"Study?"

"I do study!"

"Study more."

I swear under my breath and pull out my phone. A text from Dee, the chick I hooked up with at the beginning of term; a starry-eyed Fresher who won't take the hint I'm not interested. Times like this, I need to remind myself who I am. Will Campbell, ba.s.s player for Ruby Riot heading for the big time. Not Will Campbell, failing Arts student trying to keep his parents happy.

"What the f.u.c.k do I do? I tried this time! Really tried. I'm s.h.i.t at history."

"If coming back to uni sucks this much, find a job instead."

No way. As long as I'm here, I have cash flow from my parents. I promised that when Ruby Riot started making more money, I'd pay them back a thousand times over. Behind their smiles of agreement, I see what they really think: never going to happen.

"I can't. I'm not doing some s.h.i.tty job at a supermarket while I wait for Ruby to come back to the band."

"Well, suck it up, princess. Keeps Mum and Dad off our backs if we get a 'proper' qualification."

"When do you think they'll believe we can make a living from the band?"

"When we actually do. The alb.u.m launches next month, we have a few small gigs lined up. A bit of cash. Ruby's coming."

"With her kid?"

"Dunno. Maybe baby-daddy Jem will come and babysit."

I laugh; we both do, at the image of Jem Jones bad-mouthed, bad att.i.tude, reformed addict with a baby as his new accessory. "I'd pay to see that. Reckon he changes nappies?"

Nate screws his face up. "Dude, I'm eating."

I steal one of his chips and watch the other students around. Most pay little attention to us, although we have hangers-on some days. Their belief we're partying rock stars draws them to us, and the partying is one of the reason for my bad grades.

Nate slurps from his can of energy drink. "There's a study group if you're that worried."

I stare. "Study group? Are you mad? I suppose that's a group of chicks who meet in the evenings in the library and argue about feminist interpretations of history. Like the one in my cla.s.s, can't remember her name. Jeez, she doesn't shut up and the guy teaching the cla.s.s hardly gets a word in. No wonder I'm not learning anything."

"Just a suggestion." He pushes my paper across the table. "Fail this semester and you'll be stacking supermarket shelves."

"As if! What about the alb.u.m? We're gonna be big."

"There's no guarantee, you know that." Nate stands. "Whose turn is it to go to the Shakespeare cla.s.s this afternoon? Yours?"

"Oh c.r.a.p, no, please don't make me sit through that again. I b.l.o.o.d.y hate Shakespeare." I stand too.

"Your name sake? No affinity there? What did you expect when you signed up for Lit as part of your degree?"

"Please," I beg. "Do this. After that s.h.i.t mark, I'm not in the mood."

Nate wrinkles his nose at my pleading look. "Fine, but you do the next two cla.s.ses."

"I love you, man." I grab the side of his face and kiss his cheek hard.

Nate pushes me off. "Jesus, Will!"

He hauls his messenger bag across his shoulders and wanders away. Slumping back in my seat, I chew my lip. Study group sounds like a viable option. Unfortunately.

3.

FLEUR.

I flick the switch in the library study room and the strip light illuminates the screwed up paper and abandoned pens from the last occupants. Muttering, I grab the bin and dump everything in. Some moron has spilled a sticky drink on one of the wooden chairs and I pull it away from the table. Four chairs are enough for the group.

A select handful of history student friends and I meet here once a week to combine our research and share ideas. We're aiming to go onto post-grad study, and our co-operation makes sense. We're in this together, not competing.

Some of the group failed the last paper and even I dropped below eighty percent, which hasn't happened since my first year. Our understanding of late twentieth century European history needs work and we've decided that's where we'll focus tonight. Dragging my textbook from the bag and dumping it on the desk, I sit. Laptop open, pen out, and I'm ready.

Nita arrives first; her thick black hair pulled into a ponytail and a worried expression on her face. I'm surprised when Steph enters the room; we had a huge argument in the last session, and we haven't spoken since. Steph doesn't like to be wrong; neither do I, so we have issues. Her mark must've been really bad if she came back. The fourth member of our happy gang, Sam, wanders in after we've started, as usual.

"How'd everybody go with the paper?" I ask.

A variety of displeased grunts is my answer.

"Bombed. What about you?" asks Sam.

"I pa.s.sed."

Nita glances at Sam. "Told you she would."

Steph mutters, "We failed."

"Well, the next one we'll all pa.s.s," I say attempting to inject some enthusiasm into the room. "Did everybody bring their textbooks?"

"Yes, Miss," says Sam with a chuckle.

They can tease all they like, but I'm serious about my ambitions. Since I was a kid, my life revolved around books. Learning. Understanding. When I start my PhD, I'll teach first year cla.s.ses part-time too. I admit I'm practicing on my trio of study friends.

"The website links they gave us for research were c.r.a.p," says Sam. "I ended up going in circles and ended up more confused."

"Maybe we'll map out the best ones today?" I suggest. "Some must be easier to navigate." I pull up the bookmarks on my laptop.

The door opens and I glance up, annoyed at the interruption. A tall guy stands in the doorway. If it wasn't obvious who he is, the Ruby Riot t-shirt stretched across his muscled chest is a giveaway. A half-smile plays across his mouth, one I remember from a couple of weeks ago. The guy pushes long fingers through his dark, spiked fringe as he looks over.

Nate Campbell. Or Will.

Whoever he is, this is one of the big-headed rock star twins. I don't care which, because after Will's behaviour at the party I don't want to see either. He can get the h.e.l.l out. I wait for the guy to close the door and walk away. He doesn't.

"Yes?" I ask.

"This the history group?"

"Correct."

"Cool." He drags a spare chair from the corner of the room to the table.

"What are you doing?"

"Joining your group. To study." Without waiting for an invitation, he sits and folds his tattooed arms on the desk. "That okay?"

"Depends. Which twin are you? Will or Nate?"

The guy studies me, and I return his scrutiny, looking for a sign of guilt or embarra.s.sment over his treatment of me at the party. If there's any chance at all that this is Will, he can b.l.o.o.d.y leave.

"Which one do you want me to be?" He fights the smirk edging around the corner of his lips, but fails.

"I think you know the answer to that. You were both there." There's no sign on his face of guilt, either this is Nate or Will's too arrogant to care.

The guy ignores the response. "Is it because I have to ask nicely?" He clears his throat. "Please may I join your study group?"

Nita giggles and I glance at her. Great, she's wide-eyed and silly because a Campbell is in the room with us. Steph looks less impressed, but Sam joins Nita in his interest.

"Why are you back at uni, man? Thought you guys made it big."

Possibly-Nate-maybe-Will shrugs. "Want to finish my degree. Back-up plan and all that."

"And you want to join us?" I ask, not wanting to waste time on his life story.

"Is that a problem?" asks Nita.

"I suppose not."

"Welcome," says Sam.

I glower at Sam; but despite my delusions, I'm not in charge here.

WILL.

s.h.i.t.

Is Fleur the leader of the group? Or does she just set herself up to be? If I tell her I'm Will, she'll kick my a.s.s straight out of here. Without replying which of the twins I am, I pull out my laptop. If this group is worth the time, I'll figure out how to talk Fleur around. She introduces me to the rest of the group then returns to her laptop.

After the party, Nate questioned my drunken decision to hit on Fleur, and I shrugged him off, told him I wasn't serious and just teasing. Truth is, I was serious, and I wasn't teasing. Yeah, totally screwed up my chances now, but I have a thing for Fleur. I'm not sure how to define the 'thing'. Fleur isn't my type of girl. I prefer an edgy look. Ever since I saw her in a lecture two years ago, blonde hair falling across her face as she squeezed past me to take a seat nearby with her friend, I've fantasised about her. Okay, truth is when I stood to let her pa.s.s, her a.s.s brushed against me, and that was the trigger for my fantasies. And my d.i.c.k.

For a few weeks afterwards, I looked for an opportunity to talk to her; but hundreds attend my history lectures, and we were never a.s.signed the same seminars. Fleur never noticed me, or if she did, never wanted to talk to me. I've seen her at parties in the past, but usually with a guy.

By the second year, I decided her lack of attention was what kept my crush going.

This year, she's in a couple of Nate's cla.s.ses; and on the occasions I've taken them for him, she hasn't spoken to or looked at me. Nate has nothing to apologise for, but she's sour faced with him too. I guess we're both on her s.h.i.t list. Maybe something to do with the picture of me and her appearing on Instagram with a comment about how cute she is. The image was only up a few hours before I sobered up and took it down. Good thing I'm not as interesting as Jax, when he posted a picture of him and Tegan the world went bat-s.h.i.t crazy.

Still, Fleur does weird things to me without trying, and I'd kill to get my hands on her. Chances of that happening now have moved from slim to none.

I shake out of my thoughts, aware I'm glazing over. Already, I'm lost and crane my neck to look at Nita's laptop. "What are we doing?" I whisper.

"Checking out H-Net site."

"Oh. What's that?"

"Research site. Don't you have the link?" she whispers back.

"Are you okay?" asks Fleur.

"I can't find the site," I reply.

"The one we signed up to at the beginning of last year?"

c.r.a.p. "I haven't signed up yet."

Fleur looks at me as if I'm from another planet. "Are you seriously telling me you've never once used this site? The key site? Did you actually pa.s.s anything?"

"Not much. I guess that's one answer to why I failed most of last year."

"Sign up now, then."

"Don't have pa.s.swords."

"Well, I guess there's no point you being here."

I hold Fleur's p.i.s.sed off gaze, amused by her haughty att.i.tude. "It's okay. I'll watch and learn." I shift closer to Nita whose friendly smile indicates my semi-star status helps me out. "You can email me some details later, can't you?" I ask Nita.

"Sure!"

The next hour dizzies me. I have screwed up my studies, big style. I need to go back to history a.s.signment writing 101. Why did I slack off mid-last year when the excitement of rising fame hit? Swept up in the moment, I convinced myself I'd hit the big time and I wouldn't need to bother anymore.

Dumba.s.s.

Fleur knows her s.h.i.t. Everybody here does. If I hang with them, maybe some of their smarts will rub off on me. As they pack away their laptops and books, I overhear Nita chat to Fleur about some one-on-one help. Right. Fleur's the smartest. Could I persuade her to give me some extra help too?

Not if she knows I'm Will.

My options are limited and one thing I've learned over the last hour is I need to be in this group. The days of achieving a decent grade on my own are gone. Yeah, I could put extra effort in alone, but I don't want to spend half my life trawling the internet for answers. These guys know a s.h.i.tload more than I do, and are willing to share.