Travis winked at America, and as if nothing had happened, shoveled another bite into his mouth. It was then that I noticed a small cut on his eyebrow. He traded glances with Shepley, and then began a conversation with one of the football guys across from him.

Although the lunch table had thinned, America, Shepley and I lingered to discuss our weekend plans. Travis stood up to leave, but stopped at our end of the table.

“What?” Shepley asked loudly, holding his hand to his ear.

I tried to ignore him for as long as possible, but when I looked up, Travis was staring at me.

“You know her, Trav. America’s best friend? She was with us the other night,” Shepley said.

Travis smiled at me in what I assumed was his most charming expression. He oozed sex and rebelliousness with his buzzed, brown hair and tattooed forearms, and I rolled my eyes at his attempt to lure me in.

“Since when do you have a best friend, Mare?” Travis asked.

“Since junior year,” she answered, pressing her lips together as she smiled in my direction. “Don’t you remember, Travis? You ruined her sweater.”

Travis smiled. “I ruin a lot of sweaters.”

“Gross,” I muttered.

Travis spun the empty chair beside me and sat, resting his arms in front of him. “So you’re the Pigeon, huh?”

“No,” I snapped. “I have a name.”

He seemed amused at the way I regarded him, which only served to make me angrier.

“Well? What is it?” he asked.

I took a bite of the last apple spear on my plate, ignoring him.

“Pigeon it is, then,” he shrugged.

I glanced up at America, and then turned to Travis. “I’m trying to eat, here.”

Travis settled in for the challenge I presented. “My name’s Travis. Travis Maddox.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know who you are.”

“You do, huh?” Travis said, raising his wounded eyebrow.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s hard not to notice when fifty drunks are chanting your name. “

Travis sat up a bit taller. “I get that a lot.” I rolled my eyes again, and Travis chuckled. “Do you have a twitch?”

“A what?”

“A twitch. Your eyes keep wiggling around.” He laughed again when I glared at him. “Those are some amazing eyes though,” he said, leaning just inches from my face. “What color is that, anyway? Grey?”

I looked down to my plate, letting the long strands of my caramel hair create a curtain between us. I didn’t like the way it made me feel when he was so close. I didn’t want to be like the other scores of girls at Eastern that blushed in his presence. I didn’t want him to affect me in that way at all.

“Don’t even think about it, Travis. She’s like my sister,” America warned.

“Baby,” Shepley said. “You just told him no. He’s never gonna stop, now.”

“You’re not her type,” she hedged.

Travis feigned insult. “I’m everyone’s type!”

I peeked over at him and smiled.

“Ah! A smile. I’m not a rotten bastard after all,” he winked. “It was nice to meet you, Pidge.” He walked around the table and leaned into America’s ear.

Shepley threw a french fry at his cousin. “Get your lips outta my girl’s ear, Trav!”

“Networking! I’m networking!” Travis walked out with his hands up in an innocent gesture.

A few more girls followed behind him, giggling and running their fingers through their hair to get his attention. He opened the door for them, and they nearly squealed in delight.

America laughed. “Oh, no. You’re in trouble, Abby.”

“What did he say?” I asked, wary.

“He wants you to bring her to the apartment, doesn’t he?” Shepley said. America nodded and he shook his head. “You’re a smart girl, Abby. I’m telling you now, if you fall for his shit and then end up getting mad at him, you can’t take it out on me and America, all right?”

I smiled. “I won’t fall for it, Shep. Do I look like one of the Barbie twins to you?”

“She won’t fall for it,” America assured him, touching his arm.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Mare. Do you know how many times he’s screwed things up for me because he one-nights the best friend? All of a sudden it’s a conflict of interest to date me because it’s fraternizing with the enemy! I’m tellin’ ya, Abby,” he looked at me, “don’t tell Mare she can’t come over or date me because you fall for Trav’s line of BS. Consider yourself warned.”

“Unnecessary, but appreciated,” I said. I tried to assure Shepley with a smile, but his pessimism was driven by years of being burned by Travis’ endeavors.

America waved, leaving with Shepley as I walked to my afternoon class. I squinted one eye from the bright sun, gripping my backpack straps. Eastern was exactly what I hoped it would be; from the smaller classrooms to the unfamiliar faces. It was a new start for me; I could finally walk somewhere without the whispers of those who knew — or thought they knew — anything about my past. I was as indistinguishable as any other wide-eyed, over-achieving freshman on their way to class; no staring, no rumors, no pity or judgment. Only the illusion of what I wanted them to see: Cashmered, no-nonsense Abby Abernathy.

I sat my backpack on the floor, and collapsed into the chair, bending down to fish my laptop from my bag. When I popped up to set it on my desk, Travis fell into the next desk.

“Good. You can take notes for me,” he said. He chewed on a pen and smiled, undoubtedly his most charming.

I shot a disgusted look at him. “You’re not even in this class.”

“The hell if I’m not. I usually sit up there,” he said, nodding to the top row. A small group of girls were staring at me, and I noticed an empty chair in the center.

“I’m not taking notes for you,” I said, booting up my computer.

Travis leaned so close that I could feel his breath on my cheek. “I’m sorry…did I offend you in some way?”

I sighed and shook my head.

“Then what is your problem?”

I kept my voice low. “I’m not sleeping with you. You should give up, now.”

A slow smile crept across his face before he spoke. “I haven’t asked you sleep with me,” his eyes drifted to the ceiling in thought, “have I?”

“I’m not a Barbie twin or one of your little groupies up there,” I said, glancing at the girls behind us. “I’m not impressed with your tattoos, or your boyish charm, or your forced indifference, so you can stop the antics, okay?”

“Okay, Pigeon.” He was infuriatingly impervious to my rudeness. “Why don’t you come over with America tonight?” I sneered at his request, but he leaned closer. “I’m not trying to bag you. I just wanna hang out.”

“Bag me? How do you ever get laid talking like that?”

Travis burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Just come over. I won’t even flirt with you, I swear.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Professor Chaney strolled in, and Travis turned his attention to the front of the room. A residual smile lingered on his face, making the dimple in his cheek sink in. The more he smiled, the more I wanted to hate him, and yet it was the very thing that made hating him impossible.

“Who can tell me which President had a cross-eyed wife with a bad case of the uglies?” Chaney asked.

“Make sure you get that down,” Travis whispered. “I’m gonna need to know that for job interviews.”

“Sshh,” I said, typing Chaney’s every word.

Travis grinned and relaxed into his chair. As the hour progressed, he alternated between yawning and leaning against my arm to look at my monitor. I made a concentrated effort to ignore him, but his proximity and the muscles bulging from his arm made it difficult. He picked at the black leather band around his wrist until Chaney dismissed us.

I hurried out the door and down the hall. Just when I felt sure I was a safe distance, Travis Maddox was at my side.

“Have you thought about it?” he asked, slipping on his sunglasses.

A petite brunette stepped in front of us, wide-eyed and hopeful. “Hey, Travis,” she lilted, playing with her hair.

I paused, recoiling from her sugary tone, and then walked around her. I’d seen her before, talking normally in the commons area of the girls’ dorm, Morgan Hall. Her tone sounded much more mature, then, and I wondered what it was about a toddler’s voice she thought Travis would find appealing. She babbled in a higher octave for a bit longer until he was next to me once again.

Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he lit a cigarette and blew out a thick cloud of smoke. “Where was I? Oh yeah…you were thinking.”

I grimaced. “What are you talking about?”

“Have you thought about coming over?”

“If I say yes, will you quit following me?”

He considered my stipulation and then nodded. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll come over.”

“When?”

I sighed. “Tonight. I’ll come over tonight.”

Travis smiled and stopped in his tracks. “Sweet. See you then, Pidge,” he called after me.

I rounded the corner to see America standing with Finch outside our dormitory. The three of us ended up at the same table at freshman orientation, and I knew he would be the welcome third wheel to our well-oiled machine. He wasn’t excessively tall, but still he towered over my five feet, four inches. His round eyes offset his long, lean features, and his bleached hair was usually fashioned into a spike at the front.

“Travis Maddox? Jesus, Abby, since when did you start fishing in the deep end?” Finch said with disapproving eyes.

America pulled the gum from her mouth in a long string. “You’re only making it worse by brushing him off. He’s not used to that.”