The First to Fall ⚢

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 • 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧

"What class is it?"

"Environmental Sciences," I respond casually when I realize this crosswalk light is going to take years to turn green. "It's my only class on Fridays; thank God."

"Oh, is that with Longmore?"

"Nadine Longmore? Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I took that class my freshman year! I loved it—she's such a good professor. How are you liking it so far?"

"It's nice! Easy to follow along with and I love the environment, so, you know."

Phoebe nods. "Well, I'll let you get to class now. Just don't forget about that transfer agreement, okay?" She starts to walk away before I can respond but then the crosswalk light finally comes on and I continue the rush to class. I make it right before eleven A.M., taking my seat with six seconds to spare.

Everything is fine until the guy next to me mumbles under his breath, "Not this girl again."

"Excuse me?" I ask, turning to recognize that one dickhead with the shaggy dark hair and a weirdly well-manicured middle finger. "Oh, God."

"Can't you find somewhere else to sit?" he asks me, quite audaciously, and I scowl at him.

"Can't you find a better barber?"

He stares blankly at me. Did I go too far?

"Good one. Where'd you hear that? Instagram? Under #howtoroast?"

Before I can say anything back, Dr. Longmore begins taking attendance like she does every week. She gets past the last names starting with the first three letters of the alphabet and then shouts, "Darling? Anthony Darling?"

The asshole beside me raises his hand and I can't help but snicker. That man is anything but a darling.

Not long after calling his name, she calls mine out and I raise my hand with a, "Here!"

"What kind of name is Aspen Greenwood?" Anthony Disgusting whispers to me, clearly trying to pick a fight. But I choose to ignore it today. Next week? He might not be so lucky.

Class could not possibly feel any longer, but as soon as it gets out, I'm finally freed from Anthony's emotionally draining aura and ready to get back to the dorm and do my homework.

I'm waiting outside the building for a few minutes, just setting up a to-do list to look at when I get to my room, when I suddenly spot a horrifyingly familiar face a few feet across from me. It's jarring—borderline petrifying—to see him. Why is he in Colorado? Why here, now, of all places?

"Woah, Aspen, is that you?" he asks out loud before I have time to run away. I can't even muster up some kind of polite greeting back before he makes his way over to me with an ignorant grin.

It's Tristan, my cousin. On my mother's side, no less. That can never mean good news.

"How've you been, dude?" he asks, reaching over to hug me but my planted feet and frozen body prevent me from hugging him back. That, and the acid bubbling its way up my throat at the mere idea of being around him.

"Good," I respond quietly, feeling the smallest I've felt in years. That's what Tristan does, isn't it? He makes you feel so tiny in comparison to him in every way imaginable. Physically, it's easy to feel overpowered by him; he's six feet tall with the build of a professional athlete and a glare that could kill millions. Mentally, he's a whole other kind of evil.

"I didn't know you go to school here!"

"Do you?" I ask immediately, praying to a god I don't believe in that he says anything but yes.