How could I have forgotten what today was? Emma grumbled, lathering shampoo hastily into her hair. She really needed to do something about her love for sleep.

  Maybe I should ask Melvina, she thought, then frowned. Why Melvina? For fudge’s sake, I just met her two days ago.

  As she scrubbed herself—quick but gentle—her thoughts wandered. Her life had changed so drastically in less than a week. Seventeen and already living on her own, no longer under her parents’ roof.

  She still found it strange.

  “Well, I have to make the most of it,” she muttered, rinsing off the shampoo. “I’ll have to make new friends too.”

  Melvina came to mind again, as she stepped out of the bathroom, along with the guys who had helped turn her run-down house into something close to a palace.

  Staring into the mirror as she towel-dried her hair, Emma promised to buy Melvina a gift with her first paycheck. The guys too, Clem especially.

  “That should start up a good friendship,” she said softly.

  Truthfully, she was more excited about her new job than about school. It would be her first ever—her first real taste of independence. All her life, she’d relied on her father for money. He’d never allowed them to work, citing they could only start once they were living on their own.

  However, one time, she and Amelia had applied as waitresses at a diner, determined to pay for their own prom night. Despite their two-year age gap, they’d been in the same grade, courtesy of her brilliance.

  Their father had been furious when he discovered them. He’d found out by accident—coming to dine with a business partner one evening only to see Amelia swatting away the wandering hand of an older man.

  “But he just threw me down here without any living expenses,” she muttered now, hanging the towel on its rack before stepping into her room.

  Fine. I’ll work then. She thought, pulling out underwear from her drawer. It couldn’t be as hard as her father had made it sound.

  Emma thought of the guys as she got dressed, but one in particular kept invading her mind—Derek. He was undeniably hot, but his mood swings could rival any woman’s.

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  She remembered his expression when he’d caught her chatting with Clem.

  Will I see him again? Maybe in college?

  Missing him already? her mind teased.

  No! she screamed internally, shaking her head hard enough to make her damp hair sway. The guy was a jerk. She preferred Clem—thoughtful, easy to talk to, and far less complicated.

  Humming a slow Western blues tune, Emma pulled on a white snug polo over her ripped jeans. She finished her look with her favorite chunky boots.

  She slung her backpack over her shoulder and double-checked her purse inside. She’d need cash for breakfast. The oatmeal in the fridge could wait; time was against her now.

  After turning off the lights room by room, she stepped out to the front porch—and froze.

  “Wow,” she gasped. A blue Mustang gleamed in her driveway, the latest model. Clem leaned against it, looking far too pleased with himself in his black biker jacket.

  He must be really rich, she thought, unable to hide her grin.

  “Come on, Emma, let’s go. We’re already behind time,” Clem called, slipping into the driver’s seat and revving the engine.

  Emma turned back quickly to lock her door, then rushed toward the car. Her fingers trailed along the Mustang’s polished hood, admiration clear on her face. She had a weakness for cars—especially ones like this.

  “Get in, Emma. It’s just a Mustang,” Clem teased, smirking at her awe. He was delighted the car had such an effect on her. Two points for me.

  She whistled softly, sliding into the passenger seat. Moments later, they were speeding down the road, trying to beat time at its own game.

  By the time they reached campus, Emma had to admit that Amelia had been right—the place was breathtaking. The buildings stood proud and elegant, sunlight reflecting off tall glass panels and marble walls.

  Clem escorted her to the rector’s office. During the meeting, she learned her father had already handled her entire admission process. All she had to do was collect her pamphlets and class schedule.

  He then walked her to her department—Political Science—and finally to her classroom. Voices drifted from inside; the lecturer was already teaching.

  “Just go in,” Clem said with an encouraging smile. “He won’t make a big deal about it. This is college, not high school.”

  “I’ll be going now. Got my own class,” he added. Then, almost as an afterthought, he leaned down and pecked her cheek before walking off toward his department—Architecture.

  Emma stood frozen for a second, her fingers brushing her cheek. She didn’t want to read too much into Clem’s kiss; she had a bigger problem to deal with.

  Her gaze shifted to the classroom door. Her palms were sweaty, her heart racing. She hated this—having to walk in late, alone. If only she had arrived earlier, she could’ve blended in with the others.

  After a long moment, she took a deep breath. In. Out.

  Then, gathering what little courage she had left, Emma pushed open the door.