Chapter 5: Heartthrobs and Heartbreakers

School started in August. After settling into my dorm, I didn’t meet up with Tyler right away, but went out with my roommates instead.

We decorated our room with string lights and Polaroids. The air smelled like popcorn and new beginnings. Four girls in a room, all cute and easygoing. I was living the emperor’s dream.

We took turns picking playlists, sharing snacks, and swapping stories late into the night.

Tyler: “Why aren’t you texting me? Secretly crushing on me?” He sent the message with a winking emoji. I giggled, hiding my phone under my pillow.

Tyler: “Anyone who ignores me gets sent to herd cows.” I pictured him in overalls, herding imaginary cows. It made me snort.

Tyler: “Can you stop chatting with others? Oh, right, I’m ‘others.’” He sent a sad face, then a picture of a pouting cat.

Tyler: “You really out-heartless those who don’t love you. Silly.”

Me: “Sweet girls shouldn’t have too many feelings. Stay happy.” I sent a selfie, grinning with my hair in a messy bun.

Tyler: “I’m not a sweet girl.” He added a flexing arm emoji.

I went along: “I’m the sweet girl, you’re my sweet baby.” He sent a dancing cat gif.

I laughed so hard my roommates asked what was up.

Knowing I’d been neglecting him, I offered, “Wanna hang out after orientation week?” I sent a heart, hoping he’d say yes.

A week of orientation, then two days off to get to know the area. Tyler agreed. He sent a thumbs-up and a hiking boot emoji. I grinned.

During orientation, I saw the instructor call Tyler over. My roommate sighed, “He’s so fair-skinned—day three and he hasn’t tanned at all.” She nudged me, whispering, “He’s the one, right?”

“Quinn, that’s the campus heartthrob I told you about from the archaeology department.” She fanned herself, pretending to swoon.

“But I heard he’s already taken.” She eyed me, suspicion in her voice.

I glanced at Tyler. He was half-turned, showing off his lean back, slim waist, and pale skin under his cap. He looked like he belonged in a magazine, not a lecture hall.

His lips were cherry-red, and from a distance, he looked like a cool, quiet guy. He carried himself like he didn’t notice the stares, but I knew better.

That night, every squad had to send someone to perform. Tyler got pushed up to dance, and I learned he’d studied Latin dance. His waist was so flexible, I went from lovesick to brainless.

He spun, dipped, and shimmied like he’d been born on a dance floor. The crowd went wild. I nearly fainted.

After his dance, he was breathless, eyes scanning for me. Every nerve lit up.

He caught my gaze, grinning. My heart did a somersault.

When orientation ended, we went out. Tyler bought a bouquet of roses, holding them as he looked at me. He fidgeted with the ribbon, cheeks pink. The flowers smelled like summer.

People stared, some recognizing him and pulling out their phones to record. A few girls whispered, snapping photos. I tried not to blush.

He didn’t stop walking, just leaned in and whispered, “Will you be my girlfriend?” His voice was so soft only I could hear.

I looked up at his gentle eyes and teased, “I thought you’d confess in front of a crowd.” I nudged him, grinning.

He smiled. “That would be embarrassing. You wouldn’t like it.” He shrugged, looking a little bashful.

“Plus, if I confess quietly and you reject me, at least it’s not in public.” He gave me a sheepish look, half-joking, half-serious.

I was confused. “Why would I reject you?” I frowned, trying to catch his eye.

He pursed his lips, a bit aggrieved. “Was that guy from Ninth Squad good at dancing?” He looked away, trying to sound casual.

Ninth Squad? I remembered—a guy from their squad did street dance, the crowd loved it, and I clapped along. I replayed the moment in my head, realizing how it must’ve looked.

“You saw?”

Tyler: “You were laughing and whistling.” He pouted, crossing his arms.

“Babe, listen—” I reached for his hand, but he pulled away, still sulking.

Before I could explain, he said, “Maybe you like street dance, not Latin? I can do street dance too. I’ll show you next time.” He shuffled his feet, looking determined.

I covered my face, groaning. “You’re ridiculous.” Looking into his eyes, I regretted that the words ‘deeply in love’ on my face had been replaced by ‘player.’

I wanted to write ‘I’m yours’ on my forehead. I felt so guilty.

He squeezed back, forgiving me instantly. We didn’t go far, just strolled around campus.

We wandered under the old oaks, the air cool and sweet. He handed me a rose, and I twirled it between my fingers. He held the flowers in one hand and my hand in the other.

His grip was warm and steady. I felt safe, like nothing could go wrong. Sometimes I’d stroke his wrist or bunch up his sleeve to touch his forearm. His skin was soft, almost unreal. I wanted to memorize every inch.

After a week, Tyler was as fair as ever. I barely survived with sunscreen. He teased me about my hat and sunglasses, but I didn’t care. Anything to keep up with him.

“Stop touching...” His ears were red, but he didn’t pull away. He whispered, “Someone’s going to think you’re obsessed.” I grinned.

I stroked his wrist and sighed, “Tyler, you’re so smooth.” I leaned in, whispering like it was a secret.

He muttered, “People are watching.” He glanced around, but didn’t let go.

I rubbed my hands together. “It’s fine. I’m a weirdo.” I winked, making him laugh.