Sebastian:No idea. I've never been a normal college student.
Me:Me neither. We're both disasters.
Sebastian:But we're disasters together. That's something.
Me:That's something.
I fall asleep that night with my phone on my pillow, his last text still on the screen, and for the first time since arriving at Thornhill, I let myself imagine a future where I belong here.
Not because of scholarships or academic achievement or proving I deserve my place.
But because someone chose me. Really chose me and maybe that's enough.
Sunday morning arrives cold and bright. I wake up to a text from Sebastian:Ready for our very normal, very regular afternoon? I have ideas.
Me:Should I be worried?
Sebastian:Probably. Pick you up at 1?
Me:I can meet you?—
Sebastian:I'm picking you up. Stop fighting me on this.The message comes before I can even finish typing my message.
Me:Fine. But if your ideas involve anything that costs more than twenty dollars, I'm vetoing.
Sebastian:Deal.
I spend the morning doing homework and trying not to overthink everything. By twelve-thirty, I've changed outfits three times and given up on looking like I'm not trying.
Jeans. Sweater. Boots. Hair down. Good enough.
At exactly one PM, there's a knock on my door.
Sebastian stands in the hallway wearing jeans, a jacket, and a nervous smile.
"Ready for the most aggressively normal date of your life?"
"Hit me."
We end up at the campus bowling alley, a dingy, ancient place in the student union basement that smells like stale beer and disappointment. It's perfect.
"Bowling?" I raise an eyebrow as Sebastian pays for shoes and a lane.
"You said normal. Normal college students bowl." He hands me genuinely hideous rental shoes. "Besides, I'm terrible at it. Thought you'd enjoy watching me fail."
"I do enjoy that."
We get our shoes and find our lane. The alley is mostly empty, a few other students, some staff members, a kids' birthday party in the far corner.
"Full disclosure," Sebastian says as he enters our names on the electronic scoreboard. "I haven't bowled since I was eight and my father decided it was beneath us."
"Everything fun is beneath you people."
"You're not wrong." He picks up a ball, testing the weight. "But I'm trying to change that. Be less Thornhill, more human."
"How's that going?" I ask.
"Ask me in two weeks."
