I changed my top for the fourth—or possibly fourteenth; who’s counting?—time, yanking off the oversized sweater that screamed trying too hard to look like I’m not trying and replacing it with a fitted burgundy henley.
Then I changed back to the sweater. Then back to the henley.
I just wanted it to be right. Tyler was the type of guy who sailed through life on good genetics and family money, the lacrosse captain who’d never once glanced my direction during four years of high school. The fact that he was glancing my direction now was a Code Red emergency.
Something had shifted since I’d come back for winter break after my first semester. We ran into each other at the mall, then, suddenly, he was sliding into my DMs, calling me “College Rae” like it was an inside joke between us, texting a
