CHAPTER 3: REUNION REVELATIONS

My throbbing hangover feels like Super Sonic slamming headfirst into a brick wall, I mused upon awakening.

I had only roused myself from slumber about five minutes ago, and while my senses were still hazy, at least I could see again, albeit not very clearly. I remained at the frat house from the previous night, sprawled on a soft couch that would forever bear the imprint of my sunken-in posterior. I gingerly attempted to sit up, but an oppressive weight on my stomach sent me tumbling back down. I closed my eyes briefly, reaching out to remove this rock-like object. To my surprise, instead of a rock, my hand encountered something lengthy and slender—a hand.

Upon opening my eyes, I discovered that this hand belonged to my good friend Noah Evans, who was conked out on the nearby table. Emitting a groan, I swiftly liberated his arm from my midsection, inadvertently smacking him in the face and jolting him awake.

"It wasn't me, honest!" Noah sputtered with wide eyes, before realization dawned, and he groaned, "Duuuuude, what time is it?" he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. Unaware of my presence, he rubbed his hands over his face in an attempt to shake off sleep, only to eventually spot me and squint.

"Is that you, Isabella?" he inquired, squinting at me.

Exhausted, I tilted my head back slightly and responded, "Where are the others? Did we leave alone?"

A faint smile curled my lips. If I weren't so inebriated right now, I might have teased him a bit, but my current energy levels didn't permit it.

"Look around, G," I whispered, and his gaze slowly roved around the room. "They're still passed out. You and I are the early risers," I added, followed by a breathless chuckle.

Struggling to speak, he managed to utter, "Ha! We've got better hangover stamina than they do."

Noah typically had a higher tolerance for alcohol than most, so if he was struggling, I dreaded to think how wretched I must sound right now.

"A dying whale," he suddenly quipped.

Puzzled, I responded with a baffled "Huh?"

Noah clarified, "You sound like a whale that's on its last breath."

Realizing that I had indeed uttered that phrase, I groaned in frustration.

"Can we just wake up the others and get out of here already? Memories are starting to flood back, and I'd rather be anywhere but here when my brain fully recovers all the footage," I said, tapping my temple with a finger.

"Nice try, but you still licked Max Blackwell's hand," Noah casually pointed out. "Just thought I'd remind you of that little detail, in case it slipped your mind."

Painfully, I let out a weak laugh, joined by Noah.

"Help me up, jerk," I said. "We need to rouse the others and escape from here."

Noah effortlessly rose from the table and assisted me in getting up from the couch. Together, we went to rouse Samuel and Charlotte, who were in charge of waking the twins. Meanwhile, Noah tended to Caleb, and I had the joy of dealing with my best friend, the ever-sleepy Avery Carter, renowned for her ability to snooze more than anyone else.

I abstain from using any disparaging terms right away since I know they won't work; they never do. Instead, I prepare my hands for the task at hand. Just as I'm about to assist her in expelling the remaining alcohol from her system, Avery suddenly rolls over and starts muttering incoherent phrases.

"Well, of course, Channing Tatum, I'll make sweet love to you," she declares, and the rest of us exchange glances, suppressing silent laughter. "But perhaps we should consult Jensen Ackles about a potential threesome. After all, he did approach me first."

I cover my mouth to stifle my laughter.

Noah makes a valiant effort not to laugh as he pleads, "Someone, please tell me you're recording this!"

Henry's voice emerges from behind me, saying, "I knew she'd say something ridiculous the moment she switched sides," and we all turn to see him brandishing his phone.

"Yes! I'll play this at her wedding someday."

Following her threesome musings, Avery lapses into silence, prompting me to reach out for her.

"What the hell?!" She jolts awake immediately, making all of us laugh this time, and I'm ecstatic to discover that Henry has also captured this on video.

It takes Avery only a moment to grasp the situation, and once she does, she moans in agony, just as the rest of us had upon waking.

"I can't decide what's worse," she laments, gazing at the ceiling, "this pounding headache that feels like my brain is staging a revolt, or the fact that you had to stop me from potentially experiencing the best post-party escapade of my life."

Before Noah and I help her off the couch, we all share a laugh at her expense. We assist her in standing, propping her arms over our shoulders for added support. Once she's steady on her feet, she points an accusing finger at me.

"You know, Isabella, I'm most disappointed in you. I was just about to invite you to join us for a foursome," she quips.

I retort, "Perhaps when you're not sloshed," and we continue to laugh uproariously as we make our way back to our dorm, where the hilarity shows no signs of abating.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" I inquire of Avery as she stacks my pillows beneath her head, making herself even more comfortable in her bed. "It's such a beautiful day.”

Monday night's here. Sunday, we chilled to recover. Come Monday morning, we helped our pals pack up for their journeys home. Sad goodbyes, but not as messy as last summer's farewell. My hunch about what Samuel thought of our "summer fling," as Avery playfully calls it, was confirmed when he privately apologized for bringing Charlotte, thinking it might've made me uncomfortable.

I sensed Avery might've nudged him about it.

Let me repeat it: Samuel and I are still the best friends we've always been, even though we decided to end things before they began. Can't blame Avery; she's always had my back, and that weekend was no exception.

After our friends left, Avery and I took it easy. Avery's still resting, but I went job-hunting around campus. Asked Avery about it earlier.

Avery, closing her eyes and nuzzling my pillow, said, "The weather's beautiful, but my bed's too cozy to leave."

She smiled, making me feel bad, and set down a forgotten pillow, which I was about to toss at her.

I said, "Do what you want," and grabbed my backpack with essentials and some Sour Patch Kids Noah got me.

Avery, eyes still shut, teased, "What's with the walk? You don't do much exercise, unless it's casual sex," making a joke, I guess.

I grinned and said, "You're right, but I need a job sooner or later, so I'll look before classes start."

Avery said, "Makes sense," then opened an eye and said, "Check for me too."

Her look cracked me up.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, waving her back to sleep. "I'm on it." I locked the door and ventured deeper into campus.

After an hour and a busted Sour Patch Kids pack, nothing panned out. Tried the library, the only hiring spot, but thought Avery's love for romance novels suited it better. Also tried restaurants, stores, and even hall and apartment front desks. New school year's approaching, so positions filled fast.

Don't get me wrong; N*****x and Sour Patch Kids sound good, but bills to pay. Only insurance and phone, but my two hometown jobs cover it. Mom and Alex aren't worried. Free college 2000 miles away won't change it. Might be lazy, but I'm responsible, a bit at least.

Decided to call it a day, try again tomorrow. Stopped at Anna's Marketplace Bakery for a snack.

Mrs. Weber, a co-owner, greeted me like yesterday. She recognized me, pointed, "You got the last-minute cake, right? Did your friend like it?"

I grinned, teased, "No," and saw her relieved smile return as I continued, "She loved it."

She played along, pretended to wipe sweat, and joked, "Phew, we knew it was rushed, but we hoped for satisfaction."

I chuckled, "If we eating it all at once isn't proof, I don't know what is."

"Good," she said. "What can I get you?"

I quipped, "Easier to ask what I shouldn't." Laughed when I added, "Seriously, all of these look great."

She asked, "Want a recommendation from a friend?"

I said, "Please."

She suggested, "Try the Palm Leaves," proud smile and all. "Best if you like sugar; these puff pastries are sugar-rolled."

"You had me at 'sugar.' Two to go, please," I told her. Paid up, and she said two fresh ones were on their way.

I grabbed an empty table, played Angry Birds on my phone. Not any version; I wanted the Star Wars one. Four years old, but still a blast. I was close to beating my high score when I heard a strangely familiar deep voice call my name. Jumped out of my chair, forgot what I was doing.

I scan the area to identify the person responsible for ruining my chance to save the galaxy. My eyes widen when I realize who it is.

"Damn, it's you!" I exclaim, recognizing Kalix Miller, the infamous prankster from Oliver McCracken Middle School, just a few feet away.

Within moments, he's right in front of me.

"Look at you, girl!" Kalix appraises me from head to toe, even though I'm comfortably seated. "Braces are gone too. How've you been?"

"Pretty good, Kalix. And you?" I ask, despite the game interruption.

I stand and slide my phone into my jeans' back pocket, approaching him for a "long time, no see" hug. His smile is as bright as ever as we drive away.

You see, every class has that one class clown. In the early 2010s, that was Kalix Miller, a skater boy with prank ideas that could rival those on "Punk'd." The last time I saw him was in sixth grade, two years my senior. His family moved to LA, and five years later, he transformed from a cute Ryan Sheckler lookalike into something closer to Francisco Lachowski. Now, eight years later, I can only imagine.

"I'm living solo in California," he states, as if presenting silver platters with his raised hands. "It doesn't get much better."

"Tell me about it," I reply, and we share a laugh. "What do you think of UP?"

"Man, don't even get me started. Classes haven't begun, but the nightlife? Insane," he says, punctuating the last word with a fist-pound against his other hand. "We hit this Alpha Theta Omega party the other night, and it was off the charts."

I remember the eventful night and then realize something.

Oh no.

The guy who called out to Max looked familiar, but now I'm certain it was Kalix. This means he and his group probably witnessed the incident with his friend and me in front of everyone.

Rather than revealing my presence at the party, Kalix asks, "You've been to any of those?"

I'm brought back to the present, instantly thrown back to that night.

So, they didn't see me embarrass myself, did they?

This is fantastic!

For some reason, I've been spared this time.

Idiot. Don't mess it up.

Right, I'll heed my inner voice. I can't afford to mess this up...

Okay, seriously, I need to silence my inner monologue if I want to pull this off without getting caught.

"You good?" Kalix suddenly asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit buzzed from last night at Matrix," I fib. "My roommate and I have been exploring, checking the place out."

Well, I didn't entirely lie. Last night, Avery and I planned to go to that nightclub but ended up binge-watching "Revenge" instead.

Oh, come on, we needed a break. We'd been out all week, and it took us a while to recover from that Saturday. So, staying in wasn't surprising. Don't worry; we'll be back soon, stronger than ever. Just wait for more hilarious drunk flashbacks.

"Sure," Kalix replies, then his face lights up with an idea. "Hey, who's your roommate? Maybe we can all hang out sometime."

"Avery Carter," I say with pride. "Remember her?"

"No way! Avery, like the hottie Avery? Isaac Carter's younger sister?"

"The one and only."

"That's awesome," Kalix grins. "We should definitely meet up sometime."

Do I have a mental problem, or does this guy still have a thing for my best friend? I remember how much they used to tease each other in middle school. But now that they've both complimented each other as "hot," I wonder how they'd interact.

"Here, save your number in my phone," he suggests, handing me his phone. "That way, we can check if you're available whenever we want to hang out."

"We?" Does he mean his group of friends from that Saturday night? Well, this won't be awkward at all...

Still, I add my number to Kalix's phone, and he immediately sends me a text to confirm it's him.

I reply, "Got it," and add him to my contacts.

"Perfect," he says with a smile, pocketing his phone. "It was great running into you. My friends sent me to grab something sweet before we meet up tonight, and they'll kill me if I make them wait any longer. But I hope to see both of you soon," he chuckles, giving me a "see you soon" hug.

I return the hug, and as he exits with his own sugary treats, Mrs. Weber calls me, asking for my Palm Leaves.

I thank her as I accept the box of pastries.

"Of course, and I apologize for the wait. We had a chef quit unexpectedly a few days ago, so we've been juggling the kitchen and the register as best we can until we find a replacement. Let's just say it's been very busy," she explains.

That grabs my attention, but not for the reasons you might think.

"So, what's going on? Are you guys hiring or something?"

"Well, we were planning to put up an official sign in a few days, but for now..." she pauses. "Why do you ask? Do you know someone?"

"Actually, I'm in search of a job myself. I've been roaming campus for the past hour with no luck, so if you're open to hiring, I'd be willing to give it a shot."

"Are you serious? Because if you are, you have no idea how much you'd be helping out Lisa and me."

Anna's Marketplace Bakery also had another owner, Lisa Boelter.

"I'm completely serious," I confirm. "I've been on the job hunt, and this could be a good fit."

She hands me a blank paper and a pen, saying, "That's great! Write down your name and phone number. I'll discuss it with Lisa, and if it works out, we'll get in touch by the end of the week, sound good?"

"Looking forward to it, ma'am," I respond, shaking her hand.

"Same here," she says, glancing at my somewhat messy handwriting. "Call me Deborah."

We exchange goodbyes, and I head back to Manzanita Village.

"Hey there," I greet Avery, who's focused on her tablet as I enter.

In case you're wondering, she's still cozied up in her bed.

"Hey," she acknowledges, without shifting her gaze from the screen.

I kick off my shoes, stash the pastries in the mini fridge for later, and toss my backpack onto the desk chair. Settling onto my bed, I grab my phone to play Angry Birds, attempting to make amends for my earlier annoyance.

Avery, before returning her attention to the screen, rolls her eyes at my antics.

"Whatever. What I'm getting at is that there's a lot of quality material here, especially in the romance genre. I'm currently engrossed in this tearjerker titled 'Sold Myself to the Devil for Vinyls.' It's insanely good, I can't put it down."

Devil? Vinyls? What's going on here?

"Ugh, spare me the details," I grumble, refocusing on my game.

"You know what? If you could just overcome your stubbornness long enough to read one of these stories, you might change your mind about romance literature," Avery suggests.

"Avery, this isn't the first time. Romance movies? Sure, because the actors are attractive. But reading a whole book about that nonsense? Let's be real; you'd have better luck convincing me to give up Sour Patch Kids for life."

Avery jokes, "Oh, please. Exaggerate much? Nothing and no one could make you give up that sweet and sour stuff. It's practically your religion."

I smirk, conceding her point.

"Ahh," she sighs dramatically, perhaps reaching a pivotal moment in her story. "Why can't there be real-life Jake Eatons?"

Jake? Who's Jake?

Before I can ponder further, Avery snaps me back to reality.

"Anyway, I'm done." She sets her tablet on her nightstand and sits up to face me. "So, how did your job search go?"

Completing my current game level, I place my phone on my nightstand and roll onto my side to address her.

"I secured a library job for you. They'll contact you soon to set up your schedule."

"Awesome," Avery responds. "And you?"

"I scoured the campus, but nothing else turned up. I heard that Anna's Marketplace Bakery might be hiring soon, so I left my contact info with them. I should hear from them by week's end."

"Great!"

"Fingers crossed," I say, crossing my fingers. "Anyway, what's the plan for tonight? We've got six more days until classes start, beginning tomorrow. We might as well make the most of it."

At this point, Avery makes a face.

Uh-oh.

"About that..." She hesitates. "You see, I found this incredible novel in my library, and-"

I groan, lying back on the bed in agony. "I know, I know. I told you last night that we should go out tonight, but then I found the book today and realized I'd forgotten about it, and-"

"I can't believe you'd pass up a night out for a book," I interrupt, turning my head to look at her. "I mean, I get it, I love a good book too, but really, Avery."

She counters, "You're the last person to lecture me on my taste in books when you listened to the audio version of Captain Underpants on the way here like a ten-year-old."

I retort, "Hey!" defensively. "Captain Underpants is a classic from your childhood!"

We both burst into laughter at our own silliness.

"Seriously, Isabella, why not give them a shot? How can you judge romance books when you've never read one? You're always saying not to judge a book by its cover. What happened to that principle of yours?"

The answer is simple, and Avery knows it as well as I do. Nonetheless, I respond without hesitation.

"Because, when you read something, you're supposed to feel something, or at least that's my expectation. To me, literature is a doorway to dive into an alternate world, hoping to be stirred by the author's work."

"That sounds like what that girl who still adores Percy Jackson would say."

"Alright, yes, Percy and Annabeth do get together in that series, but Rick Riordan delves more into themes like friendship, sacrifice, the battle between good and evil, and the overarching Greek mythology, which I find captivating."

Avery counters, "Friendship and sacrifice are themes in romance novels too." "That's because you haven't delved into enough of them to see that."

She's relentless. We've debated my aversion to romance novels countless times, but usually, the conversation fizzles out after my second protest. She's my best friend, and I adore her, but I'm genuinely puzzled by her persistence. If I don't believe in love, why can't that be enough?

"Because I know it's not love you doubt; it's commitment," Avery asserts with a concerned expression.

Who am I kidding? She's spot on.

"Damn. I need to stop vocalizing every thought," I sigh.

Avery attempts to console me, saying, "You can't help it; you're always candid." I glance at her, remarking, "And I know that how? Because I'm your best friend, and I know you inside and out, including your commitment struggles."

"Can we not discuss this right now?"

"But Isabella, you can't-"

"Avery," I interrupt, my chest tightening, a familiar sensation when this topic arises. "Please?"

I think she comprehends my plea as she looks at me, but just because she loves me doesn't mean she'll let me off the hook. Her next words confirm my suspicion.

"Only if you consent to reading five Novel stories handpicked by yours truly," she proposes with a wicked grin.

I burst into laughter, shaking my head at the notion. "No way," I assert.

"Fine," she retorts, folding her arms. "Then I won't let it go this time. You've been dodging this subject for as long as I can remember, and it's time to confront it."

"Are you serious right now?"

"Absolutely. I'll select five romance novels I've read on Novel, and you have the rest of the week to read them. If, by the end, you still despise romance novels, scratch that, if you don't feel even a smidgen of positivity about them, I'll never pester you about romance or your commitment hang-ups again."

"Really?" I inquire, raising an eyebrow as I sit up, suddenly intrigued by the offer. Sure, the thought of reading five entire romance novels sounds dreadful, but if it means Avery will finally drop the issue, I'll figure out a way to endure it. "You're serious about this?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," she promises, forming an "X" over her chest. "But I'll be right there with you, so don't think about fibbing. I know you're a pro at spinning tales when you want to; you could put politicians to shame."

The last remark makes me laugh, and she's absolutely correct.

"Alright then," I agree with a nod, standing up and offering a handshake. "If that's what it takes to make you quit hounding me, I'm in."

Avery tells me as she shakes my hand, "Perfect! Give me a few minutes to come up with the ultimate list, and I'll even include some of the less mushy ones."

I'm not entirely sure why she's so thrilled, though. She understands me inside out, as she mentioned, including the fact that I'll never change my stance on romance novels, or as Avery likes to call them, "love," and more crucially, my "commitment hang-ups."

Honestly, though, what are the odds that I, Isabella Vega, who's never shown any interest in a romance novel in her entire life, will end up liking one of the clichéd stories she selects?