I didn't dare tell Jillian and Amelia where I spent Saturday night. When I got home Sunday morning, they assumed I had been at Zara and Noelle's and I let them think that. It was easier that way. Zara and Noelle agreed to cover for me, too, angels that they were.

Plus, it's not like anything even happened with Chase. Why open that can of worms for nothing?

Even without Jillian and Amelia knowing about Chase, though, things were strained at our place. It was like neither of them knew how to act around me now that I wasn't Luke's girlfriend. I hadn't realized that was my whole identity as far as everyone else was concerned.

Now they almost treated me like I was a stranger instead of their roommate and supposed good friend. Or like I had some kind of communicable disease, like an STD, and they were scared of catching breakup-itis.

Maybe I could just move into the Callingwood Daily office and live there.

*

I successfully avoided Luke for the first part of the week, which required considerable effort given the overlap between our lives. On my way to English Lit on Tuesday, I nearly ran smack into him on the quad. Fortunately, I had reflexes like a ninja and I ducked behind a tree so he didn't see me. At least he was alone.

I also turned down several invitations to hang out, including Amelia's offer to grab pizza one night, for fear it would turn into a group outing as it often did. I didn't even sit anywhere on campus to study for fear of Luke strolling by. Basically, if I wasn't in class, I was holed up in the Callingwood Daily office. You could say I was taking the whole post-breakup no-contact strategy to the extreme.

But now it was Wednesday and contact with him was inevitable, because taking a class with your boyfriend seems like a great idea—until he's suddenly no longer your boyfriend.

Heart racing and hands clammy, I pulled open the lecture hall door for ASTR201 - Introductory Astronomy: Stars and Galaxies. Luke and I registered in it together last spring because we both needed to fulfill an intro-level science requirement. Astronomy seemed better than the alternatives, like biology with its gross dissections or chemistry with all its math. Foolishly, I even thought it might be romantic if we had to go stargazing for an assignment.

Now I was sorely regretting that decision. I would rather have cut up a thousand frogs (sorry, frogs) or done a million equations than be shut in the same room as Luke for an 80-minute lecture.

I wished he would get sucked into a black hole.

I paused in the doorway, scanning the tiers of laminate countertops and attached seats for his familiar blond hair and his standard grey-and-navy Bulldogs zip-up. Coming up empty-handed, I released a sigh. Relief. He wasn't here yet. Maybe he wouldn't come. I grabbed a seat in the back off to the side for an optimal sight line while maintaining minimal visibility myself. Then I waited, like a tightly coiled spring, but the lecture began and he never showed. Thank God.

Maybe he'd withdrawn and taken a W. I was considering it if he didn't. The only issue was I couldn't afford to eat the tuition like he could.

While I was packing up my stuff, my phone buzzed with a half-hearted "sorry to about the breakup" text from my brother, approximately five days too late. It definitely didn't seem all that comforting, either—or sincere. But I guess he felt pretty conflicted given that Luke was not only his teammate but one of Derek's close friends. That was, after all, how we'd met.

*

Following astronomy, I headed back to the Callingwood Daily office, my makeshift home these days, to complete some work on the newspaper and catch up on homework.

Zara, Noelle and I sat at the round table, revising articles for tomorrow's issue while snacking and drinking coffee. A few other students who also worked on the paper milled about the office, copying documents and doing various administrative tasks.

Zara glanced up from her MacBook. "By the way, can you cover the Hawks game on Friday? Liam called in sick."

"It's Tuesday," I said, biting into my chocolate chip granola bar. "He already knows he's going to be sick this Friday? How convenient."

"I know, right?" Noelle took a sip of her iced French vanilla coffee, rolling her eyes.

"I wish he understood that having the sports beat means he has to cover all the sports, not just the ones he likes."

For some reason—probably misogyny—Liam had a grudge against women's sports. For some other, unknown reason, he also disliked basketball. When the two collided, as was the case with the Callingwood women's basketball game this upcoming Friday evening, he was often mysteriously unable to perform his duties for a variety of reasons. Stomach bug, sinus infection, sprained and/or broken limb, stuck in traffic, too hungover, mental health day, dental emergency, flat tire, family commitment, family funeral, and a suspicious number of sick and/or dead pets.

Funny how that worked.

Needless to say, Liam didn't pull his weight at the paper. He should have been pulled off the sports section long ago. But our faculty advisor, Professor Johnson, was fairly hands-off—which in most cases, was a good thing—and tended to avoid intervening.

As a student-run group, unless we really wanted to raise hell with administration, there wasn't a whole lot we could do other than tolerate him and count down until he left.

"On the bright side," she said, "he'll be gone next year. Then all the sports coverage can be your baby."

I sighed wistfully. "Can't wait."

Growing up, hockey was a religion in our household. Derek and I learned to skate shortly after learning to walk, and our dad poured a backyard rink every winter that we spent every waking hour on. We both played hockey when we got older, but only Derek stuck with it. Unfortunately, hockey was an expensive activity, and our family could only afford for one of us to play. Since Derek was better, he won, and I had to stop around grade eight.

But I still loved it, which meant I was a total hockey nerd to this day. Stats, awards, records, rookies and scores, I followed all of it. Points, goals, assists, you name it. In fact, I was a sports nerd in general and I knew more about them than Liam did. I could, and often did, school him on stats any day of the week.

I thoroughly resented that Liam had the sports beat simply because he happened on the scene a year before me. If it had been merit-based, it would be mine by now.

As it drew nearer to dinner time, the other students began to file out of the office. Eventually, the three of us were the only ones left. Noelle was working on an English paper, Zara was doing research for a psychology project, and I was trying to focus on my Video and Audio Production textbook.

Trying being the operative word. My mind kept circling back to the weekend—and not because of Luke, either.

"So?" Zara checked to make sure the coast was clear, then leaned over the table. She waggled her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. "How was he?"

I played dumb. "Who?"

"The super hot guy you went home with, silly. Chase?"

"We didn't sleep together," I said. "Thank God."

"Why not?" She gestured dramatically. "He was the perfect rebound. Tall, dark, and horny."

"Well, I was too drunk, for one. I threw up on the way home. Several times, according to him. I can't say, as I don't recall much from that window of time."

Specifically, I had no idea what I'd said to him, and a strong hunch I'd spilled some dirty laundry. The only question was what.

They both cringed and Zara sucked in a breath. "Oh no."

"Sorry, B." Noelle winced.

"It's fine." I shrugged. "The last two drinks were my idea, so I have no one to blame other than myself."

"Do you think you'll see him again?"

With my luck, I probably would. But maybe not, since I was planning to avoid hockey games as much as possible going forward. I was already thinking up excuses to bail on this Saturday's rematch against the Falcons on home ice. I was debating between fabricating a 24-hour stomach bug or group project emergency. Because the idea of seeing Luke and Chase in one place right now was, frankly, horrifying.

"No way." I shook my head. "He's an asshole."

"Are you sure about that part?" Zara asked, tilting her head. "I mean, it sounds like he helped you get home and he didn't take advantage of you."

"Low bar there, don't you think?"

She shrugged. "Maybe, but it's still more than I could say for half the guys I know."

"Fine," I said. "So, he's not a creep, but he's still an asshole. And a player."

Emphasis on that last part.

"That's a shame," Noelle mused, tapping her glossy lips with her purple pen in thought. "He had total BDE."

"BDE?" I asked.

"Big dick energy."

"Ugh, gross." I hid my face in my hands. "Sorry I asked."

Zara poked me with her pencil. "You know you thought about it too."

Snippets of our airport terminal conversation came flooding back to me. Specifically, the Air Bus part. My face heated against my fingers.

"Definitely not."

I think someone is protesting a little too much.

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