Clutching her bag close to her body, Ruth wove herself through the students strolling casually to their eight am class at school the following morning. She straightened her dress out with her palms on her way to her campus' student cafe where she eagerly hoped to snag one of their signature teas.

Her warm fingers wrapped around the door handle of the coffee shop, but before she could open it, she was startled backwards as a body pushed through the other side. Ruth lost her hold on the handle and moved out of the way instantly with an automatic, "Oh!"

"Oh, shit! I'm so sorry," the person apologized profusely. Ruth looked up, taking in the unknown girl who ran into her.

She was effortlessly pretty in a conventional way. With waves of light brown hair to her shoulders, and bright hazel-green eyes, something about the soft sprinkle of freckles across her rosy cheeks really brought out the beauty in the stranger's face. Decked out in dusty pink clothes and an expensive Kate Spade bag, she reminded Ruth of someone in Beverly Hills rather than a small town in Oklahoma.

"No, it's my fault. I wasn't paying attention," Ruth said, waving her off.

"Not at all! It was all me. It's never easy juggling more than one coffee," the other girl replied laughing, holding up two cups as proof.

"Don't worry about it. The coffee was definitely more important!"

They both laughed together. "You aren't wrong about that. The person I'm getting a coffee for might literally strangle me without his daily dose of caffeine."

"Sounds pretty rough," Ruth teased. "Don't want to keep them waiting then."

"Looks like it," the girl agreed. "Enjoy your first day!"

Ruth voiced her agreement and the two went on their way in opposite directions. She walked up to the counter and ordered her favorite chai latte from Abigail, a young barista she recognized from last semester. Her smile shimmered as bright as her golden hair, and she offered Ruth her drink with an even cheerier response.

Checking the time on her phone, Ruth realized she still had forty-five minutes to kill. She shouldn't have left her apartment so early when she was still nursing a headache, but she had to get moving. Coming to school early had opened her eyes to new things that spiked her good nature attitude and left an excited taste in her mouth. Meeting a nice girl that she got to talk to for a minute, seeing Abigail behind the counter smiling, and catching sight of the writing contest plastered all around campus. She's looked over the prompts more than once, and it took everything in her to swallow down the urge to write for the contest.

You don't have time to write this semester, she kept repeating to herself. But if you did . . . what would you write about?

That thought was dangerous. Because words bled from her fingertips. Her pen always knew what to say to her spiral-bound notebook, especially in the middle of Organic Chemistry when she should be paying attention.

But with her future . . . she didn't know if she could pursue that passion.

And that thought bothered her more than she'd ever care to admit aloud.

*****

By the time noon had come around on the third day of the first week of school, Ruth was overwhelmed.

She sat frozen staring into the six different syllabuses in front of her. One of her hands twirled in the comfort of her curls as she picked at the rust peeling on the metal picnic table with the other. The words on each page blurred together into one consecutive pile of stress.

Jana and Terry had tried to cheer her up after the second day of classes. Ruth forced reassuring smiles for them and laughed weakly at their jokes as they stayed unsuccessful in drawing her away from the worry of the oncoming semester. Jana even made frybread tacos with their Uncle Rickey's famous recipe and it still didn't draw her out of the weird funk she was in!

Ruth shoved her face into her hands and struggled to draw in a normal breath. She couldn't have a repeat of last semester with her grades. She needed to stay on top of it with more A's than B's. To make her mom proud, she needed to go off to University of New York; their shared dream. Her father had gone through a lot of connections to get Ruth considered, so the least she could do was continue to get good grades and make her way into NYU. She owed it to her parents.

The thought of seeing the disappointment on her mother's face made her stomach churn and the urge to throw up grew even greater.

"Someone's having a rough day," a familiar voice observed from behind her.

Ruth, startled by the idea of someone talking directly to her outside of class, removed her hands from her face and snapped her head to the side. Leaning against the wall of the science building beside her table, was the man she almost forgot about. The cute guy from the liquor store. Raffo Leflore.

His hair though, unlike before, was woven over his shoulder in a sheen braid with few wisps hanging in the coolness of his deep brown eyes. Eyes that were just as emotionless as she remembered them being. The cigarette in his hand was new, but made her nose crinkle in distaste.

She drew her focus back up to his mocha-shaded eyes, and blinked up at him. "You," she breathed.

When one of his eyebrows quirked up, her cheeks filled with heat as she cringed into the table. Damn it, why did she say that out loud? "I-I mean, you go to school here?" she covered up.

Ruth already knew the answer to that, obviously, but she couldn't let him know that her cousins already gave her the 4-1-1 on Raffo Leflore. She'd rather stick her hand in a boiling pan of hot oil than do something as catastrophic as that.

"I guess I do." Inhale. Blow. "And it looks like I'm getting the easier start."

Her eyes fell back down to her scattered papers. Her stomach clenched again. "Thanks for the reminder."

"Sorry," he breezed, shrugging his way off the wall.

Ruth, not wanting him to leave just yet, spoke again. "How were you able to land such an easy start?"

He shoved the end of the cigarette bud into the ashtray on top of the garbage can and looked up at her with a half-hearted shrug. "Economics and going for a minor in Native American studies. Not really an easy start, but I know how to manage my time."

"Sounds intense," Ruth murmured, impressed.

"It's not too bad. It's all about time management."

"Oh? Are you hinting that I'm stressing because I don't know how to manage my time?" she asked, crossing her arms. He tilted his head to the side and crossed his arms too.

"Am I wrong?" he questioned. His words didn't seem so dead that time. Could she detect a hint of amusement? Was he . . . smirking?

"Well . . . it depends on what you mean by 'managing my time'," she admitted, the tips of her lips twitching with amusement.

A crooked smile twisted his soft lips, bringing the first sign of light to his glowing eyes and snuffing out the darkness that lingered there. The sun touched all of the beautiful curves of his hard features and Ruth's poo heart fluttered at the sight.

"I'm Ruth, by the way," she offered after he shifted on his feet. "Ruth Marjorie Semple. I'm uh, not sure if I mentioned it at the liquor store."

"I don't think you did. I would have remembered," he replied smoothly. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Raffo Nashoba Leflore."

"Nashoba," she tested. Wolf. "You're Choctaw?"

He nodded. His gaze roamed over her, curious now. "You recognized my middle name."

Not a question. An observation.

"Yeah, I'm Choctaw too. My dad's Choctaw and my mom's Black, actually."

There was a pause. Something about Ruth's face made his lips pucker in thought, his eyes calculating once again. She tucked a curl behind her ear, her cheeks warm at the attention.

"Cool," was all he said. He looked up to glance at someone over Ruth's shoulder, and when she followed his gaze, she found the familiar girl from a few days ago at the coffee shop waving her arm at Raffo. The smile sprawled across her face glowed brighter than the pastel yellow outfit she wore and in her hands were two coffees. Again.

What was even more appalling when Ruth turned back around, was the gentle half-smile Raffo threw back at the girl. The warmth in his expression was sweet, but also hinted that the girl meant a great deal to him, and he to her. Was that the girl Jana told Ruth about? Mirana was her name, Ruth remembered. Right?

"Chi pisa la chike, Ruth Semple," Raffo murmured, offering one last nod in her direction. His eyes, still soft from the previous interaction fell back on Ruth, made her heart flutter. The tightness in her chest refused to ease after hearing him speak to her in their language. A new bond lassoed its way around the two of them, and by the way the girl glanced between the two of them the closer she got, she knew it was special.

"See you around, Raffo Leflore," Ruth said smiling, noticing the corner of his lip curve.

See you around.

*****