Coming here had been my decision and it had been the right thing to do.

My parents had threatened to cut off my trust fund, which I’d found hilarious. I had my own money—money they had no control over once I turned eighteen. Money I had earned. To them, I had let them down yet again, but if I stayed in Texas or around any of those people, I would be dead.

Glancing at the time on my cell phone, I pushed to my feet and slung my bag over my shoulder. At least I wouldn’t be late to my history class.

History was in the social sciences building, at the bottom of the hill I had just raced up. I cut through the parking lot behind the Byrd building and crossed the congested street. All around me students walked in groups of two or larger, many obviously knew each other. Instead of feeling left out, there was a precious sense of freedom in walking to class without being recognized.

Pushing my epic fail of a morning out of the way, I entered Whitehall and took the first set of steps to the right. The hallway upstairs was crowded with students waiting for the rooms to empty. I threaded through the laughing groups, dodging some who still looked half asleep. Finding an empty spot across from my classroom, I sat down against the wall and crossed my legs. I ran my hands over my jeans, excited to be starting history. Most people would be bored to tears in History 101, but it was my first class in my major.

And if I got lucky, five years from now, I’d be working in a silent and cool museum or library, cataloguing ancient texts or artifacts. Not the most glamorous of professions, but it would be perfect for me.

Better than what I used to want to be, which was a professional dancer in New York.

Yet another thing Mom had to be disappointed over. All that money thrown at ballet lessons since I was old enough to walk was wasted after I turned fourteen.

I did miss it though, the calming effect dancing had brought on. I just couldn’t bring myself to ever do it again.

“Girl, what are you doing sitting on the floor?”

My head jerked up and a smile broke out across my face when I saw the wide, bright smile stretching across the caramel tone of Jacob Massey’s boyishly, handsome face. We’d buddied up during freshman orientation last week and he was in my next class, plus art on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s. I’d immediately warmed to his outgoing personality.

I glanced at the expensive looking jeans he wore, recognizing the tailored cut. “It’s comfortable down here. You should join me.”

“Hell no. I don’t want my fine ass to be tainted by sitting on that floor.” He propped a hip against the wall beside me and grinned. “Wait. What are you doing here already? I thought you had a class at nine.”