“Negativity breeds negativity?” I supply.

“That, too. But what I was going to say is, I’ve decided I’m lending you my Prada boots to wear tomorrow. The black suede ones my grandmother sent me. They’ll bring you good luck.”

“Uh-huh. You have scientific proof of that?”

“You want proof? It’s called Prada. Fucking Prada, Bee. Nobody can wear Prada and not feel invincible.”

I still can’t grasp how I became best friends with this girl. Summer is the complete opposite of me. Bubbly, girly, obsessed with designer clothes. Her family is filthy rich, so she can afford those designer clothes. But me, I’ve never cared about labels. Give me my lipstick, my favorite leather jacket and boots, some skinny jeans and a tight dress or two, and I’m good to go. And yet despite our differences, Summer and I just…fit.

“Oh, and I confirmed with Fitz before I got here—he can drive me to campus in the morning, so you’re good to borrow my car.” Summer drives a flashy Audi, and she offered to let me drive it to Boston tomorrow, sparing me from taking a million trains and buses. At noon I’ve got a Communication Theory lecture that I can’t miss, so I need to return to Hastings as fast as possible.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” She picks up her teacup.

“Thanks. You have no idea how much time you’ll be saving me by—”

“Hi!!!” a happy voice interrupts.

Before I can blink, a whirlwind of brown hair and luminous skin and big, big eyes streaks across my field of vision.

A girl I’ve never met in my life slides into our booth next to Summer and plops her butt down as if we’ve all been friends for years.

Summer’s jaw drops. “I’m sorry…what…” She drifts off, speechless. A rare state for Summer Di Laurentis.

I sweep my gaze over the newcomer. She’s wearing a white, collared shirt with red buttons. Waves of chin-length hair hover over the lacy collar.

“Hello,” I say politely. “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the word etiquette, but typically it means you can’t crash someone’s brunch, particularly when they don’t know who you are.”

“It’s okay. You’re about to know me.” She smiles broadly, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. She’s rather cute, actually.

But just because someone is cute doesn’t mean they’re not insane.

“I’m Rupi. Rupi Miller. And yes, that’s a Hindi first name and a completely white-bread last name, but that’s ’cause my dad is super white bread. He’s really, really bland. He’s a dentist, you guys. Like, the definition of boring. My mom is awesome, though. She used to be a huge Bollywood star!” Rupi’s tone ripples with pride.

Beside her, Summer blinks in confusion. “That’s really great…” Her voice trails again.

I bite back a laugh. “Rupi?”

The girl beams at me. “Yes?”

“Why are you in our booth?”

“Oh. Sorry. I talk a lot, I know. Let me start over. I’m Rupi, and you’re Brenna Jensen and you’re Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis.”

“Yes, thank you for informing us of our names,” I say dryly

Summer finally remembers how to finish a sentence. “Don’t be mean to Rupi,” she chides, and I can tell by her twinkling green eyes that she’s warming up to this pushy little girl.

“I’m a freshman,” Rupi explains. “I know, that sounds lame, but I swear I’m not. Lame, that is. I’m so much fun—you’ll find out, I promise. But the thing is, I don’t really have a lot of connections with the upperclassmen. Don’t worry, I’m not stalking you or anything. I was sitting over there with my friends when I noticed you guys. That’s Lindy and Mel.” She points to two girls sitting a few booths down the row. One of them is blushing profusely, while the other gives an enthusiastic wave.

I spare them a look before turning back to Rupi. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re interrupting our brunch.”

“I wanted to put in a formal request,” she announces.

“A formal request for what?” Summer sputters.

“I want an introduction.”

My brow wrinkles. “To whom?”

“Mike Hollis.”

I set my fork down.

Summer puts down her tea.

Several seconds tick by.

“Mike Hollis?” Summer finally says.

“Yes. He’s your roommate,” Rupi replies helpfully.

I snicker.

“I’m aware that he’s my roommate.” Summer shakes her head. “But why on earth do you want an introduction? To him.”

Rupi releases a long, dreamy sigh. “Because he’s the most beautiful man in the world, and I think he’s my soul mate, and I’d like to be introduced to him.”

Another silence falls. I’m not one to declare anything a hundred percent, so I’ll say I’m ninety-nine-point-nine-nine-nine percent certain that this is the first time in the history of the planet that anyone, at any time, has referred to Hollis as the most beautiful man in the world and/or as someone’s soul mate.

Summer appears to be as stunned as I feel. But we both recover fast, sharing a telepathic moment that brings a grin the size of Boston to Summer’s lips. She pats Rupi’s arm and says, “I would be honored to make that introduction.”

“Actually, I’ll do you one better,” I chime in. “I’ll give you his phone number, and you can contact him directly.”

Summer is quick to second that. “Yes, even better! And when I get home I’ll be sure to tell him that the daughter of a Bollywood star is going to be calling him.” She winks at me when Rupi isn’t looking.

Rupi’s brown eyes light up. “Really?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Summer pulls up her contact list. “Do you have your phone on you?”

Rupi produces an iPhone in a bubble-gum pink case, and Summer quickly recites Hollis’s number. After Rupi finishes entering the digits, she gives us a solemn look. “I want you to know that you’re both gorgeous and wonderful and I’m going to be seeing a lot of you once Mike and I start dating.”

I won’t lie—her conviction is downright inspirational.

“Anyway, I won’t take up any more of your time. Just know that I think you’re beautiful creatures and I’m so grateful for your help!”

And then, as rapidly as she appeared, she bounces out of the booth like a tiny ball of energy.

Later that night, I arrive at Malone’s at the same time as Nate Rhodes. “Hey!” I exclaim, slinging my arm through his muscular one. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

I’m a big Nate fan. He’s not only a skilled center with a wicked slapshot, but he’s also a stand-up guy. A lot of jocks have a reputation for being cocky jackasses. They strut around campus with huge chips of entitlement on their athletic shoulders, “honoring” women with their time and their wangs. Not Nate. Along with Fitzy, he’s the most humble, down-to-earth guy I’ve ever met.

“Yeah, my plans got canceled. I was supposed to meet up with a chick and she bailed.”

I give a mock gasp. “What! Doesn’t she know you’re the captain of the hockey team?!”

“I know, right?” He shrugs. “Probably a good thing she bailed, though. I’m still rocking a hangover from last night.”

“That was some game-winning miracle you pulled off in OT,” I tell him. “I wish I got to see it in person.”

“Most stressful overtime period of my life,” he admits as we enter the bar. “For a moment I thought we might actually lose the damn thing.” His light-blue eyes scan the main room, which is crammed with sports memorabilia, TV screens, and college students.

“There they are,” I say, spotting our friends in a far booth. “Ugh. Hollis is here? Now I’m even more glad you showed up. You’ll be my buffer.”

“He still trying to get in your pants?”

“Every time I see him.”

“Do you really blame him?” Nate gives an exaggerated leer.

“Knock it off. You’ve never once expressed any interest in my pants.”

“Yeah, because Coach would castrate me! Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it.”

“Perv.”

He grins.

We reach the oversized booth, a semicircular one with enough space to accommodate four hockey players and me and Summer. She’s snuggled up beside Fitz, while Hollis sits alone on the other side, his gaze glued to the Bruins game that’s already underway.

Hollis shifts his head at our arrival. “Brenna! Come sit.” He pats his thigh. “There’s room for you right here.”

“Thanks, big boy. But I’m good.” I slide in next to Summer.

Rather than sit with Hollis, Nate flops down beside me, which forces Fitz and Summer to shift closer to Hollis.

“I don’t have Ebola, you guys,” he grumbles.

I glance up at one of the television screens. Boston is on the attack. “Where’s Hunter?” I ask.

Almost immediately the mood shifts. Fitz looks unhappy. Summer’s face holds a touch of guilt, although I don’t think she needs to feel guilty. Sure, she and Hunter had a bit of a flirtation, but the moment she realized she had feelings for Fitz, she was honest with Hunter about it. He needs to get over it already.