Chapter 2
Kinsley
“Fuck!” I’d gotten lost twice already this day, and the third time was my breaking point. “Every hallway looks the same.” The light colored walls with a dark border reminded me of the hospital back in Crosshall. The long, narrow corridor I’d walked down to the room my dad had been lying in, ready for us to see him.
I stopped to take a breath, the memories stinging, bringing the usual tide to fill my lids.
“You okay there?” a voice came from behind me.
I blinked back my tears and turned to see a girl, about my height, slinging her black backpack over her shoulder. Other students were roaming the halls, but they were quickly disappearing into the neighboring rooms that were definitely not the one I was looking for.
“Just a little lost,” I replied with a short laugh, taking in her blonde hair. Hot-pink streaks in her bangs made the deep brown of her eyes stand out.
“Where are ya headed?” she asked, fixing her long ponytail. As she did, I noticed the streaks continued there also
“The art studio.”
She smiled wide—showing white teeth—that seemed genuine. “I’m going that way, so I’ll walk with you.”
I groaned internally. Even though Miss. Happy pants seemed nice enough, I just needed directions. My map had gotten lost, my theme for the day, and I hadn’t had the time to get a backup yet. “Thanks.”
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” she said, pointing behind me and walking in that direction. “Transfer?” When I nodded, she asked, “Junior?”
“Senior.”
Her carefully arched brows dipped. “Oh. Have you recently moved to the area?”
“Unfortunately,” I muttered.
“Not like it, huh?” Her tone was sympathetic and low enough to sound even a little bit pitiful.
I took a deep breath. “Just different, I guess.” Different? It was the polar opposite. It was more desirable in the fact it was smaller, but getting turned away for something not my fault made me hurt so much more.
She nodded again, then her head snapped up. “I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Miley Dupree, and I’m a senior, too. You are?” She blinked fast, waiting for my answer.
“Kinsley. Kinsley Jensen.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Kinsley Jensen.” She beamed, then gestured toward the corner. “We’re a small college, as you can already see, so you’ll get to know everyone pretty quick.” She stopped and adjusted her thin sweater that matched her streaks.
“Maybe.”
Not if I can help it.
Miley turned her head and gestured toward a set of white double doors that I recognized. “Here we are. Art studio.” She put her hand into the back pocket of her white jeans and pulled out a phone. “Number?”
“I-uh.” Why the hell would she need my number?
“Look, I’m guessing I’m the first person to talk to you, right?” Her brows lifted as her lips pulled up in the corners.
So far, I’d felt like an exhibition piece, put here solely to be stared at. It was like high school all over again, right after I’d lost my dad. “Um, yeah,” I said before those thoughts could take hold.
“I bet you feel like a fish in a bowl.” She giggled when my eyes snapped to hers, her long lashes almost hiding her irises. “That’ll change, don’t worry. But, in the meantime, if you need a guide or just a friendly face, shoot me a text.” Miley stared at me until I rattled off my number. My phone vibrated in my jeans pocket. “There, now you have mine, too.” She pocketed her phone again. “I gotta go—I have class, too. See you soon, Kinsley.” She waved as she walked away, her heeled boots making barely any sound against the shiny green floor.
“At least I got to class at the last minute,” I whispered to no-one. Miley was sweet, and I felt like a total bitch for trying to brush her off. “One friend might not be so bad.”
I took the chair at the computer station I’d been assigned to. Before I sat, I untied the red and black plaid shirt from around my waist and draped it over the backrest.
Whispers filled the space behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to the source of the voices, which ceased when I made eye contact with a dark-haired guy, eyes to match, who smiled with one half of his mouth.
He tipped his chin up, a kind of ‘hey’ greeting. “How are you fitting in, Kinsley?” he asked, his voice deep, but it seemed unnaturally so, as though it was supposed to be attractive. I felt nothing.
“Fine, thanks,” I replied, then turned my attention back to my desk.
“Nice tat, by the way.”
I froze, my hand hanging in the air for a couple of seconds until I switched on the monitor. “Thanks,” I repeated, wishing I’d chosen to wear a T-shirt instead of my black tank. Not much was exposed on my shoulder, but just enough to see what it was.
The whispering started up again, the low rumble of male voices passing messages back and forth.
“How many do you have?” another guy asked.
I didn’t have to turn to know it was the friend of the first guy. I’d been the topic of conversation between those two in my first art class a few days before, too.
“Just that one,” I replied, finally.
“Too bad,” the same guy said. He whispered to his friend again, but I didn’t miss it when he said, “I wouldn’t mind checking them out if she did.”
I clenched my jaw hard. So hard that my teeth crunched, the loud sound making me wince.
Don’t say anything, Kinsley, they’re just immature assholes.
“Ignore those two.”
I looked to my left to see a guy leaning toward me. “I fully intend to.”
He grinned, his hazel eyes creasing lightly around the edges. “I’m Colby, by the way.”
He looked like a conventional boy-next-door. His blue polo was buttoned all the way up and seemed to be a little too big on his slightly built frame. He had light-brown hair, neatly trimmed—shorter around the sides—and his teeth were white and straight. I’d even say he was reasonably good looking, but seeing him as anything more wasn’t on my list of priorities.
“Kinsley.” I faced my screen when it had finished booting up, my spine stiffening with the sense of being watched.
Colby’s eyes remained fixed on me. “Seriously, though, your tattoo is pretty cool.”
I side-glanced him. “Thank you.”
This seems to be the recurring word for the past ten minutes.
“Those pink and red shades are blended perfectly.”
I shifted in my seat, trying and failing to get some distance between us to lessen how uncomfortable I was. In my peripheral vision, I saw him lean back in his seat, fucking studying me. “Do you mind?” I practically spat after a few more minutes of his staring, my hand slightly raised as I kept my gaze dead ahead. I let my eyes slide to his, my nostrils flaring with irritation when he didn’t say anything right away.
“I was just commenting on the artwork, Jesus,” he said, his brows furrowing and his lips turning in a defensive snarl.
“Then gawking for ages like I’m some exhibit?”
“Isn’t that what tattoos are for?” he fired back. “For people to notice? To admire?”