I straightened my J. Crew white button-down shirt, knowing my choice of clothes stood out in San Diego. It may have seemed like I missed the memo about board shorts, flip-flops, and Hurley T-shirts, but after a harrowing time in high school, Ivowed not to go through the teasing about my ripped jeans (not the cool kind) and discount-store tennis shoes again.
My dressier clothes were thrifted, but they reflected how I wanted to present myself and the career I hoped to pursue after graduating.
Back then, when the kids weren’t making fun of my clothes, they were making fun of my name and accent. Being a Turkish American was something my family and I were proud of. I loved and appreciated my culture, but my strong accent made me stand out, so I worked hard to drop it.
“Wouldn’t be your wedding,dude,” I answered, drawing out the last word. “No girl would want to marry someone who smelled like Doritos and feet.” Marvin’s smile melted off his face as I stepped into the hallway of our dorm.
I checked my school email for an answer from Professor Logan about my project partner in his Formulation Science class. When I sawhername in his reply to me, my heart literally stuttered.
Rubbing my chest, I watched a group of surfers pass me by, hair still wet and full of sand, nearly taking me out with their boards.
I was counting down the days to summer break so I could get back out there myself. I may not have dressed like them, but I loved the ocean as much as the locals. Having taught myself to surf years ago, it had become a passion second only to science.
My family moved from Istanbul to San Diego when I was six. Looking back now, I was grateful that my parents knew basic English and had taught it to me as I grew up. Money was an ongoing issue, but we were able to live with my grandparents and enjoy free activities like going to the beach on the weekends when my father didn’t work.
His experience and education as an engineer in Turkey didn’t translate into the California workforce, so he was forced to takejobs in whatever sector had an opening. He worked everything from landscaping to data entry positions to make ends meet. It was challenging, but he still believed it to be the best move for our family.
“Hey, Nick,” a blonde girl who looked like a model in her too-tight shirt and cutoff shorts cooed, pulling me out of memories. I didn’t know her name, but she seemed to find me every time I walked into the science building.
I nodded, my usual greeting. Talking to people I didn’t know wasn’t my strong suit. In fact, it made me itchy all over just thinking about it. The whispered words about me being rude and standoffish made me angry at times. I didn’t mean to be either of those things, but after my experience in high school, I kept my guard up, especially after my diagnosis at fourteen. I couldn’t help my shy nature and longed for people to just accept me.
The truth was that I was exhausted most days. If my social awkwardness wasn’t enough of an issue, my long school and work days left me with no energy to even try to be social.
Just before I started college, my father was offered a better-paying job in San Francisco, and he took it. But it meant I was responsible for paying for my dorm and food. I’d found a job as an overnight stockroom and inventory clerk at a big box store. Their pay was decent, but most semesters, I had to take on other odd jobs to make up the difference until I could find something in my field.
Taking my usual place in class, I unpacked my bag and got to work, ignoring the inane conversations around me. My notebooks were lined up carefully on my desk, as were my textbook and planner. Being prepared kept my anxiety at bay.
“Hey, Nick, think you can put in a good word for me with Logan? I’m going to ask him for more time with my paper that’s due this week,” a guy whose name I never could remember asked.
“Why would he listen to me?” I asked, confused by his question.
He huffed and threw up his hands. “Ah, maybe because you’re his favorite. I have an opportunity to go to Baja tomorrow. Not missing out on that.”
I was always baffled why students didn’t take their classes seriously. I’d love to take off a few days from school, too, but I had my priorities.
“I doubt he would listen to me,” I answered, turning away from him, effectively ending our conversation. I heard him grumbling to someone next to him, but I ignored them.
I dreamed as a young boy of being a professional surfer, but I always knew science would be my life. Pursuing a career in it was a given for me because I loved it so much. I couldn’t see myself doing anything else. Taking specific classes that would lead to a career specializing in health and beauty came about naturally, watching my mother struggle with eczema all her life.
After a while, I did make a few friends who invited me into their study group. Luckily, they were decent to be around and helped me practice some of my social skills. But even though I’d gotten close to one of them, a fellow science major named Mike Walker, I couldn’t help wondering whether the others were only being friendly because they needed my help and I had the highest GPA in our program.
Actually, I tied that score with one other person.
Leyla Cooper. The ‘her’ from Professor Logan’s email, my new lab partner. It was evident from day one of the advanced chemistry that she loved science as much as I did.
But it was her natural beauty that made me nervous. I’d see her from time to time in the library, but when she smiled at me, you would have thought I was injected with novocaine. My tongue would go numb, my mouth would dry up, and all I could do was nod.
So I relished our time in class as we became friendly rivals because she was as beautiful as she was smart. Leyla was absolute perfection.
We were both on track to graduate with a Bachelor of Science, both vying for the highest GPA. This was our junior year, and we were tied at 4.0.
I looked around at everyone, heads down, phones in hand. I never really understood the ramblings of those my age. Conversations about TV shows that bored me or video games that I beat so easily that I just stopped playing.
My mind worked differently, and I’d accepted that a long time ago. I was self-aware enough to know I needed to stop trying to fit in by changing my name and wearing certain clothes, but I was still a work in progress.
Checking my watch, I angled my body toward the door, knowing Leyla would be walking in any minute. I picked up my textbook so I didn’t look so conspicuous, nearly knocking down everything else on my desk.
Getting myself back in order, a smile grew just thinking about seeing her. She was the sun bursting from the clouds after a rainstorm. Her green eyes shone like gems when she was truly happy or excited. And Leyla Cooper wasalwayshappy or excited.
