Unbroken

cheating is any better?
    I block out the whisper of my conscience, and turn and hurry across campus. I walk quickly through the midday crowds towards the business center. I tell myself it’s because I really do need those review notes, but deep down I know, it’s because I want some of what I told Daniel to be the truth. I haven’t fled Cedar Cove because I can’t keep my tongue out of my ex-boyfriend’s mouth, I’m back because of totally legitimate study needs.
    Right.
    My route takes me past the arts building, and I pause for a moment, watching the students out on the front steps, and gathered after class. You can tell the art majors a mile away. It’s not like they all walk around with paint stains on their clothing (although some of them do), it’s more the way they look: funky and eclectic, in vintage outfits. Individual and creative. The group of girls near me are wearing red lipstick, and cute thrift store floral dresses, and they’re carrying huge sketch-pads and portfolios with curled paper peeking out from inside.
    I remember what Emerson said to me on the beach, the confused accusation in his voice. When he knew me last, I was all set to be one of those girls. I’d been accepted into a photography program at a college in California, and I was so excited to go off and start my life, plunging myself entirely into my art. Even when I fell so hard in love with him, my dreams didn’t change, only the location. We talked about me taking a year out and reapplying to art schools on the Gulf Coast, or even the Carolinas. Raleigh, Asheville—there were tons of places within a few hours’ drive of Cedar Cove. Emerson had to stay in town to take care of Brit and Ray Jay, but I could move in with him and get a job in town, and then start school nearby the next fall.
    My parents flipped out when I told them the plan, but that didn’t matter to me. I was always going to work my way through school on my own, so what difference did it make it I took a while to get there. As long as I was with Emerson, nothing else mattered.
    At least, that’s what I thought. But then everything changed.
    I feel the dark pang of sadness ripple through me, but I push it back.
    I hurry on, past the arts building, to the familiar libraries and classrooms over on my side of campus. One month out from finals, and everyone’s walking round with panic on their faces and shadows under their eyes. Luckily, I’m on top of things: I have my color-coded study schedule, and a system to review all my work in time. I’ve kept my GPA high all through the year, taking on whatever extra projects and extended essays I could, so now, I only have a few finals to get through before graduating. It’s all part of my strategy to keep the panic attacks to a minimum: lots of smaller deadlines, instead of one big do-or-die series of exams. Daniel helped me plan it all out at the start of the year, and now, I’m the envy of all my classmates, who are stuck rushing around like crazy trying to cram all their revision in time.
    See? I remind myself, stepping inside the building. Just another reason why Daniel is perfect for me. He understands and supports me and my goals, he doesn’t judge like Emerson did.
    I feel a buzz in my bag, and when I check my phone, it’s another text from Emerson. Like he can tell I’m thinking about him.
You won’t talk, so I’m coming to you.
    I look around guiltily, then quickly duck in an alcove back from the hallway. I dial his number.
    “Jules?” Emerson picks up on the first ring. “Where the fuck have you been? We need to talk—“
    “No.” I cut him off before he can say anything. Before his sexy drawl makes me forget myself all over again. “Don’t come here, I won’t see you. You can’t.”
    “I’m on my way.”
    “No!” I cry, loud enough for people nearby to look over. He can’t come here, it would ruin everything! “Please, Emerson,” I beg, “promise me you won’t. If you care about me at all, you won’t come here.”
    “Jules…”
    “Promise me!” I demand fiercely.
    “Only if you promise me you’ll come back.” Emerson challenges.
    I hesitate.
    “Just to talk. You can’t just disappear on me again,” he says, voice rough with emotion and old memories. “Not after what happened. You owe me that much, at least.”
    I gulp. He’s right. And if the last twenty four hours have taught me anything, it’s that running away doesn’t solve any of my problems, it just leaves