“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?” I asked, hands shoved in my jacket pockets as I scanned the quad.
“Technically? No,” Macey said breezily, tossing me a grin. “But students sit in on random lectures all the time. No one’s going to stop us unless you, like, raise your hand and ask what’s on the midterm.”
“Wait, we’re going to a lecture?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Did you think we were going to just wander around the campus and go home?”
I shrugged. “I thought maybe you wanted to show me your old college haunts.”
“Nope. I don’t think I ever stepped foot into the architecture department.”
“Why are we going to the architecture department?”
Macey paused to lean against an empty wall, tilting her face toward the sun. “It’s part of our deal, remember? I’m supposed to help you figure out what you want to do and who you want to become after your road trip. You studied architecture before. Why not finish your degree?”
I glanced around the student body, trying to picture myself as one of them. It felt like too much time had passed, like I couldn’t stuff the current version of myself into the body of an older version of me.
“It’s no Cornell,” she said slowly, “but it’s still a good university. If you gave it a chance, I think you might like it.”
“I’ll consider it.” It was enough to earn a small smile.
She led me into one of the older lecture halls, the kind that looked straight out of a movie—high ceilings, massive windows filtering in the pale afternoon light, rows of wooden desks worn smooth by decades of restless students. The room smelled like coffee and old paper, and something about it made my stomach twist.
Macey slid into a seat near the back and gestured for me to sit. “Look studious.”
I dropped into the chair beside her. “Do I look like someone who blends in here?”
She gave me a slow once-over—the leather jacket, the worn jeans, the fact that I was a grown adult sneaking into a college class on a Thursday evening.
“Not even a little,” she admitted. “But if anyone asks, just say you’re auditing.”
I smirked, leaning back in my chair. “You just wanted to see me in a classroom setting, didn’t you?”
She scoffed. “Please. My daydreams of you don’t include you stressed over a final exam.”
“Daydreams of me?”
She blushed, but before she could fire back, the professor cleared her throat at the podium.
“Tonight,” she began, adjusting her glasses, “we’ll be discussing the evolution of the modern house.”
Macey shot me a look that was halfhow perfect is this?And halfpay attention.
I did. More than I expected to.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t thinking about my next post, my next flight, my next anything. I was just here, sitting in an old lecture hall, listening to ideas bigger than myself.
The temptation to get back into a learning environment bit me harder than I expected. Whenever I thought about college before, a slew of excuses usually accompanied it: too much time had passed, I was too old, there was no point in me getting a degree anymore.
Now the list of excuses grew smaller and smaller.
At the end of the lecture, we left with the crowd. We walked down the breezeway where, at the end, Macey handed me a small card.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“The professor’s business card. She’s a department head. If you’re interested, I think you should set up a meeting with her to talk about enrolling here and finishing your degree.”
I pocketed the card but didn’t say anything. That was a decision I’d have to sleep on.
