The First Day on Campus

*Sloane*

The harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom mirror offered no mercy. I stood frozen in front of the glass, my fingers gripping the edge of the sink until my knuckles turned white. My reflection still felt like it belonged to a stranger. I pulled the heavy fabric of my ordinary gray hoodie tighter around my shoulders, adjusting the oversized collar. My long, silky chestnut hair flowed freely down my chest, and I deliberately swept the thick strands forward. It provided a makeshift curtain, a necessary shield just in case I needed to bury my face from the world.

I let out a shaky breath. The whole point of this outfit was to blend in, to become invisible among the crowds of typical college students. But I knew the truth. I still had the jagged marks tracking across my cheeks and jawline, angry lines of disfigurement that even the thickest layers of expensive concealer failed to mask.

More than a year had passed since that night, yet calling myself recovered felt like a cruel joke. The scars remained a glaring testament to the assault. The doctors kept assuring me there was a stark improvement from the initial damage, and maybe they were right, but the mirror told a different story. I leaned closer to the glass. At least my aquamarine eyes remained untouched. They stared back at me, bright and defiant, the only feature left on my face that I could still honestly call beautiful.

"Sweetie, breakfast is ready."

The soft voice broke through my dark thoughts. I turned to see my mom pushing the bedroom door open. She stood in the doorway dressed in her pale pink hospital scrubs and sensible white sneakers, her long brown hair twisted up into a tight, no-nonsense bun. Her face was bare of makeup, showing the faint dark circles under her eyes that had become permanent fixtures over the last year.

"Okay, Mom," I said, forcing a tight smile and turning away from the mirror. Today marked my very first day at the university, and a cold knot of dread sat heavy in my stomach. Nervous didn't begin to cover it. I was seconds away from a full-blown panic attack.

My mom crossed the room in three quick strides. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a fierce, grounding hug. She smelled of vanilla and clean laundry.

"Honey, I know you're terrified right now," she murmured, pulling back just enough to peer directly into my eyes. "But look how far you have come. It has only been a little over a year, and you are starting to look like yourself again." She paused, her brow furrowing with worry. "If you aren't ready for this, we can make a call. We can ask the dean to—"

"No, Mom," I interrupted, my voice firmer than I felt. "It is now or never. I need to put high school behind me. If I don't force myself to step out that door, I will never move on." I dropped my gaze to the floor, the familiar wave of self-loathing washing over me. "Besides, I look hideous. No boy on that campus is ever going to try and touch me. They will probably throw up at the mere thought."

The forced optimism vanished from my mom's face, replaced by a raw, crushing sadness that made my chest ache.

"I am so sorry this happened to you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "But try to look at the bright side. We moved here to give you a second chance. Don't let them take your future away, too." She gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze and guided me toward the hallway. "Come on. You do not want to be late for your very first day."

I grabbed my heavy backpack off the desk and followed her out. Because going up and down stairs still sent sharp spikes of pain through my healing leg, my parents had converted the small ground-floor office of our California townhouse into my temporary bedroom.

I stepped into the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee filled the air.

"Here comes my college student," my dad said from the kitchen island. He lowered his mug, giving me a warm smile. "You got everything you need in that bag?"

"Yep," I answered, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet and pouring dry cereal into it. My hands shook slightly, the cardboard box rattling against the ceramic.

My dad heard the tremor. He reached across the counter and placed his large, calloused hand over mine, stilling the shaking.

"Your mom and I are so proud of you, Sloane," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You have overcome an impossible mountain in such a short time. When I was your age, it took me years to get myself back together after your grandparents passed away." He released a heavy sigh and leaned back on his stool. "I wish the circumstances were different. I wish none of this ever touched you. But we have to play the cards we have been dealt. And we do it together."

"I know, Dad," I murmured, staring into my cereal bowl. "I wish things were different too. But don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

I risked a glance up at him, and my heart gave a painful squeeze. My dad looked older, so much older than he had a year ago. Bright white hairs now dominated his once dark head. His clothes hung loose on his frame. The round, comfortable belly he used to carry was gone, leaving his face gaunt and his arms lean. The financial and emotional stress of uprooting our entire lives, leaving our hometown, and caring for a daughter shattered by a brutal assault had carved deep lines into his skin. They had given up everything for me.

"Since Mom has an early shift at the hospital, I am driving you to campus," my dad announced, swiping his car keys off the granite counter while I quickly washed my empty bowl in the sink.

"Sure, Dad."

The drive to the university passed in a tense, suffocating silence. My anxiety grew with every mile marker we passed. I sat rigid in the passenger seat, watching the sprawling California landscape blur past the window. I had not socialized with anyone my own age since the spring formal of my junior year at Oak Haven in North Dakota. That night had fractured my life into a distinct before and after. Seeking a clean slate, my parents packed up our lives and moved us across the country.

I spent my entire senior year homeschooled, confined to a sterile bedroom while undergoing a grueling series of reconstructive surgeries to restore my shattered face. Every time I went under the knife, I felt like a massive, grotesque science project. But I had to admit the doctors worked miracles. Each time the bandages came off, the swelling went down, and the jagged lines smoothed out just a fraction more. The improvements gave me a fragile sliver of hope. At least now I could stand in front of a mirror without wanting to be sick.

My dad pulled his SUV against the curb next to a massive brick building. He leaned over the console and pressed a tender kiss to my unscarred cheek.

I grabbed the door handle and gingerly stepped out onto the pavement. I shifted my weight, taking immense care not to put too much pressure on my right leg. The bone had been snapped during the attack. Although the orthopedic surgeon officially declared it healed, a deep, persistent ache radiated through my knee whenever I moved, forcing me to walk with a pronounced, uneven limp. The doctors promised the stiffness would fade in time, but right now, it felt like just another physical brand marking me as broken.

"I will pick you up at this exact same spot, sweetie," my dad called out through the open passenger window, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of panic.

"Sure, Dad. I'll see you after class. Love you!" I forced a cheerful tone, raising a hand in a quick wave before turning toward the campus.

The moment the SUV drove away, the sheer volume of students hit me. Hundreds of people walked in every direction, laughing, shouting, carrying coffees and thick textbooks. Panic flared in my chest. I immediately pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up, dragging the fabric low over my forehead to cast my face in shadow. My cheeks felt hot, the blemishes and discolorations burning under the bright morning sun.

I knew human nature. People stared at car crashes, and they would stare at my ruined face. They would lean in, their eyes filled with morbid curiosity, and ask what happened. I refused to relive the violence of that night just to satisfy a stranger's pity. Hiding was my only defense mechanism.

I dragged my bad leg forward, my sneakers scuffing the concrete sidewalk. As I neared the entrance of my building, I spotted a group of students lounging in the shade of a massive oak tree. Three guys and two girls. My stomach plummeted. I recognized one of the girls instantly from my admissions interview. She was a prominent member of the student council, the type of girl who practically ran the campus social scene.

As I hobbled past their spot under the tree, the girl standing next to the council member nudged her friends. She pointed a manicured finger straight at me, a cruel, mocking laugh spilling from her lips.

I knew the rules of survival. Keep your head down. Don't make eye contact. But an invisible force pulled my gaze toward the group, and my breath hitched in my throat.

The three young men standing with the girls were breathtaking. Calling them handsome felt like a massive understatement. If the boys back in North Dakota were considered good-looking, these three were downright beautiful. They possessed a striking, lethal kind of attractiveness that belonged on movie screens, not a college sidewalk.

The girl continued to laugh at my dragging leg and shadowed face, and the three men turned their heads to look at me. Their intense stares pinned me to the spot. The raw, unfiltered scrutiny in their expressions sent a hot flush of severe embarrassment crawling up my neck. My cheeks burned like fire. I quickly snapped my head away, my heart hammering against my ribs.

*Serves you right, Sloane,* I scolded myself, my inner voice dripping with shame. *You aren't supposed to stare at people. It's rude. Keep your ugly head down.*

I let out a shaky breath, forcing my stiff leg to move faster. Well, at least the campus offered some incredible scenery, even if I was the local freak show ruining the view.

I practically fled into the building, navigating the crowded hallways until I found my assigned lecture room. I bypassed the stadium seating in the center and headed straight for the darkest corner in the back row. I dropped my heavy backpack onto the floor and slumped into the plastic chair, pulling my hood down slightly to block my peripheral vision. I just needed to survive this one lecture.

Five minutes before the hour, the room began to fill with students. The professor strolled through the double doors, a battered leather briefcase in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. He was a tall man with thinning gray hair and thick glasses, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. I kept my eyes tracked on him, desperate for a distraction.

Because my focus was fixed on the professor, I didn't register the three figures trailing right behind him until they were already walking down the aisle.

My breath caught. It was them. The three gorgeous guys from the sidewalk. They were in my class.

Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the classroom, their similarities became glaringly obvious. All three stood at the same imposing height. They shared the same dark, sweeping hair and broad, muscular builds that stretched the fabric of their shirts. They had to be brothers; the sharp, aristocratic cut of their jawlines mirrored one another perfectly.

Yet, as they moved up the aisle, I noticed the distinct differences. It was their eyes. One possessed a pair of startling, ice-cold blue eyes. The second scanned the room with rare, vibrant honey-colored eyes. The third had eyes the shade of rich, melted dark caramel. Whoever their parents were, they had produced a brood of impossibly perfect men.

As they walked past my row, the one with the dark caramel eyes suddenly paused. He turned his head, his gaze cutting straight through the shadows of my hood to lock onto my face. And then, he gave me a slow, deliberate smile.

A fresh wave of heat exploded across my scarred cheeks. I yanked my head down, staring intensely at the blank pages of my notebook.

*No, Sloane,* my mind screamed. *That smile was not for you. Do not be stupid.*

I waited three agonizing seconds before I surreptitiously peeked upward through the curtain of my chestnut hair, needing to confirm that he was actually smiling at some gorgeous cheerleader behind me. But to my dismay, the aisle was empty. They had already passed my row. I slowly twisted my torso, scanning the tiered seating on the opposite side of the room, but I couldn't spot their dark heads anywhere in the crowd.

I blew out a quiet sigh of relief and turned my attention back to the front. It was time to focus on the lecture. I had learned my lesson about boys the hard way during my junior year. Getting distracted by handsome faces only led to pain.

I clicked my pen, ready to take notes, when a deep, gravelly voice rumbled from the empty row directly behind my chair.

"Cassius, will you please stop crowding me!"

The masculine growl sent a violent jolt of electricity down my spine. My lungs seized. I slowly turned my head over my shoulder, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

I found all three of them seated in a row, taking up the desks directly behind mine. The proximity was suffocating. I could smell the faint scent of cedar and expensive cologne radiating from them.

I quickly faced forward again, sitting rigidly upright, realizing just how impossibly hard it was going to be to concentrate.