Chapter Four: Rules and Lines
872 Words
Sunday morning came with gray skies and an unexpected knock.
Aria was brushing her hair in front of the mirror when her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and froze.
DAD: In your dorm lobby. Now.
Her stomach dropped.
Bella was still asleep, drooling into her pillow. Aria grabbed a sweatshirt, slipped into sneakers, and headed out.
She found Dean Monroe in the lobby, hands behind his back, lips pressed in that familiar tight line. He wore his usual navy coat and a look that made students scatter when they passed.
“Morning, Dad,” she said, trying to keep her voice light.
“You didn’t answer my last message,” he replied without preamble.
“I was sleeping. It’s the weekend.”
“I came by to take you to breakfast. We haven’t spoken in three days.”
She blinked. “That’s not a long time.”
“For other students, maybe. Not for you.”
And just like that, she was five years old again — straight spine, measured words, masking the cracks.
---
✦
They sat in the glass-walled faculty lounge overlooking the quad. Her father ordered black coffee and oatmeal. Aria barely touched her fruit bowl.
“How’s the semester starting?” he asked, tone all business.
“Fine.”
“Your classes?”
“On track.”
“Your project?”
She hesitated. “We were assigned partners in Professor Taylor’s class. A behavioral study.”
“Who?”
She took a breath. “Zane Rivers.”
Silence.
Her father didn’t flinch. Didn’t raise his voice. But the shift in his energy was instant.
“I know that name,” he said quietly.
“He’s in the psychology program. He’s—he’s capable.”
“He’s on academic probation.”
Aria’s jaw tensed. “It was a group assignment. I didn’t choose him.”
“I’ll speak with Professor Taylor.”
“No.” Her voice cracked louder than she meant. She cleared her throat. “No, Dad. That’ll look suspicious.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Aria, you know the expectations on you. You are not like the others. You don’t get to experiment with reckless boys and emotional distractions.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he said. “Even sitting near someone like him puts your reputation at risk.”
She swallowed hard. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
But she was.
Because she liked it when Zane smiled.
Because she thought about him at night when she should’ve been reading.
Because a part of her wanted to be wrong for once in her life.
---
✦
Meanwhile, Zane sat on the grass behind the art building, fingers smudged with charcoal, sketchbook resting on his knees.
He hadn’t drawn anything all day.
Every time he touched pencil to paper, her face appeared. Not perfectly — just fragments. Her eyes. Her mouth when she was about to argue. The way she chewed her lower lip when concentrating.
He hated how easily she slipped into his head. He hated that she made him feel like something other than a screw-up.
But most of all, he hated that he wanted to see her again.
He was the kind of guy who didn’t get second chances. Who always ruined the good things before they could get close.
Aria Monroe was too close already.
---
✦
Tuesday night. Library. 7:01 p.m.
Zane was already there when Aria arrived.
She hesitated for a moment in the doorway.
He looked up and smiled — slow and easy, like he knew she’d show.
“You came,” he said.
“I always do.”
She sat beside him. They didn’t speak for a moment.
Then she exhaled. “My father doesn’t want me working with you.”
Zane stiffened. “Figured.”
“He said you’re reckless.”
“He’s not wrong.”
She looked at him then — really looked.
“You’re not who they say you are.”
His eyes met hers. “You don’t know who I am.”
“Then tell me.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
“I got into Cressmont on a second-chance program. My mom — she cleaned houses. I didn’t grow up with deans or rules or... planners. I grew up with eviction notices and busted radiators and trying to make my sister’s birthday feel like magic with a five-dollar bill.”
Aria was silent.
“My record’s not clean,” he said. “But it’s not evil either.”
Her voice was soft. “I never thought you were evil.”
Their hands were close on the table. Not touching. Just close.
He looked down. “We probably shouldn’t keep meeting like this.”
“No,” she said. “We shouldn’t.”
But neither of them moved.
---
✦
After a long silence, she reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook.
“Here. I brought questions. For the project.”
Zane smirked. “You always bring questions.”
“Someone has to.”
They leaned in, side by side again, heads nearly touching.
And in that tiny pocket of space between notes and confessions and long, unspoken looks...
...they forgot the rules.
- Writer
