Home > Seth & Greyson (The Coincidence #7)

Seth & Greyson (The Coincidence #7)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

Chapter 1

Seth

I’ve never been a fan of school, yet here I am, arriving early to my freshman year at the University of Wyoming. It was either begin summer semester or stay home until fall. Living under my mother’s roof and her rules, like no dating in the public eye, made the choice really easy. My mother believes the opinions of the residents of Mapleville actually matter, and I’ve never completely understood why. Mapleville is a tiny town in the middle of nowhere with a population of maybe a thousand tops. It’s a blip on a map that most people don’t know exists, and a place I hope to forget, mainly because it’s where I got the cast on my arm.

The cast. Another reason my mother didn’t want me dating, and why she was relieved I chose to start college at the beginning of summer.

But the cast wasn’t the only reason I chose to bail out of a boring summer in Mapleville. I never felt like I belonged in a place where dressing in clothes stylish enough to be in high fashion magazines caused people to gawk at you like you were strolling about in your underwear.

Despite being more than ready to escape my past and take this leap, standing in front of the historical main entrance to the campus, watching students hurrying in and out as if they know exactly where they’re going… I’m completely overwhelmed and I feel so... lost.

Reminding myself that this is my fresh start and to take it one step at a time, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and start up the stairs toward the glass doors. The sun shining in the clear blue sky and the temperature probably pushing one hundred almost make me question dressing in designer jeans, boots, and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, but I look so fantastic I can’t completely regret it.

I wind through the hallway, searching the room numbers until I find the door to my Pre-Calculus class. I smile to myself as I walk in, trying to be the sparkling person I was before the incident, hoping maybe a cheerful appearance will equal fast friendships.

Right away, I can tell the summer classes have a lower attendance because I’m already pushing being late and there are a total of ten people seated. Skimming my options, I pick a spot in the back next to a mousy looking girl with short brown hair and the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.

After what I went through back at my old school, I’m careful about the people I surround myself with. If I’m not, I could end up in the same situation that put this damn cast on my arm. I only have one good arm left and don’t think I can take any more breaks.

As the professor comes strolling into the classroom, I use my good hand to unzip my bag and dig out the textbook. I relax back in the seat and stare out the window as the professor begins rambling through the introduction, then passes out the syllabus.

Eventually, I notice the girl glance in my direction, and I offer her a smile. Her eyes widen and her attention whips back to the paper she’s doodling on. I can’t quite put my finger on why, but I feel an urge to befriend her. There’s something about her that reminds me of myself, like she’s trying to hide herself behind baggy clothes and a God-awful haircut. Granted, I would never, ever wear anything that hideous, but I get the whole trying-to-hide-who-you-really-are part. I did it for years before saying to hell with it. A few months later, I was beat up, but I wouldn’t go back and change my decision. Living a lie wasn’t any easier.

I lean to the side and whisper to the girl, “It’s okay. I’m not going to bite.” I extend my hand to her. “My name’s Seth.”

“I-I’m Callie,” she stammers, reaching to take my hand.

But she tenses at the very last second and quickly withdraws, putting her hands on her lap.

“It’s nice to meet you, Callie.” I study her with curiosity, trying to figure out if it’s just me she’s afraid of or people in general. When I walked into the classroom, she was seated as far away from everyone as possible and I wonder if maybe that move was on purpose. “Can I borrow a pencil?”

Nodding, she digs one out of her bag and kind of tosses it at me before wiping her palms on her jeans and fixing her attention on taking notes.

I learn a total of nada for the day, and when I read through the syllabus, I question whether I’ll survive torturous Pre-Cal. The numbers and formulas already have my head spinning and my attention drifting to what outfit I’ll wear tomorrow instead of the assignment.

I’m in a daze packing up and making my way out of the classroom, but snap out of it when I spot the girl scrambling to get the hell out of Dodge. At the doorway, she nearly crashes into some guy, and just about comes unglued. Shaking with fear, she stutters an apology and hurries down the hallway, surprisingly fast for being so tiny.

Interesting. I definitely want to find out what her deal is.

I have one more class for the day, which doesn’t seem like a huge workload, but I’m exhausted by the time I return to my dorm. My roommate’s not there, which isn’t a big shocker. I think I made him uncomfortable the day we met when I complimented him on his hair. He’s pretty much been MIA ever since.

I lamely start a few assignments then fall asleep around nine o’clock. For the next seven days, I’m stuck in the droning pattern, going to school, doing homework, looking for a job, then dozing off early. Eighteen years old, and I feel as ancient as my grandparents, who believe the day ends when the sun goes down. Seriously, with the way they act, you’d think they believed in vampires.

On day eight, I grow restless and bored. If I’m going to have any fun while at college—and I made a promise to myself that I would—then I’m going to have to make some friends. Ones I can have a good time with. Ones who will accept me for who I am. Ones I can trust. Ones who maybe need me just as much as I need them so I don’t come off all needy.

The problem is, outside of the quiet girl who sits next to me in Pre-Cal, I haven’t talked to anyone since I moved to Laramie, and most of our conversations consist of me yammering and her nodding.

During class today, I thrum my fingers against the desk while plotting how to make the skittish girl open up to me. I don’t know why I’m so dead set on making friends with her—she’s probably the most difficult person to carry on a conversation with. Maybe that’s the reason. Perhaps I’m so bored that I’m dying for a challenge.

“So, do you get anything the professor’s talking about?” I ask toward the end of class.

She stares down at the book with a pencil gripped in her hand. “Not really.”

 

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