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"How good did Jasmine look?" Bryson asked pleadingly

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"How good did Jasmine look?" Bryson asked pleadingly. "What was she wearing? Why have I not seen her yet?"

Aubrey set his bag down on the worn yet polished hardwood floor of the Richards common room. Even draped with teenage boys, the room felt like an old English hunting lodge, with its dark mahogany moldings, forest green walls, and bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes of classics no one had ever heard of.

He rolled his eyes at Rakim Mayers, the skinny, long-haired freshman from Harlem who had just come from squash practice with him. Aubrey had beaten him, of course, but it was a little too close for him to feel comfortable. Normally, that would have been enough to make Aubrey avoid him, but Rakim was surprisingly cool. Girls were going to like him too, Aubrey thought a little jealously, once he did something with his hair.

"Who's Jasmine?" Rakim asked in a mock whisper. As always, the room was crowded with zoned-out boys, exhausted from sports practice and re-acclimating to school life after their relaxing summers at their country and beach houses. ESPN flashed from the cabinet television in the corner, the sound muted, Aubrey assumed, so that they could all gossip about Jasmine. They were worse than females. Everyone chuckled at Rakim's ignorance.

"Nigga, clearly you're a freshman," said Jermaine. He had bushy dreads and perpetual beard scruff, which the girls found endearing but Aubrey thought disgusting. Fucking shave, dude. "She's only ones of the baddest chicks at school."

"Isn't there something in the handbook about her?" asked Bryson, his post-basketball practice body dripping sweat on one of the expensive leather armchairs. "Like, 'Male Bridgeport Owls, beware this girl. She will tease you and torture you and haunt your dreams with her sexy presence all four years at Bridgeport and for the rest of your life on earth.'"

"I can't wait to meet her." Rakim dropped his Nike bag onto the floor and pulled his braided hair into a ponytail, using the rubber band he kept on his wrist to secure it. Aubrey shuddered with distaste. "What's she look like?"

The guys gave a collective sigh, and Aubrey sank into one of the ancient armchairs. Jasmine was pretty, but these guys were ridiculous. She was nowhere near as beautiful as Robyn, who he had dated all of freshman year before Chris fucking Brown stole her from him. They'd been at a party in the library, and when he'd gone to go get Robyn a drink, like the gentleman that he was, Chris had swooped in and dragged her up to the ancient books room and put some kind of southern cowboy spell on her. And now there were all kinds of rumors that he was leaving Robyn for Kae, the cute new girl who Aubrey had thought could actually get him over Robyn. Fucking Chris. He shot an angry look at his sprawled-out, horsey-smelling body on the scratchy plaid couch.

"Don't get your hopes up, kid," said Jermaine as he made room on the couch for Rakim to sit. "Jas doesn't even talk to freshmen."

"Now that she's back, I have a feeling this year just got a whole lot more interesting," drawled Chris without looking up from the sketchbook on his lap. Aubrey fought the urge to roll his eyes. Was there a girl on campus that Chris was not into? First Robyn, then Kae, now Jasmine? There were rumors he and Jasmine had hooked up at her parents' house in Alaska spring break freshman year, but Chris had never confirmed the story, not that Aubrey even cared.

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