My alarm screeches at 6:30, yanking me out of whatever half-sleep I'd managed. Day one of classes. Here we go.
My roommate's out cold, sprawled on her bed. She'd rolled in late, Oregon girl, nose ring, whole "indie band" aesthetic plastered across her side of the room. We tossed names at each other and then went right to sleep.
I get dressed in near darkness, black jeans, white tank, yesterday's blazer. I catch my reflection, and for a second, I barely know the girl in the mirror.
Perfect.
Bag in hand, I check my phone, fifty alerts. All from last night's post.
Oh, right. That post.
Just before bed, I'd taken a snap: no makeup, hair down, staring out the window at the campus lights. Caption: day one done. ready for day two.
It was raw, not my usual highlight reel. People noticed.
This is the energy new Avery is my fav Avery whoever hurt you made a mistake
Now it's morning, and I need something fresh for my feed. I balance my phone on the desk, find the good light, square my shoulders, and hit the timer.
Click.
I actually look confident. I tweak the photo, up the contrast, sharpen it a bit.
Caption: first day of classes. let's see what UCLA has to offer. 📚
Hit post. The numbers start climbing before I even put my phone down.
1,000 likes.
Comments rolling in: COLLEGE AVERY >>> you look so mature omg UCLA is lucky to have you glow up is INSANE
I keep half an eye on the stats while I do my makeup—mascara, gloss, hair in waves. Another glance, 5,000 likes.
Messages are blowing up, but I don't have time for that. I sling my bag and head out.
The campus is golden in the early light. Bricks shining, students hustling with coffees and that crackling first-day energy. Everyone's buzzing, faking cool, but you can feel the nerves.
I make for the dining hall. Need coffee, badly. The place is packed, lines everywhere. I grab a coffee and a muffin and luck into an empty seat by the window.
I scroll through Insta. The likes hit 10,000, comments still pouring in.
A girl slides into the seat across from me. Curls, round glasses.
"Hey, you're Avery Lane, right?"
"Yeah, that's me."
She lights up. "I follow you. Jess, journalism major. Your posts are awesome. Can we take a picture?"
"Sure."
She snaps a selfie, thanks me a million times, and heads off to her friends.
It's not new, being recognized. But it's weird here, where these people aren't just followers, they're classmates. Suddenly being "Avery the influencer" and some nervous freshman at the same time is a lot.
I sip my coffee, glance outside.
And there they are.
Liam and Madison.
He's got his arm around her, her hand stuffed in his back pocket, both of them laughing like they don't have a care in the world.
My chest goes tight.
I knew I'd run into them, eventually. But knowing it's coming and actually seeing it, whole different ballgame.
They're headed this way, straight for the dining hall.
I could slip out now, avoid the drama.
But I'm so tired of running.
So I sit. Sip my coffee, scroll my phone, act like I'm immune to their existence.
The doors open and they walk in.
Liam's wearing his trademark backwards cap, the UCLA hoodie, those joggers he never takes off. Madison's decked out in all-black athleisure, high ponytail, sunglasses on her head.
They get in line, haven't noticed me yet.
My pulse is hammering, but I keep my expression bored, flicking through my feed.
Someone nearby laughs loud enough to draw attention. Liam turns, and that's when he sees me.
He just stops, goes absolutely still.
Madison follows his gaze, sees me, and her jaw clenches.
For a beat, none of us moves.
I force a tiny, indifferent smile, barely there, just enough to look polite. Then I go back to my phone, like they're nothing, just faces in the crowd.
I don't look up, even though I can feel their eyes burning holes in the back of my head.
I scroll, drink my coffee, pretend I'm unbothered.
After what feels like a lifetime, they sit on the opposite side of the room.
I finish my coffee, toss the cup, check the clock. 8:45. Time to move.
I walk out, passing just close enough for them to see me but not close enough to say a word.
Head high. Shoulders squared.
Don't look. Don't give them the satisfaction.
I step into the sunlight, and only then do I realize my hands are shaking.
Holy hell.
I survived. Saw them together and didn't break down, didn't make a scene, just existed. And honestly, I think that rattled them more than any meltdown could have.
I snap a picture of the quad, caption it for my story: off to class. wish me luck.
Deep breath.
On to my first lecture.
Media Psych 101, Dodd Hall, room 175. It's a cavern of a classroom—tiered seats, echoing with anticipation.
I'm early, so I pick my spot, third row aisle. Not too eager, not too aloof.
Laptop out, syllabus open. I've read it a hundred times, but I scan it again.
People trickle in, the buzz rising as more fill the room.
My phone vibrates.
Zoey: HOWS IT GOING Me: just saw Liam and Madison Zoey: OMG WHAT HAPPENED Me: i ignored them. heading to first class now Zoey: proud of you!!! text me after
I tuck my phone away and check the time: 8:58.
The room is nearly packed, everyone nervous, glancing at the front.
My heart's thumping.
This is it. First class.
First class with him.
The side door swings open.
Professor Ethan Parker steps inside.