Heart racing and hands clammy, I pulled open the lecture hall door for ASTR201 - Introductory Astronomy: Stars and Galaxies. Luke and I had registered for it together last spring because we both needed to fulfill an intro-level science requirement. Astronomy seemed better than biology with its gross dissections or chemistry with all its math. Foolishly, I’d even thought it might be romantic to go stargazing for an assignment.

Now I was sorely regretting that decision. I would rather have cut up a thousand frogs (sorry, frogs) or done a million equations than be shut in a room with Luke for an eighty-minute lecture.

If only he’d get sucked into a black hole.

Heart thundering in my ears, I paused in the doorway, scanning the tiers of laminate countertops and attached seats for his familiar blond hair and his standard gray and navy Bulldogs zip-up. When I didn’t see him, I released a sigh of relief. He wasn’t here yet. Maybe he wouldn’t come. I grabbed a seat off to the side in the back for an optimal sight line while maintaining minimal visibility myself. Then I waited, like a tightly coiled spring, but the lecture began, and he never showed. Thank god. He’d probably withdrawn and taken a W. I was considering it if he didn’t. But I couldn’t afford to eat the tuition like he could.

While I was packing up my stuff after the lecture wrapped up, my phone buzzed with a half-hearted sorry about the breakup text from my brother. It was approximately five days too late and lacked the comfort—and sincerity—one would expect from a sibling in this scenario. But maybe he felt conflicted, given that Luke was not only his teammate but one of his close friends. That was, after all, how we’d met.

* * *

Following astronomy, I headed back to the Callingwood Daily office, my makeshift home these days, to complete some work on the newspaper and catch up on homework.

Zara, Noelle, and I sat at the round table, revising articles for tomorrow’s issue while snacking and drinking coffee. A few other students who also worked on the paper milled about the office, copying documents and doing various administrative tasks.

Zara glanced up from her silver MacBook. “By the way, can you cover the Hawks game on Friday? Liam called in sick.”

“It’s Wednesday,” I said, biting into my chocolate chip granola bar. “He already knows he’s going to be sick this Friday? How convenient.”

“I know, right?” Noelle took a sip of her iced french vanilla coffee, rolling her eyes.

“I wish he understood that having the sports beat means he has to cover all the sports,” I said. “Not just the ones he likes.”