“Briana Irene Matthews!” I freeze, then pivot slowly to look for the sort of asshole who calls out someone’s full name in public to get their attention. Leaning against the wall just beside the exit is a tall white boy with tousled straw-blond hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. He looks like he belongs on the cover of the university brochure: impossibly bright and cheery, wearing plain jeans and a Carolina blue zipped hoodie. When he laughs, the sound is
