Kiss King - Mickey Miller Page 0,3

guys start selling rocks on the corners by my apartment. And it’s just a little awkward walking past them.”

He laughs and slaps his knee. “Good one.”

Oh boy. He thinks I’m joking.

“What about you? What are you doing up so early?” I ask.

“Had to get my throws in this morning for baseball practice. We have six a.m.’s a couple of times a week in the morning.”

“Throws?”

“Yeah, I usually throw about thirty pitches. Sometimes more. And now that I’m up,” he shrugs, “might as well start my day, you know?”

I smile, and a warm feeling fills me.

Something about this man puts me at ease. Ever since I’d met Grant, he has this nonchalant way about him, as if you couldn’t tell him a secret about yourself that was worse than something he had done. If ever there was a guy who wouldn’t judge me for my predicament, it’s him.

“So, what does your day involve?” I ask.

“Well, I’ve got American Lit this afternoon. Until then, I’ll probably read. Write. Have random chats with people I’m lucky enough to run into in the Gizmo so early in the morning.”

I giggle a little awkwardly, and try to remind myself that I am Maya Waters, I am bold, and I am beautiful.

And it is true. Though lately I’ve been forgetting it with all of my personal problems.

“That sounds lovely,” I say, smiling and looking out on the quad.

“Hey,” Grant leans in, and he laces his voice with concern. “You okay? Seriously. You seem like you’ve got something on your mind right now, like you’re distracted. I’ve got time for that long story you mentioned, by the way. Unless you don’t want to tell it. That’s cool, too.”

Right at this moment, two girls come in and sit down at the table next to us.

Grant and I both go silent, and his face tightens as he looks at them. We’re thinking the same thing.

Really? Nineteen open tables in here and you choose the one right next to us?

I sigh, and Grant notices.

“Or…” he starts, then hesitates, and waves his hand in the air.

“Or what?”

“Or, we could just hang out at my place. I’m in the yellow apartments right off campus living with my brother Sean this term.”

“I didn’t know your brother goes here.”

“Went here,” Grant corrects. “Sean is sticking around for a year to work in Greenfield down the road. I moved there to be close to the frat and to help him cut down on rent. Plus, Finn, my old roommate, was able to move in with our good buddy DJ in the Dalton dorms. Alex moved in with April. As you know.”

“Yeah I know that. So, why’d you hesitate just now?”

He laughs. “I was going to say we could go hang there and smoke a bowl and talk about it. But seven in the morning on a Thursday? I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Even for me.”

I check my watch. “Actually, it’s seven-fifteen,” I smirk and wiggle my eyebrows, then add, “And it’s legal in Illinois now.”

“Freaking A, Maya. I missed you. Let’s roll. Have you ever been to the yellow apartments?”

“No.”

My heart flutters thinking about all of those drunken conversations we had during fall term.

Here I was pretending like I didn’t know him this morning.

Now I want to know what he was thinking about while he was staring out that window.

Even more so, I want to know what’s in that darn notebook of his.

2

Maya

The yellow apartments are barely off campus, unlike my apartment. There are twelve units in a three-story building, and it is quite nice. Well, nice by college standards. It’s got a small kitchen and two rooms and is obviously an older design.

Inside, Grant’s got the place decked out. I mean, the coffee table is just a piece of plywood covered in red leather on top of two cinderblocks. Very bougie.

I laugh as we sink into the couch and comment on it. “That’s so Green State,” I joke. College students have a penchant for creatively making household items from things that aren’t normally supposed to be household items.

“I made it when I was drunk one time.” He chuckles as he packs us a bowl.

I’m no pothead, but at this point, I’m so stressed I’m wondering if I should apply for a medical card, which is a newly legal option in Illinois. But I’ll settle for this smoke session with Grant where I can try to think through my twelve-thousand-dollar problem.

“You may do the honors,” he says, handing me the bowl with