1. Alex

ALEX

NOW – SOPHOMORE YEAR – JANUARY

T he scent of vanilla and leather hits me like a physical force—a combination I’ve spent all year trying to forget. I square my shoulders and focus on the lecture hall ahead, refusing to let Freddie Donovan throw me off balance. Not again. Not today.

“If you fidget with that blazer one more time, I’m setting it on fire,” Tara says, swatting my hand away. “You look hot. Own it. Besides, this power-suit vibe is way better than your freshman year ‘I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-and-grabbed-whatever’ aesthetic.”

“Hey, that aesthetic got me straight A’s,” I protest, though I smooth down my tailored slacks anyway. The silk camisole and blazer feel like costume pieces—my attempt at playing the role of Future Environmental Scientist. “And that UMS hoodie was comfortable.”

“It had holes,” Tara corrects, linking her arm through mine. “Multiple holes. In embarrassing places. Trust me, this is better. Though I still can’t believe you let me talk you into a complete wardrobe overhaul.”

“Yes…why did I let you dress me again?”

“Because,” Tara says, tightening her grip on my arm, “you said, and I quote: ‘Tara, I need to switch up what I’m wearing. You were right all freshman year, and I need your wardrobe expertise.’“

“I did not say that.”

“You absolutely did. Three mimosas deep at my brother’s party. Though I miss your ratty UMS hoodie. It had character.”

“It had holes,” I correct, but I can’t help smiling.

“Anyway, any guesses on what Bam’s cooking up for the end-of-year project?”

“Nope. But I bet you have some.”

I chew my lip, a habit I thought I’d kicked years ago. “Honestly? I’m clueless. I’ve tried every trick in the book to get her to spill, but she’s like a vault.”

“Come on,” Tara leans in conspiratorially. “You must have an inside scoop. You’re practically her protégé.”

After just one year at UMS, I’ve spent more time in Professor Bam’s lab than some grad students—not because I’m trying to be teacher’s pet, but because the GSRI is everything. The Global Sustainable Resources Institute, or GSRI, isn’t just another environmental program; it’s my shot at actually changing things, at making the kind of difference Emma always said I could make.

Emma. My chest tightens at the memory of her smile, forever frozen at twenty-four. Sometimes I still hear her voice: “You’re going to change the world someday, Ally.” The nickname no one’s called me since.

“Tara, I spend extra time in the lab because I love the work,” I say, pushing the memories away. “Not because I’m in some secret science illuminati.”

She eyes me suspiciously, a grin tugging at her lips. “But if you were, you wouldn’t be able to tell me, right?”

“Of course not,” I deadpan, before matching her grin.

His laugh cuts through the morning air—confident, careless, infuriatingly familiar—and my whole body betrays me, recognizing it instantly. I hate that one sound can shatter months of carefully constructed indifference, hate that my heart still remembers its rhythm.

“Oh,” Tara mutters, her grip on my arm tightening. “We could totally skip class. I hear there’s a fascinating documentary about penguin migration patterns…”

“I’m fine,” I lie, squaring my shoulders. The blazer suddenly feels like armor. “He’s just another student.”

“Totally,” she replies, but steers me toward the lecture hall anyway.

As we sit down, his cologne hits me again—vanilla and leather wrapping around me like a memory I can’t shake. I grip my pen tighter, refusing to look back. He’s deliberately sitting close—he has to be. The lecture hall is half empty, but of course Freddie Donovan would choose the seat right behind me on the first day of sophomore year. Classic Freddie, turning my personal space into his own private battleground.

I focus on my notebook with renewed determination, writing “GSRI” at the top of the page like a prayer. Like a shield. That’s the goal. That’s what matters. Not the way my skin prickles, knowing he’s watching me. Not the memories of last spring that still wake me up at night. And certainly not him, with his stupidly perfect cologne and the way he still makes my chest feel too tight.

“And now, class,” Professor Bam’s voice cuts through my spiral of thoughts, “I have an exciting announcement about your end-of-term project.”

My pen hovers over my notebook, my heart suddenly racing. This is it—the project that could make or break my GSRI application. The one that could prove I’m ready for their sophomore internship program.

“This year,” Professor Bam continues, a mischievous glint in her eye that makes my stomach drop, “we’re doing things a little differently. Your end-of-term project will be a team exercise.”

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water.

Team exercise? No. No way. I work better alone—always have. Sure, I’ve aced every group project, but only because I end up doing everything myself. This project is too important to trust to anyone else.

I poke Tara with my pen, and she nods, understanding immediately. Partners. Okay. I can work with this. Tara’s brilliant, dedicated. We could actually make something amazing together.

But Professor Bam is already pulling out a jar filled with…are those popsicle sticks? “Before you all start making eyes at your friends,” she says, that classic Bam smugness in her voice, “I’ll be assigning pairs randomly. In the real world, you don’t always get to choose who you work with.”

“In the real world, your fate isn’t decided by freakin’ popsicle sticks either,” Tara mutters, and I have to bite back a hysterical laugh.

My heart pounds as Professor Bam starts calling out names. With each pair announced, my anxiety ratchets higher. Then?—

“Tara Hawkins and…Ryan Chen.”

Tara shoots me an apologetic look, mouthing “I’m sorry.” I force a smile, even as panic starts to build. It’s fine. I can work with anyone. I’m professional. I’m?—

“Alexandria Ford and…Freddie Donovan.”

The world stops.

No. No way. This can’t be happening.

For a moment, all I hear is static. My vision tunnels, and I swear the cosmos is laughing at me. Of all the students in this class, of all the possible partners…

I turn, against every screaming instinct, and catch his eye. He’s wearing that infuriating smirk that makes me want to throw my notebook at his stupidly perfect face.

I wait until the classroom empties, my heart hammering against my ribs. Maybe I can fix this. Professor Bam knows how much this means to me. She’ll understand.

“Professor Bam,” I begin, my voice embarrassingly high. “You’re looking lovely today.”

She peers over her cat’s-eye glasses, one eyebrow raised. Damn it, Alex. You’re blowing it.

“Spit it out,” she says, shuffling papers with practiced efficiency. Professor Bam might be barely five feet tall, but she’s the most formidable presence on campus. Twenty years of groundbreaking research and three major environmental patents tend to have that effect.

I straighten my spine. “I was wondering about the team aspect of the project?—”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard what I?—”

“Alexandria.” Her eyes twinkle behind those vintage frames, but her voice is steel. “The whole point is collaboration . Even your precious soil microbes work in communities.”

“I know, but I can handle this alone and besides?—”

She holds up one hand, her collection of bangles creating a symphony of tiny chimes. “Your abilities aren’t in question, Ms. Ford.” My cheeks warm at the praise despite everything. “But GSRI doesn’t want lone wolves. They want leaders. Team players.”

The mention of GSRI makes my stomach clench. She’s right—of course she’s right. She’s been my mentor since I walked into her introductory class with organized binders and too many questions. Which is why her next words sting even more.

“And no,” she continues, reading my mind like always, “you can’t swap partners with Ryan Chen.”

“How did you?—”

“Oh, sweetie,” she mimics my voice with frightening accuracy, “you think I don’t know your bestie?”

I nearly choke. Did Professor Bam really just say ‘bestie’?

Her usual voice returns, amused but firm. “That’s why I use the popsicle sticks. Adds a touch of whimsy to the science, don’t you think?” She’s already turning back to her work, clearly considering the matter closed.

“Right.” I force my voice to stay professional, even as panic bubbles in my chest. “Thank you for your time, Professor.”

As I turn to leave, she calls after me: “Oh, and Alex? Give Freddie a chance.”

I push through the heavy oak doors, squinting against the bright Colorado sun. Of course, it’s a perfect day—blue skies mocking my mood. I want to replace it with rain. Let everyone else’s day be ruined. Lost in my thoughts about controlling the weather, I collide with a broad chest. I stumble back, looking up to meet a pair of annoyingly familiar hazel eyes.

“Whoa there, Lexie,” Freddie says, steadying me with a hand on my arm. “Careful, or people might think you’re falling for me.”

I jerk away from his touch, putting a safe distance between us. “It’s Alex,” I correct him automatically. “What are you doing, Freddie?”

He leans against the wall with practiced ease, all long legs and casual grace. Sunlight catches his eyes, turning them from hazel to gold, and my stomach does a stupid little flip. “Waiting for my project partner, of course. Thought we could discuss our game plan. Over coffee?” His lips quirk up. “Cappuccino with soy milk, just how you like it?”

I ignore the way my heart leaps.

The fact that he remembers my coffee order feels like a weapon aimed straight at my chest. “That was last year,” I say, forcing steel into my voice. “I drink it black now.” Lie . I freakin’ hate black coffee.

He raises an eyebrow. “No, you don’t.”

“You don’t know me anymore, Freddie.”

“Don’t I, Lexie?”

I ignore the nickname. “Do you want to start right now?” I try to step around him, but he slides smoothly into my path.

“Well,” he drawls, falling into step beside me, “I figured you’d want to get started right away. Unless…” He pauses, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Unless you were in there trying to change partners?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” My voice comes out too sharp, too defensive.

“Ha!” His grin is triumphant. “You’re so predictable, Lexie. I’m wounded. Truly devastated.” He clutches his chest as if auditioning for a Shakespeare play.

“It’s Alex ,” I snap, feeling heat creep up my neck. “And it wasn’t about you. I just work better alone.” The lie tastes bitter.

“Sure, sure.” He nods, clearly seeing right through me like he always has—since that first night at the party, when he found me hiding on the porch. “Well, partner, looks like you’re stuck with me. Try to contain your excitement.”

I stop abruptly, turning to face him. My heart is pounding so hard I wonder if he can hear it. “Look, Freddie. This project is important. Really important. Can we just… keep things professional?”

Something flickers in his eyes—a glimpse of the real Freddie, the one who used to make me laugh until I couldn’t breathe, who understood me better than anyone. But then his mask slides back into place. “Absolutely professional. After all, it’s not like we’re friends, right?”

“No,” I say, the word bitter. “We’re colleagues, Freddie. Nothing more, nothing less. And when this is over, we’ll go back to being strangers.”

I walk away before he can see how much the words hurt me too. Before I remember why we can’t be friends anymore. Why we can’t be anything at all.