1. Hannah: Tuesday

ONE

HANNAH – TUESDAY

"Ope, sorry." I apologize unnecessarily as I jump to the side, narrowly missing the backpack sliding off some guy's arm.

He doesn't glance my way, blissfully unaware of our near collision, but the girl walking behind him rolls her eyes at his obliviousness.

Note to self: pay attention when walking.

With a clear sidewalk ahead of me, I glance down at the slip of paper in my hand.

It's the second day of classes, and I'm still learning my way around.

Yesterday went pretty okay. But my Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule is different from the classes I have today and Thursday, so this is my first time walking this route during school hours. I've practiced a few times since I moved into my dorm room last week, but the campus seems different with so many people.

The energy is a lot to get used to.

I hook the thumb of my free hand under my backpack strap as I make my way down the short set of stairs between two brick buildings.

In the midwestern September heat, there's a fine line between rushing and sweating, so I make myself walk at a normal speed. There's really no need for me to hurry. I'm not late, but I like taking my time picking a seat.

Voices fill the air as I enter the main quad.

It's a little intimidating, the quintessential image of college life before me, but I push aside my insecurities and try to soak in the moment.

I'm a student at HOP University.

Yesterday, my classes were at the other end of the campus, so I didn't really get this first-day feeling . And now that I'm here, it's a little overwhelming.

I worked my ass off in high school to finish with a few college credits to my name. And then I spent the last two years taking my generals at the community college in my hometown. But now… Well, now I'm a student here. And if I keep working my ass off, I can graduate with my accounting degree in three semesters. Which will set me up for a job that pays better than my mom's floral shop, and we can finally start to spoil ourselves.

And then I'll be able to pay off the student loans that have started to pile up around me.

A burst of laughter snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look up to see what can only be described as the it crowd .

I bat down another round of insecurities that try to bubble up inside me.

This is university life. People are less petty.

I can't help but think I hope as I let my eyes move over the group of students standing in a loose circle.

The guys are all wearing blue and black HOP U jerseys, and the girls are all in matching skirts and formfitting tops, with shoes that don't look comfortable for walking in.

I'm wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and tennis shoes— because I don't want to start my week with blisters.

I felt pretty good about myself this morning, but the longer I look at this group of what must be sorority girls, the more that confidence slips away.

I'm a… bigger girl. Even when I tried to be a fanatic about counting calories. Even when I secretly bought those diet pills from the drugstore and hid them from my mom. Even when I made sure not to eat after nine p.m., I was still big.

Big boned.

Sturdy.

Built.

All the things people say instead of calling you chubby.

I bite my lip and pick up my pace again.

Those girls might be nice. Could be super kind. But being this close to them, when they look like that and I feel like this , is triggering all sorts of crappy internal chatter. And I don't need that. What I need is the credits I'll get for attending my macroeconomics class.

"Mad Dog!" a male shouts, followed by a bad attempt at barking.

It's immature.

I don't want to smile.

I don't want to look over to see who Mad Dog is.

But my eyeballs don't care what I want.

A tall guy bounds forward, gripping the shoulders of an even taller guy, and jumps up like he's going to leap onto the guy's back.

My face scrunches up, waiting for the consequences. Because if someone did that to me, I'd fall flat on my face.

But that doesn't happen to Mad Dog . No, the giant, broad-shouldered guy doesn't budge. Not a single step forward.

My face goes from scrunched to impressed.

The guy, presumably Mad Dog, dislodges his friend, shaking his head.

But I miss whatever is said between them because I'm focused on how huge the guy is. Like, he's honestly the biggest man I've ever seen in person. I'm average height, but he… he has to be six and a half feet tall.

He's gotta be a student here. A football player, if I'm guessing the right sport for the jersey. But, seriously, how does a person get that big?

Realizing I'm gawking at his barrel chest, I blink and lift my eyes.

I can't have him, or anyone in the group, catch me staring.

He has dark stubble on his wide, square jaw that matches the color of his buzzed short hair.

If I had to describe my fantasy football player— and I mean fantasy like fantasy , not some made-up betting game— this guy would be it.

A real-life tall, dark, and handsome.

Even his eyes are a dark brown. And they're staring right at me.

My heart jolts behind my ribs.

One of those eyes closes, and he winks at me.

Heat flares up my neck, and I jerk my eyes away from his.

Cool, got caught eyeing the popular guy. Exactly what I was going for.

I force my shaky legs to pick up the pace as I redouble my efforts to get to class.

I'm not interested in any drama.

And a man called Mad Dog is bound to be drama.