No Broken-hearted girl (Crushing Hard Series Book 2)

Dear Diary:18/02/2013

Monday

Today was almost perfect. I say almost because, of course, life couldn’t just give me one smooth day without throwing in some drama.

My brother is attending an IT school, while my sister and I are at the same campus. She has morning classes from 7:30 AM to 12:30 PM, and my classes run from 12:30 PM to 4:30 PM. My dad dropped her off in the morning, and I relished having the house to myself. With everyone else at work or school; it was me, a salad, and Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Perfection. I didn’t even need to pretend to be productive—just chilling, living my best life.

At 11:30 AM, I finally dragged myself away from the TV, hit the bath, and threw on my white skinny jeans and denim sleeveless peplum top. Very “effortlessly chic,” if I do say so myself. By 12:10 PM, I was ready and heading out the door, my dad ready and waiting outside like a personal chauffeur. We drove to campus, and as I got there, my sister leaving. It’s like we’re on opposite ends of the universe—never at the same place, never at the same time.

I walked into the buzzing campus, and I gotta say, I was feeling myself. The students were dressed in the latest fashion, and I was proud of my outfit. My hair was in a messy bun (because, you know, I don’t wake up looking like a goddess, but I try). But, here’s the thing: I couldn’t help but notice every black girl around me was either wearing a super expensive weave or these long, luxurious braids. And here I am, with my high ponytail. Maybe a little basic? But whatever. I was owning it.

I wasn’t trying to look, but—who am I kidding?—cute guys were everywhere. And I’m not gonna lie, some of them were eyeing me like they hadn’t seen a woman in years. As I swayed my hips and walked with purpose, I couldn’t help but think—Scott James may not want me anymore, but look at me still turning heads.

I made my way to the reception desk, where the receptionist handed me my timetable for the semester. My classes were in different venues, which was similar to high school. I headed to Venue 8 for my Public Relations class. The halls and classrooms featured soft, dark grey carpets like those found in fancy offices. The venue had two columns, each with five rows of long desks, fitting five chairs at each. There was nothing separating me from the person next to me. At least in high school, I had my own desk, but that wouldn't be the case here. I chose a seat in the second row, not too far up but not at the back. You know, that sweet spot.

A few minutes later, a dark-skinned girl in casual clothes walked in. She made eye contact with me, and we both smiled. She sat down right next to me, and we immediately started chatting. As more people filed in, I learned that her name was Azande. Interestingly, she had an older sister I went to high school with-someone who actually disliked me because we both liked the same guy at one point, and he liked me. Stha!! Her sister was Stha.

Just when I thought this class would be tolerable, this guy walks in. The guy. You know the one—the one I clashed with during O-week. Yes, him. He was in my class. As soon as our eyes met, I saw him do a double take. You know the one—like he was surprised I even still existed. Don’t flatter yourself, buddy. He smirked, and I rolled my eyes so hard I think I almost gave myself a concussion.

He was wearing knee-length denim shorts and a white T-shirt, as if he thought he was the king of casual. A thin silver chain hung around his neck like some kind of low-key flex. The backward cap and flip-flops were just… too much. Was he trying to look like a walking fashion crime? Because he nailed it. And yet, there I was, staring at him like he was some kind of damn work of art.

And yet... those eyes. Seriously, how could a guy look that good while basically dressing like he rolled out of bed? I hated how my stomach did that ridiculous flip thing every time he looked at me. It couldn’t be attraction, right? No, no. It was just nerves. I mean, the last time I saw him, he looked at me like I was a mosquito buzzing in his ear. Like I was beneath him. And who needs that? Definitely not me.