Chapter 4: Summer Ascendancy
"I heard after finals, Carter plans to confess on the football field at night."
While practicing for the GRE, I replied casually:
"Let him confess. So high-profile—what, want me to crash the confession and snatch the bouquet?"
The roommate grinned: "Autumn, showing your true colors at last."
I kept practicing, unfazed, tapping my pencil in rhythm with my heartbeat.
She thought she’d hit a nerve and got excited.
But honestly, no matter how far the main plot veers off course, I just want to study.
After GRE and GMAT, I’ll take Business English, maybe even a few professional certificates.
So satisfying.
"Are you trying to outdo us all?" Mariah asked, a little nervous.
I smiled: "If you want to stand out, you have to be a little competitive."
I could see the hint of respect in her eyes—maybe just a flicker, but it was there. Even Mariah couldn’t deny the thrill of a little healthy rivalry.
Tonight is the last night of exam week.
Last semester my GPA was too low, so this semester I need to make up for it.
Being first in the department isn’t enough; I need to pull my GPA up with high scores.
After buying some iced coffee at the campus Starbucks, I ran into Carter and Savannah again.
Why does this keep happening?
Maybe because every time I go out, the main characters are drawn to me—the invisible hand at work. In a way, I’m a main character too.
"Autumn, why are you here again?" Carter’s voice was low and calm, but his bad mood was obvious.
Savannah glared at me, lips pressed tight.
"What, does your family own this place? Can’t I wait for the bus?"
I deliberately stood in front of them, carefree, tapping my foot against the curb.
This couple was so good-looking, the bus stop quickly became a spectacle.
"Let’s go, Savannah."
Carter held the umbrella, put his arm around Savannah, and ignored me.
I watched as they walked off, shoulder to shoulder in the rain.
They strolled under the umbrella, immersed in happiness.
The air seemed to fill with a sticky sweetness.
If I were a shipper, I’d probably be banging my head against the wall.
The bus arrived. I closed my umbrella, looked away, and got on.
Rain blurred the windows, the smell of wet concrete wafting in as the doors hissed shut. The chatter on the bus was a background hum, students swapping stories about finals and summer plans.
Walking in the rain is romantic, but honestly, I’m allergic to that kind of romance.
Walking back is just a waste of time.
The bus driver hit the gas, and I easily overtook the lovebirds—the scenery flashing by.
Facing the pouring rain, I made a wish: