Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(18)

Grandma M: Did you know that Brad Pitt is officially single again? That boy needs to settle down with a real woman. Think he’d go for a cougar who could show him a thing or two?





CHAPTER EIGHT





SKYLAR





Blond hair.

Big hands.

Hot breath.

It isn’t much to go on, but I can’t help but repeat those three things in my mind. The man from that night smelled like liquor, not the cheap beer that was being served at the keg. But once that was tapped out, a lot of people started indulging in the more expensive stuff they found hidden away. My roommate had given me rum and coke after rum and coke, and I liked the sweetness of the soda combined with the bitterness from the rum. Or was it him who kept passing me the red cups?

The blond?

DJ.

I shake my head, struggling to focus on what my math professor is saying. Something about multivariate data. I glance down at my notes and wince when I realize I’ve barely taken any. Math has never been my strongest subject, so I need to refocus.

But…

DJ said things I can’t help but obsess over. It’s been a few days since our encounter at Reavers and it’s all I can think about. Because nothing about what I heard him say on the phone adds up.

“…have the answer?”

Complete silence fills the room as I pull myself away from the conflicting thoughts.

I blink a few times and notice that the professor is staring at me. I feel my cheeks burn under the waiting gazes of my classmates.

Sinking into my seat, I shake my head at the teacher. “I wasn’t paying attention. What was the question?”

Professor Albertson hums. “Stick back after class if you have a few minutes to talk. Rodney, do you have the answer?”

I squeeze my eyes closed, ignoring the murmurs from people around me and do my best to stay focused the rest of class.

When Albertson continues her lecture, I inhale slowly and notice a sympathetic look from a black-haired girl across the room. I think her name is Alba. We’ve exchanged small smiles in greeting, but nothing beyond that. She’s quiet like me, always observing and doodling in her notebook.

I should say hi. Ask her what her major is. Make another friend, since Olive has become the only real one I can depend on.

But I don’t.

Because part of me wonders if I can even be a good friend since I can barely keep Becca, Dee, and Ali’s attention without my mind wandering the many thoughts that trap me inside my brain and tune them out.

When class is dismissed, I wait too long in contemplation, probably looking like a fish out of water while figuring out how to introduce myself after so long of being classmates, when Alba grabs her things and leaves with the others.

My shoulders drop a fraction and I promise myself I’ll say something next time.

“I’m going to be honest, Skylar,” Albertson begins once it’s just us, “I’m surprised at you. Your entrance exam scores were top notch which is why it was suggested that you be placed at a higher-level course. I wouldn’t have signed off on it if I didn’t feel you could handle it. If it’s too much for—”

“No!” I blurt horrified over the thought of having to drop the course. My parents would hound me for answers if that happened, and I wouldn’t be able to tell them why I’ve been distracted.

Her light eyes soften. “Is there something going on in your personal life that’s taking up your concentration? This isn’t the first time you’ve zoned out on me. You barely scraped by with a C on your last exam and the homework assignments you’ve handed in lately are hardly up to par with what I know you can do. I’ve seen it before with my students and always want to reassure them that I’m here if needed.”

Swallowing down the truth, I lift a stiff shoulder and stare down at my Timberlands. They were a Christmas present from Serenity. Usually, she gets me something gaudy that I always pretend I like but eventually give to one of my other sisters who find better use for the items. “I don’t know what’s going on,” I lie, hearing the tiny quake in my voice. “I promise I’ll pay better attention, though.”

There’s a twinge of guilt knowing that it’s not going to be that easy. I can barely focus when I’m alone in my room, much less in a lecture full of other students.

“And put more effort into your assignments. If you need the extra help, I can meet with you during office hours. The Student Center also has tutors lined up for those struggling in their classes,” she adds, her eyes burning into my face until I force myself to look up.

I nod at the graying woman. “I don’t need a tutor. Can you tell me what my current grade is, so I know what I need to do to raise it?”

When she looks at the computer in the corner and tells me the low number attached to my name, my jaw drops.

No.

No, no, no.

She studies my expression and offers a partial smile. “I know it seems damming, but if you study for the midterm and continue doing well the rest of the semester, you’ll pass. And there’s nothing wrong with accepting help from people. Me, the tutors, your classmates are all here. There’s a study group made up of a few of your peers I’m sure you could join. You have options, Skylar. Be open to them.”

There’s nothing wrong with accepting help from people.