“I’ve thought it over carefully and decided we need to part ways” — I stare at the message that just popped up from an unknown number, and I can’t help but burst into laughter.
“Can you believe this clown? We haven’t even met, and he’s already dumping me,” I nudge my friend with my elbow, shoving my phone under her nose. “Even strangers are breaking up with me. What is this world coming to?” I giggle, tossing my fiery red hair.
“Oh, girl, don’t even get me started. Guys these days are such cowards. Everywhere you look, it’s either spoiled rich jerks or spineless losers. How do you even mess up a number when you’re trying to end a relationship?” May snorts, rolling her eyes.
“Guess I’ll have to mess with him a bit, knock some sense into him. Watch this,” I say, quickly typing out a reply and hitting send.
“Sweetie, maybe you should start over—rethink this whole thing. As they say, ‘measure twice, cut once.’ Then muster up some courage and say it to my face.”
The response comes back almost instantly.
“I figured he’d reply, but I didn’t expect him to catch on so fast. He’s asking who I am,” I smirk, typing another message. “So, not a total idiot after all. Texting a stranger is kind of dumb, but hey, it’s some entertainment in this cold, cruel world.”
“Says the fiery twenty-two-year-old bombshell,” May teases, making a face at me while gripping the steering wheel. “But seriously, when you’re broke, this world does feel like a total drag. My dad dropped a bomb on me today—said my tuition’s costing him too much, and it’s time I grow up and earn my own pocket money. Ugh, soon I won’t even be able to afford tampons. Twenty-two years old, and already drowning in problems. Student life sucks. Yuto, we’ve gotta find some part-time gigs. …Hey, are you even listening? What are you typing to that loser?”
“Told him I’m his conscience. He’s trying to come up with something clever in response. …Yeah, I’m listening, but part-time jobs for students in Chicago? Good luck. What can we even hope for? Waitressing with a crazy schedule? Half the university’s got the same idea. We’d have to stalk every café in town just to snag a spot. …Oh, wait, this stranger’s starting to grow on me. He’s got me curious. Turns out this goofball has a sense of humor,” I say, getting distracted by my phone again. “Listen to what he wrote. No typos, by the way, so maybe he’s not a lost cause.”
“Judging by your replies, I’m guessing you’re a girl, not a guy. Of age and a bit sassy. Maybe even still a virgin. And a pure conscience like that works for me. How about some anonymous counseling and mutual support? You help me out, I give you advice—no personal details. Say yes without overthinking it. You’ll enjoy this little game. Plus, it’ll be completely honest. I’ll be your secret, invisible friend, and you’ll be mine.”
“Seriously, say yes. At least you’ll have *some* guy in your life,” May cackles. Just then, her car lets out a suspicious cough and stalls, refusing to start again.
“I’d rather walk than ride in this death trap,” I mutter, somehow knowing we’d be late for class today.
“Fine, get out then. We’ll hoof it. How far can it be? Doctors say fresh air is good for you. And don’t tell me we’re late for Pavich’s lecture—I already know,” May grumbles, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. I send a quick reply to the stranger, “I’ll think about it,” and hop out after her.
“May, are you seriously leaving the car unlocked?”
“Trust me, I’m praying someone finally steals this junk heap.”
May and I met freshman year at a beach party our classmates threw—booze, music so loud it probably stunned the fish in the lake and annoyed every local within a mile. We were the only two who managed to dodge getting busted. Everyone’s got their talents, and May’s a pro at dodging cops. I was lucky she dragged me along that night. Now we’re juniors, still tight, even though May and I… well, we’re pretty different.
“Oh, nooo,” I groan, clenching my fists. There are people in this world even I, with my iron patience, can’t stand. And he’s at the top of that list. “Look who’s back. Let’s use the other entrance.”
“The university’s golden boy, Dean Grover, back in triumph with the state trophy,” May sneers, eyeing the beloved campus steps now swarmed with a crowd. “Let’s slip by quietly while this heartbreaker soaks up compliments from his fangirls. If he throws another nasty comment your way, I’ll spit right in the face of the economics department’s pride. Though… I’m sticking to my theory. Someone from his little posse of rich brats—or maybe even Dean himself—has a thing for you. That’s why they act like monkeys in mating season.”
“And I’ll tell you for the hundredth time, you’re making that up. They’re just spoiled, arrogant jerks. Let’s go through the back courtyard. We’re late anyway—Pavich will chew us out whether it’s ten minutes or fifteen.”
At our university, it’s a tradition to give professors nicknames. Psychology is taught by Pavich—an insufferably arrogant narcissist. Plenty of female students fall for him because he’s easy on the eyes, but his personality? Heaven help us. Even his colleagues probably want to strangle him sometimes. Higher math is taught by Poodle, and microeconomics by Cobra. It’s a whole zoo around here.
“I’ll do the apologizing this time. You keep quiet,” I whisper, glancing at May. “Otherwise, he’ll have us retaking exams for the next two months.”
“I told him the truth last time. Not my fault he thinks honesty is rudeness,” May huffs. She’s way too impulsive, and I often catch flak just for being associated with her.
“Professor, we’re so sorry for being late,” I say, putting on my best guilty-lamb face while holding May’s hand, freezing in the doorway of the lecture hall and interrupting Pavich mid-sentence. God, what’s his real name again? …Oh, right, Alan Noyce. About twelve years older than us, single, well-off, and insufferable as heck.
With sadistic slowness, he turns his head toward us, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through us. Then a crooked, condescending smile creeps across his perfectly shaved face as he steps closer, silently sizing us up. I just pray May keeps her mouth shut. Last time, she blurted out that his behavior was basically psychological abuse. Well, he sure showed us what’s what after that.
“Our car broke down, honest,” I add, trying not to look at our classmates. Students always get a kick out of moments like this. “Knowing you, Professor, only an apocalypse or an act of God could make us late.”
“Ladies, my goal isn’t to make you hate me—it’s to teach you something. You’re incredibly lucky I’m in a good mood today. I’ll allow you to join us.”
As we take our seats, the professor gets distracted by his phone. Within ten seconds, I get a new message from that same stranger.
“So, what’s your decision?”
I don’t want to sound paranoid, but the thought crosses my mind that I might be texting *him*. No, it can’t be. Not his style. Pavich wouldn’t stoop to something like this. So how do I figure out who “accidentally” got the wrong number? …Ugh, I’ve got a gut feeling someone’s playing games here.
Not that I need advice from some random stranger, but this secret-friend game has me hooked. I want to solve the mystery. So after class, while my classmates drag themselves out of their seats and crowd the exit, I send a reply:
“I’m in for now, but if you start annoying me with nonsense, I’ll block your number. So be a good boy.”
Got to hand it to him—he responds fast, like he’s glued to his phone.
“Perfect. I’ve got a request in return. I won’t ask you to act like a ‘good girl.’ Just be yourself. I like real, honest people—no faking it. Think you’re up for showing me your quirks?”
Who the heck are you, damn it? Chicago’s most sincere creep?
“Can I ask just one personal detail? What city are you in?”
If I play it cool, maybe he’ll drop a hint.
“Miss Yukita Regis,”—oh, great, Pavich has decided to hold me up. My fault for lagging behind. His blue eyes are already locked on me with a disapproving glare.
“Professor Noyce. I sat quietly as a mouse, and I’ve still managed to mess up somehow?”
“Yes, I’m disappointed. …Yuto, you’re a very capable student, smarter than most of your peers, but for some reason, you don’t use that brain of yours.” Why the hell is he getting so close? When any guy or man invades my personal space, I either blush, choke up, or freeze. It’s a phobia I picked up thanks to my older sister. That’s why my personal life is such a mess, why at twenty-two I’ve never even kissed anyone, and why right now I’m stepping back, frowning, and responding less than politely:
“Life experience shows brains don’t get you far. The sneaky and shameless always win. I didn’t ask a single question after your lecture, robbing you of a chance to show off your intellect? I get it. But I wasn’t in the mood to talk today—I’ve got PMS.” Oddly, Pavich always lets my sarcasm slide, even though it’s not the right tone to take with someone older, let alone a professor. He seems to like it when I’m bold. Which is exactly why he’s on my suspect list. A good-looking guy like him could totally be a creep. Right? “Alan, can I ask a question now?”
“I don’t allow you to call me by my first name. It’s disrespectful.”
“Wow, don’t we just love ourselves,” I mutter, unable to hold back because this is kind of fun. “Your Highness, what would you do if a stranger offered you a secret pen-pal friendship over text?”
“I’d probably use my brain, PMS or not, and block the unknown number,” he smirks back at me. “Is someone flirting with you under a mask of anonymity?”
“Why are you suddenly so interested, Professor Noyce? Do you enjoy juicy gossip?” I love skewering smug types like him with my sarcasm, the ones who act like they’re above everyone else.
“Hmm… I shouldn’t be telling you this, Yuto, but I’m one hundred percent sure that in about five years, you’ll turn into an incredible woman.”
“I’m not half bad right now, am I?” I hope he doesn’t think I’m flirting. Because I’m not, God forbid. I’m just teasing him—it’s fun when he keeps his distance.
“I’m not talking about looks, Yuto. I mean your character. It’s still… a bit unripe.”
“Fine, I’ll set a reminder to track you down in five years and show off my mature character. Can I go now, or are we still trading witty banter? Good thing the door’s open, so no one will think we’re up to anything inappropriate in here.” Something flickers in his blue eyes after I say that. I think it’s dangerous to tease a man like him too much.
“You’re free to go,” he grits out, and I’m out of there like a gust of wind.
“Yuto!” May’s voice echoes down the hallway as she rushes toward me. My loyal friend came looking for me. “Where’ve you been? You’re gonna miss the best part! Let’s get outside—there’s a huge crowd. Even the nerdiest geeks aren’t skipping this show! Stella and Brooke are fighting over Dean!”
“Ugh! And he’s probably just standing there, soaking it all in. Someone needs to punch him in the face.”
On the campus lawn, there’s indeed a massive crowd. Onlookers are packed around an impromptu arena where senior girls Stella and Brooke are tearing into each other, not holding back on the foul language. We’ve got about eight minutes before the campus security guards waddle over here. Since they move at the speed of a pregnant dachshund, no one’s in a hurry to leave. Plenty of people are happily recording the chaos on their phones.
“And what, none of these fourth-year idiots have the guts to break them up?” Why the heck did I ask that out loud?
“Why’s the redheaded junior acting like they’re bothering us? The girls are just having fun,” one of Dean’s buddies tosses at me. Dean himself is nowhere in sight.
“Why don’t you show us how it’s done? You’re so brave, aren’t you?” His mocking voice comes from behind me, making every hair on my body stand on end. There’s something that ties me to this champion, something I’d rather never think about again. As if on cue, my phone buzzes in my pocket with a new message. Of course, the stranger picks this exact moment to text me, while freaking Dean is practically breathing down my neck.