chapter 3
1010 Words
Eleanor pov
The first day of college felt heavier than she expected.
Eleanor stood in front of her closet, fingers brushing over the sleeve of a simple black sweater. She’d already changed twice. Nothing looked right. Nothing felt right. She finally settled on high-waisted jeans, a fitted olive top, and a cardigan just in case the classrooms ran cold. Hair down. Simple makeup. Gold hoops—small, subtle.
Her stomach was in knots, but she didn’t have time to dwell. She grabbed her bag, slipped on her sneakers, and was out the door by 8:10.
Her first class started at 9:00. Foundations of Politics. Lecture Hall B—one of the newer buildings near the quad.
The morning air was cool, crisp, a soft breeze threading through the trees as she walked across campus. She passed students talking in circles, some clearly already in friend groups. Laughter, the rustle of paper coffee cups, skateboard wheels on sidewalk.
She walked alone. On purpose. She needed a moment to breathe.
The lecture hall was already half full when she walked in. She chose a seat near the middle. Not too far in front. Not in the back. Just safe. She opened her laptop, pulled out a notebook, and glanced through the syllabus.
At exactly 8:57, a loud laugh echoed through the hall.
She turned her head instinctively.
That’s when she saw him.
Tall. Broad. Effortlessly confident. A tangle of dark hair pushed back by his hand as he walked in like he was entering a party, not a classroom. He wore grey joggers and a tight long-sleeve shirt like it was an afterthought. His duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Girls turned in their seats to look. Whisper. Giggle.
She knew immediately who he was.
Zack Dalton.
She hadn’t expected him to be this loud. Or this… magnetic.
He scanned the room and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, dropped into the open seat beside her.
Just like that.
Eleanor stiffened slightly, unsure whether to acknowledge him or ignore him entirely.
He didn’t make that easy.
“You always sit this straight, or is it just for show?”
His voice was smooth. Casual. Low, like it was meant to be heard and felt.
Eleanor turned slowly toward him, unimpressed. “I’m sorry—do we know each other?”
Zack grinned. “Not yet.”
She blinked. “Well, maybe keep it that way.”
His brows shot up—clearly not the response he was used to.
“Feisty,” he muttered, but didn’t push further.
The professor started class a moment later, and Eleanor did her best to focus, scribbling notes with a tight grip on her pen. But she could feel him there—lazily sprawled beside her, clicking his pen rhythmically against the desk, a faint scent of expensive cologne in the air.
She didn’t want to be curious.
But part of her was.
When class ended, he stood, slinging his bag back over his shoulder.
He glanced down at her, head tilted, lips quirked. “See you around, Princess.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t respond.
He walked off—confident, cocky, annoyingly intriguing.
Eleanor exhaled slowly and shook her head.
Not her type. Not her problem.
But still, she felt the ghost of that smirk long after he was gone.
--
Zack’s pov
Mondays sucked. Full stop.
Zack rolled out of bed at 8:15, shirtless, hair a mess, blinking into the sunlight like it personally offended him. Cole had already left for practice, and Deeks was snoring with his hoodie pulled over his face.
He dragged himself through a three-minute shower, pulled on clean joggers and a long-sleeve shirt, grabbed his duffel, and bolted.
Foundations of Politics, 9:00 a.m.
Why he agreed to a class before noon, he had no clue. His advisor said it was “critical for a well-rounded education.” He was pretty sure that meant “required so you don’t get kicked off the team.”
He jogged the last block, half a protein bar in his mouth, music blasting in one earbud.
When he stepped into the lecture hall, he scanned the seats automatically—reflex. Mostly faces he didn’t know. A few girls looked up with that familiar wide-eyed smile. One winked.
Then his eyes landed on her.
She was sitting perfectly straight, a soft olive sweater hugging her frame, legs crossed at the ankle. Brown hair falling in waves over one shoulder, head tilted just slightly as she reread something on her laptop.
Not smiling. Not performing. Not trying.
And that? That caught his attention.
He dropped into the seat beside her without thinking.
She didn’t even flinch.
He leaned over slightly, just to see if she’d react.
“You always sit this straight, or is it just for show?”
He expected a laugh. Maybe a blush.
What he got was a cool, “I’m sorry—do we know each other?”
Zack blinked. What?
That never happened.
“Not yet,” he said, recovering with a smirk.
“Maybe keep it that way.”
She didn’t even look at him again. Just kept writing.
Zack sat back, intrigued despite himself. He should’ve been annoyed. But he wasn’t. He watched her from the corner of his eye during lecture—how she took notes quickly, how her lips pressed together in focus, how she ignored him with intention.
She wasn’t impressed.
She wasn’t interested.
Which meant… now he was.
When class ended, he stood up slowly. She still hadn’t looked at him again.
He slung his bag over his shoulder and tossed a grin her way. “See you around, Princess.”
Still nothing.
But her eyes narrowed just slightly, and that was enough.
He walked out of the hall feeling… lighter.
A new semester. A packed schedule. His dad texting every two days to remind him about internships. Games coming up. Expectations on his shoulders.
But now, he had a new distraction.
And she didn’t even know it yet.
- Writer
