
19 | The First Second Date

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195
20 | Mission Boyfriend
Accomplished

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196
21 | Will The Problem Solver

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197
22 | Hydrate or Diedrate

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198
23 | The Four-Letter Word Of
Doom

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199
24 | Keep Going

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200
25 | Tear In My Heart

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201
26 | Dig Deep

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202
27 | I'm Not A Pokémon Card

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203
28 | Washroom = Party Central

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204
29 | Be Brave

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205
30 | #YOLO Maybe?

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206
31 | All This Time

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207
32 | I'm Trying

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33 | See Through The Smoke

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34 | Pro/Con List Take Two

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35 | Embrace The Awkward

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211
Final Author's Note

Wow.
I can’t believe JPS is over. Finished. Complete.
Eighty-one thousand two hundred and eleven
words. 81,211 words.
It’s possible I’m still in shock.
Honestly, I couldn’t have finished this book
without your constant support and encouragement.
When writing and life got hard, you’ve been there
for me.
The idea for JPS came to me when my first year
of university was cut short by the whole, y’know,
pandemic. I was trudging through my final exams
and sad that the year never really felt complete. To
take my mind off things, I came back to Wattpad— I
used to read on here when I was like 13. JPS was my
escape.
I never expected my lil kernel of an idea to
become, well, this. (I can’t believe I’m tearing up a
little writing this I’M SO SAPPY)

212
This was my first story on Wattpad, and I know it
won’t be the last. I love writing and I love this kind,
supportive community we’ve built.
So, thank you to those of you who’ve been here
since day 1 of me fumbling around trying to figure
out how to reply to comments, and those of you who
binge-read the entire book today. I appreciate you
so, so much for letting me share my lil story with
you.
I started with 1 read. Then 100. Then 1,000. And
now, 700,000+. I’m honestly mind-blown that we
have so many amazing people here in my lil corner
of Wattpad. It’s totally insane.
If you enjoyed JPS, please drop a review in the
comments to be featured on my social media & it’ll
def make me smile →
Anywho, I’m off to write some more ’cause
guess what?
Nat’s story isn’t over yet.
😉✌

213
Also By Nikki Pierce

Have you read them all?

THE NIGHT WE MET
Take me back to… the night we met.
*Contains spoilers for JPS — this is a prequel
scene to be read after JPS!*
The first time you meet Nat and Ty in Just Press
Send isn’t the first time they met, but this is.
Experience their first encounter through Ty’s eyes in
THE NIGHT WE MET.
Become a VIP Reader on
www.nikkipiercebooks.com to get this exclusive
scene delivered right to your inbox!

THE ART OF HATING YOU

214
All’s fair in love and publicity.
THE INTERN
After a career-ending injury, sixteen-year-old
Shay Gupta’s hopes at the Olympics are crushed.
Despite becoming @FamousFumbles, one of
Toronto’s most popular Instagrammers, Shay is
determined to wallow in self-pity. Since she keeps
her pithy social commentary posts a secret, her
parents force her into a summer internship at Gupta
Media, her aunt’s company. She may be an expert at
life behind a keyboard, but reality? Good luck with
that.
THE ROCKSTAR
With a life in the spotlight, seventeen-year-old
Flynn Hudson wants nothing more than to be left
alone with his motorcycle and guitar. But, after a
string of not-so-great decisions, his reputation went
from bad boy rockstar to reckless rich kid. On a
“break” from his world tour, Flynn’s parents move
him to Toronto for a fresh start. Only, there’s no
deleting your past, and Flynn can’t avoid
@FamousFumbles anonymous criticism…
THE COLLISION

215
When Flynn’s parents hire Gupta Media to clean
up his image, the last thing he expects is to run into
@FamousFumbles, the Instagrammer who didn’t
catch him on his best day. As the only one who
knows her hidden identity, he can’t wait to make her
life hell when she’s assigned to his PR team.
How far will Shay go to keep her online persona
a secret? And what happens when the lines between
reality and a PR campaign are blurred? This is war,
uh, publicity, baby.
*This was an entry for the #ShawRocketFund
Contest and will be on hold while I work on JPS*

THESE LIES WE CREATE

The lies we create live.
The lies we create breathe.
The lies we create r e b e l.
These are their stories.

216
THESE LIES WE CREATE is a collection of
short stories with sci-fi and dystopian elements. The
collection is continually growing, but each story is
complete in itself.

MORE COMING SOON… (hints on

www.nikkipiercebooks.com😉)
(*cough* Summit University Series *cough*)

217
Acknowledgements & Reader
Hall Of Fame

To be honest, writing a whole entire 80,000-word

long book is harder than I thought it would be, but
also and more rewarding than I could’ve ever
imagined.
If you wanna read about me gush more, that’s in
my last author’s note, this is a space to thank a few
of you who really made a huge difference while I
was posting JPS. Your encouragements, your
comments, your support— it means everything to
me.
@nonfictionalex — My first friend on Wattpad.
Alex, you showed me the ropes and encouraged me
so much to keep writing.
@veeee311 — Vanessa. I appreciate you so, so
much. I don’t know what else to say other than
thank you for being here from basically the first day
I posted JPS to now.
@Special_Is_Me — YOUR COMMENTS! I
love them so much, they always make me smile. ❤

218
@SamanthaXElena — SAM. Sam, Sam, Sam,
you’ve supported me so much, messaged me, hyped
me up when I was feeling down. Thank you.
@wonder_718 — You leave such kind comments
about my writing, it makes me want to keep
improving.
I wish I could write this for every single one of
you, but I’ve got more words to write😉, so I’ll keep
it brief.
I want to say a huge thank you to those of you
who’ve commented and voted on almost every
single chapter of JPS. You were there the minute I
updated, left such encouraging comments, and kept
me writing Nat’s story. Thank you.
@apolloswifee, @SouthMarie,
@rosa_annoyinga, @LesbianJuliet88, @mincinn,
@EkralcKid, @padfootno, @Just_Madde,
@_pankhurigoel_, @_nguwasen, @nyssavaeh,
@JustAnotherGirlmcg, @Fabigail1218,
@mirajohannaa, @_veloci_, @AndreaBrightAuthor,
@katprobert, @mistywater045, @sapphires-in-the-
sea, @_known_unknown_, @inkdropsintherain,
@hidi622722, @Ambiefluffyy, @chasingcastles,
@foreverengaged2pizza, @scared_skies,
@celadon_valley, @marelisaucedo,

219
@_Fantasy_Dragon_, @SummerDarcyWrites,
@loulett, @EmmyKatie, @PurpleButyerfly21,
@golden_shower001, @dubbubmups,
@booksrmegan, @strawb3rrie, @Instanatick,
@Lavender-Violet, @pizza_salad, @n0t-LikE-
0tHer_g1rls, @washed_out_soul
And last of all, thank you to my family, especially
my mom for being my #1 cheerleader and my sister
for her artwork in JPS!
This is a list of readers who have voted,
commented, added JPS to a reading list, or followed
me while JPS was ongoing. You’ll forever hold a
special lil place in my heart for helping me write this
novel. Thank you so, so much to all 2,257 of you.
P.S. I alphabetized the list cause I’m extra like
that, so it’s not in order of earliest reader, which I
also debated doing haha

220
BOOK 2 is up! | Just Call Me

https://youtu.be/hrQp_z_vHhg
Summit University Series Book 2: JUST CALL
ME
(Whaddya think of the cover? Do you like it?)
Love is messy.
The last person Natasha Chabra expected was to
fall for Ty, the arrogant, hot-headed, hockey boy.
Well, scratch that. Turns out Ty’s not what Nat
thought at all. The real Ty has carved out a place in
Nat’s heart, making her question everything she
believes about love.
Dealing with busy lives, meddling families, and
interfering exes, Nat and Ty have rocky waters to
navigate. Nat can’t even Google Maps herself to the
nearest Tims, so good luck with navigating a
minefield of secrets, half-truths, and not-so-little
white lies.
Oh, and how could Nat forget about the last boy
to reply to her pro/con list? Logan, Nat’s childhood

221
crush, reenters her life, making those rocky waters
one hundred thousand percent choppier.
In this unforgettable sequel to Just Press Send,
love may be messy, but it’s a broken, brilliant,
beautiful mess.
Read Just Call Me today for a college romance
with a sprinkle of humour and a dash of sass!
Link in the comments, hope you enjoy!

225

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