Ruined (2 page)

I'm not sure what else to say at the moment, so I look to my mother. Her face shows me nothing. "If there is anything I can do to help prepare his room, let me know."

"Thanks, Willow. I appreciate that, but Carmelita will handle it." His maid is like his right arm. She cooks, cleans and takes care of pretty much everything for our family.

I stand up and start toward the foyer when Bruce calls out to me.

"Willow, I hope you'll give him a chance. I know you're not used to being around someone who has killed other people, but please try to get to know him. He's going to need all the support he can get to shake the stigma of being a felon. I have no idea what kind of guilt the boy has been living with for all these years."

I give a slight smile and nod my head before heading up the stairs. I can't speak or look at him for fear that he will see my own demons in my eyes. I sure know what Kellan is feeling, but no one can ever know that or our cross country move was all for naught.

My palms are sweaty, and my heart is racing. I hate this feeling. It makes me feel completely out of control, and I hate to feel out of control. Control is the only thing holding my soul together. But here I am, facing down anxiety yet again as I stand at the back door of my first college class. Thank goodness I seem to have overcome the panic attacks I used to have. I had to put college off by a year just to get my courage up. Thankfully, Mom told Bruce that I needed a year off to "find myself". I've never understood exactly what that means. I can't get away from myself no matter what I do.

Math for Liberal Arts. In other words, math for stupid people who are more creative than they are logically smart. I want to be a Journalist, not a mathematician. Thankfully, my dean knew just what class to recommend to get my required math credit.

Running late - an oddity for me - I have to walk into an almost full classroom. Just as I had feared, people turn and stare as I make my way up the aisle to a seat in the front. Why is it that no one ever wants to sit up front? Oh, that's right. No one wants to do this lovely walk of shame I just did.

I slide into my seat just as the nerdy male professor, Dr. Shanks, makes his way to the chalkboard. I'm surprised that Deaton University still has such old timey classrooms, but it is a beachside college and not the Ivy League. I figure I can start here and finish somewhere bigger and better once I get my life back on track a bit.

My dream is the be a reporter. I want to tell stories. I want to tell them correctly and not slanted. I've been the subject of some slanted stories, and once your name is mud it is hard to come back from. I want to give people a chance to tell their side of things and redeem their lives and reputations. Maybe it sounds Pollyanna-ish, but I don't care. I'm still young enough to dream that it's possible to change the world.

"Welcome to Math for Liberal Arts. I am Dr. Shanks. This class is all about numbers, which are my first love..." Oh, God. Not one of those kinds of teachers. He loves math. He's going to make my life miserable. I force myself not to let that sigh that is already welling up inside of me to come out.

As I am listening to Dr. Shanks introduce himself, I let my mind wander a bit. I knew this would happen in math class anyway, but I didn't think it would be on the first day. I've been through worse, a lot worse, so this should be a cake walk.

The door opens, and I am immediately distracted by its need for some WD-40. The squeak causes everyone to turn around, much to the dismay of Professor Shanks. But I am not as distracted by the squeak as I am the guy entering the room. For the first time ever, I actually feel my heart skip a beat.

He's got sun-tinged brown hair, just the right amount of tan on his skin and piercing blue eyes that immediately connect with mine. He's wearing jeans and a nice baby blue golf shirt, and I am positive he or his parents probably belong to a country club somewhere close by.

He doesn't seem to care that anyone is looking at him, including Dr. Shanks. It is at this point that I finally realize the only seat left in the room is right next to me. The classroom is set up so that two people share a small rectangular table, and cute guy is my table partner.

As he slides into the chair next to me, he gives me a sly smile and pulls his notebook and book from his backpack. For the rest of class, he doesn't utter a word or even look my way, and when class ends he leaves without a word or a glance. Part of me is glad that I didn't have to meet a new person and drive myself nuts over behaving appropriately. But another part of me that I didn't even know was there is kind of upset that this good looking mystery guy didn't seem to notice me as a woman.

I wonder who I am kidding. You can't get close to a guy - or anyone really - without them eventually knowing about your past. I cannot and will not allow that to happen, so I have to remain firmly locked in my self imposed prison cell.

"Hi," I hear a female voice say from behind me. "I love your purse." The girl is a little shorter than me with thick brown hair and dark brown eyes. Her grin goes from ear to ear, and it's a safe bet she was on her high school cheerleading squad since she makes me want to jump up and down or do a cartwheel or something.

"Hi," I say, unsure of what she wants and why she is approaching me.

"I'm Emmy," she says holding out her hand to shake mine as she balances her too heavy backpack on her other shoulder.

"Willow," I say, still trying to process what she wants. I always do this. I'm very guarded when it comes to anyone new talking to me. What do they want? What are they trying to get from me?

"So what's your major?" she asks as we both start to walk out of the classroom.

"Journalism. And you?" I say, trying to make small talk.

"Cool. Mine is business. I know, boring!"

"No, not boring. What kind of business do you want to go into?" I say, using my new Journalism skills of question asking.

"I have no clue!" she says giggling as we walk down the stairs of the old building. "Do you live in the dorms?"

"No. My parents live just down the beach, so I live there."

"Well, I am in Caldwell Hall. See that building over there?" she says pointing at the building to our left. "You are welcome over anytime your parents are driving you nuts. I'm in room forty eight," she says smiling.

"Thanks," I say knowing that I will never just show up at her door. As with everything in my life, I've learned a lesson about showing up somewhere unexpectedly.

"We're having a party Friday night down on the beach if you want to come. Big bon fire, beer, the whole thing," she says smiling. I nod my head and smile as she backs up the sidewalk, waves and then runs toward her dorm. Part of me wishes I was living in the dorms, if for no other reason than to feel like a normal college student. But, at least for now, I need to stay in a safe place. A stable place. A place where I don't have to pretend as much.

I walk onto the beach and make my way toward our house. Something about the ocean washes away my troubles, if only for just a moment. Hearing the water come in and out gives me the smallest bit of peace. It's a reminder that life comes and goes just that quickly, something I learned at fifteen that I wish I hadn't.

"Hey! Wait up!" I hear a voice behind me calling. This time it's not Emmy. It's a male voice, and my first thought is to run but it's far too hot outside and this blessed backpack is way too full. I stop and slowly turn around only to see cute guy running toward me.

I stand there, and I must look like a complete moron. Trying to keep my mouth closed, I smile a bit instead. Why is he chasing me down?

"You forgot these," he says as he hands me my keys. They must have fallen out of my bag at our desk. But, wait. He left before I did. How did that happen? "They fell into my backpack somehow," he says as if he is reading my mind. His good looks override my need for information.

"Oh, thanks," I say softly which makes me seem shy. I hate seeming shy since I am definitely not a shy person at heart. I am secretive, but I don't want anyone to know that, of course.

"I'm Reed Miller. And you are?" he says reaching out to shake my hand.

"Willow Blake," I say as I slide my hand into his. His grip is firm, confident and a little sexy. How can a handshake be sexy?

"Nice to meet you, Willow Blake," he says with a wry smile. He holds onto my hand for a moment before he lets go. "You're a Journalism major?"

"How did you know that?" I ask, immediately suspicious.

"Just a good guess," he says putting his hands in his pockets. "Dang, it's hot out here today."

"A good guess?" I ask, wanting to know how he knew. I don't like people who know more about me than I know about them.

"Okay, fine. I saw your name on my list."

"You have a list of Journalism majors?" Hello, stalker?

"I kind of have to. I run the news department at the college TV station, DCTV."

It dawns on me that I put down the TV station as a place I'd like to intern this semester, and now I am standing face to face with the guy who will decide if I get one of the coveted small number of slots available.

"Oh, I see. DCTV. Yes, I remember putting my name down..." I am stammering and stuttering like an idiot. Great job, Willow. You sound like a real professional reporter.

"Listen, if you're still interested in interning, why don't we have coffee and discuss it?" he says. Wait, is he asking me on a date?

"Coffee?" I say. Yes, Willow, coffee. What is wrong with me?

"Do you like coffee?" he asks with a chuckle.

"I love coffee. I'm sorry. You must think I sound like a complete idiot. You just startled me..."

"I'm sorry. I can be a bit outgoing. Shy people don't get me," he says.

"I'm not shy," I say back as if I am offended. I couldn't screw this up more if I tried.

"You seem shy. And reporters can't be shy, Willow Blake."

"I said I am not shy, Reed Miller." Now my true colors are starting to show.

"Maybe I was wrong then. I see a little fiery side coming out. I like it..."

"When would you like to have coffee?" I say trying to change the subject. The heat is getting to me, and it's not from the weather.

"How about this afternoon? Say around three?"

"Sounds good."

"I'll meet you at The Coffee Mug," he says as he backs up with a smile. "See you at three, Willow Blake."

As he runs back up the beach, I take a deep breath and try to get my heart to stop racing. Coffee with the ultra cute guy who has my internship in the palm of his hand. Hello, stress.

I make my way back home, and my mother is in the living room doing one of her many workout DVDs. She has a better figure than I do, although Bruce has allowed her to have some "procedures" done to help that along. He doesn't seem to push her, but I think he enjoys having arm candy to wear to parties and such.

"Hi, sweetie. How was your first day of college?" my Mom says from the living room as she squats and lunges making all manner of grunting noises.

"It's school, Mom. How well could it go?" I mumble, hungry from my walk up the hot coastline. "Do we have anything to eat in this house?" I ask as Carmelita walks into the kitchen. A short, portly Guatemalan woman, Carmelita is probably my favorite person in this house because she's real.

"Hola, Miss Blake," she says with her bright smile. The beach life has only made Carmelita darker, and her teeth look like pearls when she smiles. "You hungry?"

"Starving," I say with my head firmly planted in the refrigerator. I'm mainly sticking it in there to cool off, but Carmelita is having none of it as she swats my rear end to move me out of the way.