"Styles, meet FBI Agent Caroline Forbes. She will be on your case and with you every day until she gathers more evidence and can turn you in, or you confess," the Sheriff informs me as I glance from him back to her, and she gives me a polite smile...
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Three years ago...
"There he is!" I slap Ryan's shoulder to get his attention, pointing off into the distance at the fitness center when Mike finally comes out of the men's locker room without his shirt on, my favorite sight during training.
He high fives one of his buddies from across the room, smiling and laughing about something.
"Oh great, the dickhead knows how to make an obnoxious entrance," my new friend sends me a deadpanned, unimpressed look, fixing the athletic headband on his blonde, curly head of hair as we wait for our instructor to arrive.
I met Ryan at the orientation we had a couple of weeks ago, and we clicked instantly. He's the first real friend I've ever had, even since I went to college. However, he has something against Mike for whatever reason, and I can't pinpoint what it is.
I frown, "I'm telling you, he's a nice guy. He was so cute when he asked me for help on that quiz last week—"
"And did he ask you for anything else, like say, your name?" Ryan makes a tough-loving point, and I hush, keeping myself quiet about him for now.
My phone starts to ring, and I feel a wave of relief wash through me when I see that it's my baby sister. It worried me the minute she told me she was moving between places, especially because I wasn't there to help.
I tell Ryan to give me a minute and answer the call. "Abigail, thank goodness. How are you doing? Did you make it okay?"
"Hey, sis. I'm fine, I'm at my temporary space, we just got here."
"Wait, temporary space?" I grow uneasy. "You never told me—"
"I did tell you..." My sister hums sarcastically.
"Well, I don't like the sound of that. Why can't you just go to your new, way too good to be true apartment?" My overprotectiveness comes out of me, but I can't help it when we're a couple of hours from each other.
"I'm telling you, Caroline, I'm going to be fine," she assures me for the billionth time since she told me she was moving out, informing me, "My new apartment is supposed to be finished and ready in three weeks."
My little sister, who used to pull on my hair and wail when she didn't get her way, is growing up and moving into her first apartment.
"I mean..." I let out a nervous laugh, trying to persuade her yet again, "are you sure you don't want to stay in the safe dorms that are so nicely close to your classes anymore?"
