“So what did Professor Adams mean?” Reagan was sitting across from me in the cafeteria, munching on a bag of chips as she regarded me over the table.
I chose to play with my bag of carrots while whining internally that I had to pick this day to try to eat healthier. I tried to talk myself into signing up for a gym membership after classes ended this afternoon, but I’d already squashed that idea. All I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and never come out.
I also wanted Reagan’s chips.
The rest of Professor Adams’s—otherwise known as the Hell Hammer’s—class was brutal, and my day continued to be terrible as I made it to my next class and realized there had been more reading assignments I’d missed. And more intimidating, slightly mean professors.
So far, the first day on my road to independence had been crap.
The only good thing to come out of it had been Reagan, who was in all the same classes as I was. When I commented on that stroke of luck, she laughed, smiling indulgently at me again before she said, “First years—1Ls—are divided into sections. A hundred of us are in section three. Me and ninety-eight other people are in all the same classes as you.”
Right. Turned out orientation had been a lot more important than Lara and I had thought when we were packing our bags and heading to Texas to watch Slade’s last preseason game—even though he wasn’t playing due to the need to keep the top players away from potential injuries before regular season started.
Try explaining that to Lara, though.
“It’s only one night,” Lara had said, jumping up and down. “We can totally go. What’s there to orient with you? Read books. Memorize law. Take test.” She took a breather from her hopping, trying to make the fine lines of her face as Neanderthal as possible when she said, “Charlie smart.”
Really, I should know by now never to listen to her.
“Well?” Reagan asked after swallowing a mouthful of chips and going into the bag for more. “Are you a secret famous person? Or hang on.” She paused mid-rifle and pointed a greasy, salt-covered finger at me. “You’re a reality star, aren’t you? I think I’ve seen you…Real World, right? Las Vegas?”
I shook my head, eyeing that delicious looking finger of hers. She must have noticed my open starvation because she said, “Tell me, and I’ll give you the rest of my fried potatoes.” She waved the crumpled bag in front of me. “You know you waaaant to.”
I snatched the chips out of her grasp and stuffed a few into my mouth, groaning with pleasure before I said, “I’m dating an athlete.”
This intrigued her. “An athlete? Like what, basketball? Football?”
When I nodded, she became breathless, even though she hadn’t said a word. All oxygen just expelled out of her in one mighty haaa.
“Omigod, don’t tell me. That’s where I’ve seen you! You’re Jason Sladerman’s freaking girlfriend. I’ve read about you—well, him and you. You are famous!”
I shushed her with my own greasy, salt-coated fingers, not wanting to draw more attention in the crowded cafeteria than necessary.
“My brother’s a huge football fan,” she said, ignoring my gestures. “He wouldn't stop talking about this guy’s amazing record—like he’s some megalord of football. It has to be about him. It is, isn’t it? You’re her. Page Six has already written about you.”
Suddenly my mouth became too dry to swallow. I put the empty bag on the table.
“You’re like a mystery. Everyone wants to know how it happened. How you met him.”
At my silence, she sighed. “Shoot. I’ve blown it. I get way too excited sometimes. My words just gush out, and I can’t stop them.”
“It’s okay,” I said, smiling at her to let her know it was. “I puked on him.”
She sat across from me, not breathless this time but straight-up speechless.
“As you can see, I’m still getting used to this. You know...his status, I guess. It’s been a lot.”
Reagan recovered from her shock and nodded with enthusiasm. “Completely. And I will totally be your cool law school study buddy who never asks you about him. Swear.”
I smiled gratefully. “Thanks.”
“After one question.”
I laughed. She was trying so hard not to be excited and to keep her promise at the same time. Well, in all of the two seconds she kept it.
“What’s he like? So I can tell my brother,” she said. “Not because I think he’s hot, even though he is. Did you see his Esquire shoot? I’m such an idiot. Of course you have. He will die. Die. Oh, not Jason Sladerman. My brother.”
I sipped on my soda as she continued to prattle on. Reagan seemed open, innocent, and endearing. I liked her. God knew what Lara was going to do with her.
I picked up a carrot, making sure it was coated with some of the salt from my fingers before I popped it in my mouth and crunched down. “He’s wonderful.”
“I bet.”
Reagan picked off one of my carrots and said, “So when do you want me to help you with all the cases you missed last week so we can prevent the Hell Hammer from coming down on you again?”