“Yeah,” she continues. “A lot of guys keep massive walls up and hold themselves back from being proper friends. It's always nice when that isn't the case.”
Digging my fingernails into my forearm under the table, I take a deep breath. “Oh. Okay.”
“Yeah. You're still quieter, but I can tell. You like him, right? In a bro kind of way.”
Oh, god. I'll only spill my forbidden secrets if I stay here.
Grabbing my coffee, I stand up and push my chair in. “He’s a good friend. I should, uh, head out too. Got a paper to write.”
That isn't a lie.
“Okay, we should study together sometime, though,” Laura says. “Let’s grab each other’s numbers.”
Sounds like a plan.
Holy hell, this college ishard. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I will something to materialize.
Whose idea was it to transfer here?
Oh, right. My own.
I blink a few times and refocus on the essay prompt.
This course explores energy transitions, including those occurring now. Given this context, outline the principal obstacles to overcome, as well as the response of at least two levels of government to these obstacles.
I don't know about the government, but my response tothistransition of energy, from my body to this paper that isn't going anywhere, is to shut my laptop.
And then I open it again because my scholarship isn’t gonna renew itself—I need to maintain the grades that got me the money in the first place.
But seriously, I thought I was studyingkinesiology. How is it that only two out of my five classes this semester are related to my major? At least I’m doing well in our Human Movement course, thanks to the project that Ian, Nick, and I are acing so far.
Sighing, I open my class notes and flip to the start, scanning the pages and winging some kind of outline as I go.
If I have to give my parentsanycredit at all, it’ll be for choosing one of the few extremely religious homeschool providers that also had some kind of academic rigor. Writing essays and papers is one of my strong suits, to the point where I did assignments for cash back in community college.
I can credit a certain young, attractive online Language Artsteacher for those skills. Mr. Crofton made it super easy to pay attention in class, and those sculpted biceps under tight polos were a bright spot in an otherwise dark time of my life.
It isn’t long before I lose myself in a decent writing flow. If I keep this up, I’ll finish this draft with time to spare…
And then the lights cut out, leaving my room illuminated only by the fading dusky sunlight.
I grumble before increasing the brightness on my laptop and continuing to work on my paper. I get a few hundred words closer to the minimum, feeling good about making the deadline, when a loud knock on my door makes my body jolt and tense up.
After a few deep breaths to calm myself down, I walk over and turn the knob to reveal a firefighter standing in the frigid, humid hallway.
An insanely hot firefighter. There’s some truth to stereotypes, I guess.
Jesus, Callum. Get it together.
“Look, I’ll make this quick,” he says. “A tree fell on the building, and the whole structure might be compromised. You need to evacuate, so grab a jacket and head to the dining hall next door for a briefing.”
“A-alright,” I say, forcing myself not to get lost in his smoky brown eyes like a total creep. “You said the dining hall?”
“Yeah. Turn left and use the stairwell at that end of the building. We’ve closed the other one for safety.” The firefighter has a voice deeper than my repression, and I have to forcibly haul myself back to reality again.
Then he’s gone, off to summon more residents.
Uncertainty floods my brain as I make the quick walk over to the dining hall.
