Rolling Stone

11. Thought It Was a Drought

Time had a way of placing faux bandages on you. Always had. Especially when a year passed like it was nothing, and you were used to unpredictability. You grew up on it, maybe even thrived on it.

So, when life kept flipping upside down—your scholarship getting revoked and having to transfer to your second choice—it was more like, "fuck it." UIUC isn't that bad, right? Cornfields and all, but it's still a good school.

It's not Howard, but come on, you've got people here. It's a top choice for a lot of Chicago kids. Close enough but far enough, and lit enough to spend undergrad. So, just like many students did their junior year, you transferred. Plus, you had people there, Nia, and shewas the only one who knew how deep things went for you back that one summer.

Weeks into your first semester, you found yourself at your first U of I party. The lights were dimmed with the exception of LEDs bouncing around the room, and intoxication swirled around you in the form of bodies and bad decisions. The tiny, thin black Chanel sunglasses plastered to your face added to your vibe. A black mini-skirt and the blue cropped Bison jacket from your Howard days completed the look.

After weeks of burying yourself in schoolwork, you finally decided it was time to show up for something other than a lecture.

"So, the new kid finally shows up to something," Nia greeted you, passing you a drink of something questionable, her voice competing with the thump of Roddy Ricch's The Box. She wasn't letting you stay inside tonight

"The room got too boring," you shrugged, taking a gulp and cringing at the burn of whatever the hell was in your cup. Nia had her UIUC friends, but you were different. You and Nia had been tight since y'all was kids, so she made sure you were good, even when you didn't really fit in with the crowd.

"This is Y/N. She just transferred from Howard this semester—she's a junior," Nia announced, introducing you to two of her friends.

"Please tell me y'all got something better than this drink," you laughed, holding up your cup.

They laughed, one of them shrugging. "We got you, Y/N. I'm just glad we finally get to meet you. She's been saying how you only really care about school."

Honestly, no. School was just the one thing you could control. Outside of acing every assignment and working out, you were trying to avoid everything else. You didn't need another man like your ex, the one with his wannabe dealer aspirations, and you damn sure didn't need another Tony Stark-type in your life.

But, speaking of Tony, you found yourself scrolling through Instagram after getting bored with the small talk, only to see something that stopped your heart.

Her.

Lauren. She'd been a cheerleader at Howard when you were there, a senior when you were a freshman, the sweetest girl, and you two had followed each other on Insta for a little while.

Normally, you liked seeing her posts—her new life in LA after she got signed to the Rams' cheer roster—but tonight, you saw something that hit you like a punch to the gut.

Tony Stark. His arm draped around her waist, both of them laughing at some post-game celebrity attended event. They were dating.

I know you're fucking lying.

Your stomach flipped, a nauseous wave washing over you. Of all the people in the world... Lauren? You couldn't process it. How the hell was this real? You followed her on Instagram for years, liked her pictures, left a couple of "You look amazing, girl!" comments on her vacation posts. It wasn't like you two were friends, but you were cool. It wasn't like when he was seen rebounding back to Pepper, okay that made sense, she was there when he returned to Afghanistan, shut down weapons manufacturing, you know years ago when he was a 29 year old weapons mogul.