3. Everly

3

Everly

T he library felt like a second home that Monday. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting warm patches on the wooden tables. Holly and I sat across from each other, surrounded by stacks of books and scattered notes.

"Everly, did you get the answer to number seven?" Holly's eyes darted between her textbook and me, her brow furrowed in concentration.

I flipped through my notebook, fingers tracing the penciled lines. "Yeah, it's about the Boston Tea Party. The answer's they disguised themselves as Mohawk Indians."

She scribbled it down quickly, then sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I can't believe finals are today. My brain feels like mush. And then with Psych tomorrow…" She shook her head.

I chuckled softly, tapping my pen against the table. "Tell me about it. I've never studied this much in my life."

Holly's eyes softened as she looked at me. "You're doing great for someone who's never been to a real school."

"Home school is real school," I said automatically, feeling a warm rush of pride mixed with nerves. "But thanks."

We fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds were pages turning and pencils scratching paper. Around us, other students were buried in their own studies, some with headphones on, others whispering to one another.

Holly suddenly broke the silence again. "So what made you decide to go to college after being homeschooled?"

I paused, chewing on my lower lip as I considered my answer. "I mean, besides a degree so I can teach?" I asked. "Honestly, I just wanted to step into the world and have more… More experiences, more people to meet... and maybe prove to myself that I could handle it. Also, I really want to fall in love and have sex."

She nearly choked on her own spit.

Just then, a librarian walked by and shushed us gently. We exchanged amused glances before diving back into our notes.

I flipped a page, the crisp sound breaking the quiet of the library.

"I can't believe you said that," Holly muttered, eyes wide.

"Well, it's true," I replied, keeping my voice low. "I've always read about it — and I want to actually feel it."

Holly pursed her lips, considering my words. "You know, it's not actually like that, right?" She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The real world doesn't have Prince Charming ready to save you from every little thing. You have to save yourself."

"I think you can have both," I said, feeling a stubborn streak rise within me. The idea of romance and adventure had been a cornerstone of my reading lessons, filled with classic literature and fairy tales.

Holly gave me a long look, her expression softening slightly. "Look, as someone who's had experience in that area, can I give you some advice?"

I nodded, genuinely curious about what she would say next. Holly always seemed so worldly compared to me.

"Even the beautiful are monsters," she said slowly. "I would just protect your heart at all costs and find the one who's actually worthy of giving it to, rather than someone who fits the boxes."

"Is that what happened to you?" I asked quietly, sensing there was more behind her words than just cautionary advice.

Holly's eyes darkened for a moment before she glanced away. "Let's just say I've learned the hard way," she murmured, fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the table.

I gave Holly a long look, trying to piece together the layers she rarely revealed. Her eyes held a depth of sadness that tugged at my heart.

Holly sighed, her shoulders slumping as if she carried an invisible weight. "Damien was the first guy I ever loved," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I gave everything to him… and he didn't just break my heart, he smashed it. Didn't even feel bad about it." She looked away, her fingers tracing the wood grain of the table. "And you've seen Damien. He's quintessential good looking. I thought for sure he'd be… Well, it doesn't matter. I know better now." She shot me a look. "And you? You're innocent. You deserve the best."

I frowned, the words swirling in my mind like a storm. "Why do I get the sense that you're conflating innocent with na?ve?"

"Because it's true," Holly said, her tone sharper than before. "You're Little Red Riding Hood and the guys here will eat you up like the Big Bad Wolf, hiding behind pretty-boy smiles and Daddy's wallet." Her eyes met mine, filled with genuine concern. "I just don't want to see you hurt."

I chewed my bottom lip, wrestling with the conflicting emotions inside me. Part of me wanted to argue, to prove that I wasn't as sheltered as she thought. But another part of me longed for the experiences she warned against. The heartbreak, the joy, the raw intensity of feeling something real.

But I kept that to myself.

"I get it," I finally said, my voice softer than I intended. "But I need to make my own mistakes."

Holly's expression softened a fraction. "Just promise me you'll be careful?"

"I promise," I said.

As the minutes ticked by and our focus returned to cramming for finals, I couldn't shake Holly's advice from my thoughts.

I felt like she was being overly cautious. Just because it happened to her didn't mean it would happen to me. I believed people were inherently good. Sure, I'd read stories and seen movies where characters betrayed each other, but that always seemed so distant, so unreal. Holly's heartbreak sounded tragic, but I couldn't shake the idea that it was an exception rather than the rule. Despite her warnings—and my mother's insistence on protecting me from the world's dangers—I held onto the belief that most people wouldn't actually take advantage of someone else's kindness.

College was a new chapter, one where I'd step out from behind the protective walls of homeschooling and into a world brimming with unknown possibilities. And perhaps somewhere out there was my own version of Prince Charming — or at least someone who could meet me halfway on this grand adventure called life.

A couple of hours seemed to melt away as we drilled each other on various topics. The clock ticked steadily towards our doom—finals.

"All right," Holly said suddenly, closing her textbook with a thud that echoed through the quiet room. "If I read another word about revolutions, my head might explode."

"Agreed," I replied with a tired smile.

"What time is it?" I asked.

Holly glanced at her phone. "Just after ten," she replied.

"Shoot!" I exclaimed, feeling a jolt of panic surge through me. "I'm going to be late."

"What?" Holly's confusion mirrored my own frantic thoughts.

The librarian appeared from behind a nearby shelf, finger pressed to her lips in a familiar gesture. We both nodded apologetically.

"My stats final," I whispered urgently, stuffing my books into my bag haphazardly. "It starts at ten thirty and it's across campus. I'll meet you at River Styx after?"

"Definitely," she replied.

With a final glance at Holly, I bolted from the library; the door swinging shut behind me. My footsteps echoed through the nearly empty hallway as I dashed towards the exit, heart pounding in my chest like a drum.

I stepped out onto the campus, the cool breeze brushing against my face, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the sprawling grounds. Students milled about, some rushing to their next class, others lounging on the lawn, books and laptops scattered around them.

As I walked, my footsteps fell into a steady rhythm, echoing off the cobblestone path that wound its way through the campus. Tall oak trees lined either side of the path, their leaves rustling softly in the wind. The branches formed a natural canopy overhead, dappling the ground with patches of light and shadow.

I passed by the fountain in the center of campus, its water sparkling in the sunlight as it cascaded down in a soothing melody. A group of students sat on its edge, chatting animatedly, their laughter ringing out like music. The sight brought a small smile to my lips; it felt like I was part of something bigger here.

My destination loomed ahead: the old brick building where my stats final awaited. Its ivy-covered walls stood as a testament to its history, each brick seemingly holding stories from years past. I quickened my pace, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

As I walked through the quad, I caught snippets of conversations—plans for spring break, complaints about upcoming exams, excitement about new relationships. It was a tapestry of life unfolding around me, vibrant and full of energy.

And I was part of it.

I passed by the student union building where a group had gathered for some kind of rally. Their signs and banners flapped in the breeze, colorful and bold. The speakers' voices rose above the crowd's murmur, impassioned and fervent.

A squirrel darted across my path, pausing briefly to eye me before scampering up one of the oaks. I watched it disappear into the branches with a small chuckle.

A low, gravelly voice sliced through the hum of campus life, sharp and unforgiving. It pulled me from my rush, freezing me mid-stride. I scanned the area, seeking the source of the confrontation.

"I've known a thousand sorry motherfuckers just like you — rich frat boys with Daddy's money who think you own the whole goddamn world without lifting a perfectly manicured finger. Daddy's probably bailed you out more than a few times, hmm? Well, let me tell you something, son. Daddy won't be able to bail you out of what I'm about to do to you."

The voice came from behind a cluster of hedges that bordered the walkway. I sidestepped around them cautiously and spotted the owner of the voice.

He stood there, towering over a boy who couldn't be much older than me. The aggressor was a sight to behold — broad-shouldered, with arms that told stories of manual labor rather than gym sessions. His jaw was set, his eyes narrowed into slits that spelled danger.

The recipient of his threat stood in stark contrast: a typical frat boy dressed in our school's crisp uniform. He looked shocked and maybe intimidated, his blonde hair perfectly styled as if he had walked straight out of a salon and into this mess.

In front of him, slightly to one side, was a girl. Her hair fell over her face in disarray, partially concealing her expression. She clutched her books against her chest like a shield; her knuckles white from the grip. She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, clearly wishing she could be anywhere but here.

I couldn't peel my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me. The boy in the uniform opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out — he simply gaped at his accuser like a fish out of water.

The girl caught my gaze for a moment; there was a silent plea in her eyes that tugged at my conscience. I took an involuntary step forward, propelled by an instinct to help despite having no idea what was going on or what I could possibly do to diffuse the situation.

The tension hung between them like a heavy curtain, and for a moment nobody moved or spoke; even the surrounding sounds seemed to hush in anticipation of what might happen next.

"Excuse me," I called out, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest. I stepped closer to the scene, aware of the delicate balance of tension that hung in the air. "I can see there's some tension here. Is everything all right?"

The frat boy glanced at me. "This freak just started yelling at me for no reason," he said, gesturing dismissively at the man standing before him.

I took in the aggressor more closely now — he could've been mistaken for an actor playing a rugged role on screen. Scars laced his face like threads in a tapestry, each one telling a tale of survival and struggle, but they didn't take away from his high cheeks or his defined jawline. His eyes were sharp, missing nothing, and his presence commanded the space around him.

"No reason, huh?" The man's voice dripped with sarcasm as he locked eyes with the frat boy.

"It's true!" The boy's voice wavered slightly under the intensity of the gaze upon him.

I interjected quickly, hoping to diffuse the brewing storm. "Maybe we can find a better way to solve this," I said. "Everyone makes mistakes. Maybe we can talk through it and clear up any misunderstandings. What do you think?"

The man cocked his head to the side, his gaze shifting to me now. A small, amused smirk played on his lips as he seemed to size me up. "What I think?" he echoed, almost playfully. "Well, I think no means no, sweetheart." He flicked a glance back at the frat boy. "Ask him what he thinks, hmm?"

I turned my attention to the frat boy once more. "I was just talking to her," he insisted, his voice taking on a defensive edge.

I looked around for the girl to get her side of the story but found that she had already slipped away amidst the chaos. Her absence left an unsettling silence in her wake — her side of this confrontation now a missing piece in an increasingly complex puzzle.

"Talking? Is that right?" The aggressor took a step forward, his voice thick with disdain. "I didn't realize you spoke with your hands."

"What business of it is yours, you freak?" the frat boy shot back. His eyes darted nervously between the towering figure before him and me, seeking an ally but finding none. "She didn't say no, did she? She liked it."

"Go on, then." The aggressor's gaze fell on me with those piercing dark eyes, like he was peering into my very soul. "Why don't you try to clear up a misunderstanding?"

I opened my mouth, scrambling for words. "Well, I'm sure he didn't mean to… um… what did he do exactly?"

"You mean you don't know?" The aggressor's brow rose in a mix of amusement and scorn. "Maybe, and this is just me, mind your fucking business then."

"I can't just stand by and let you harass a student when you're clearly, you know, not a student," I said. "The power balance isn't exactly fair."

"Is that right?" He leaned in closer. "Tell me, then, sugar, could you stand by and let this jackass paw at some timid girl who can't even open her mouth and say no to stop it?"

"Well, of course not —"

"Then mind your fucking business," he growled.

"I'm just trying to utilize nonviolent conflict resolution —"

"Honey, the world is a violent place," he interrupted. His voice carried the weight of hard-earned wisdom or perhaps resigned cynicism. "Sometimes, it's the only way people listen."

"I don't believe that," I asserted.

"Oh, you don't, do you?" He scoffed lightly. "Let me guess: only child, grew up overprotected, maybe you were told how beautiful the world is, hmm?"

"The world is beautiful," I insisted stubbornly.

The aggressor chuckled darkly. "Look at my face, little girl," he said. His scarred visage was suddenly inches from mine. "You think this is beautiful?"

Before I could muster a response to his rhetorical question, my alarm went off.

"Shoot," I whispered under my breath. My final was going to start any second.

"It's not about what's on the outside," I said, meeting his gaze with a resolve that surprised even me. "It's the inside that counts."

The aggressor snorted, a rough sound that spoke of disbelief and maybe a little bit of pity. "You've gotta be shitting me," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

With that final warning hanging in the air, I spun on my heel and raced towards the brick building where my statistics final awaited. My heart hammered against my ribs, adrenaline and anxiety warring within me as I dodged between students and skirted around patches of lawn freshly green from spring's touch, praying I wasn't late and ignoring the way a heavy gaze followed me the entire way.