“Good morning, Ms. Russell. Glad to have you back this week,” my forensic psychology professor, Dr. Daly, greets me.
“Thank you, please let me know the best way to make up what I missed last week.”
He nods genially, but I get the sense that he’s annoyed by my request. “I’ll email over the slide deck, but I would suggest schmoozing one of your classmates into giving you a copy of their notes. Our first assignment is due on Friday, and the first of eight application based assessments will be next week.”
Lovely. Jumping right in, I see.
I’ve spent so much time with Ben lately that I didn’t have the opportunity to comb through each syllabus or skim my textbooks before the semester started, like I usually do. With this grant on the line, I really need to get my shit together so I don’t have to go back to working at the coffee shop.
“I will be sure to catch up immediately, Dr. Daly. Thank you for sending those slides over.” I turn to face the classroom. It’s a much smaller group of students now that we’ve split into our respective cohorts. In a shock to no one, I haven’t spent much time making friends with my classmates, but right now I need someone’s notes.
I decide on a beautiful Black woman with vibrant purple braids who I’ve definitely been in classes with before but I’venever said a word to. For some reason, Ben’s voice pops into my head with,“You can do this, Red. You aren’t as offputting as you think.” I can imagine the wink that would accompany this encouragement.
Walking over, I rehearse the introduction in my head.Hi, I’m Colette. We’ve been in classes together before. Will you remind me of your name?
Sliding into the seat next to her, I say, “Hi, Colette!”
Shit. Fuck. No.
“Sorry,” I laugh and, thank God, she laughs with me. I think. “I mean, hi, I’m Colette. Or Cole. What’s your name? I know we’ve been in class together so I apologize if we’ve met before.”
I can feel the flush creeping up my neck which is one of the main reasons I avoid social interactions. My constantly color-changing skin is a neon sign above my head that says, SHE’S UNCOMFORTABLE!
“Hey, Cole, I’m Sahara.” She laughs again. “And don’t worry, I definitely did not remember your name either so thanks for introducing yourself. Those things are always awkward.” She leans in conspiratorially. “Like, we’re all supposed to just know each other? They don’t do get-to-know-you games on the first day of grad school.”
I get a vision of all of us standing in a circle, passing a ball around so I can hear Joe Schmo tell me his fun fact is that he went fly fishing in Alaska this summer. Gross.
“Thank God we don’t have to do that. I think that would cause me to drop out of grad school completely.”
“Hell, me too,” Sahara adds, toothy grin on full display. “Well, to get it out of the way, my name is Sahara—you already knew that—I’m twenty-five from Pittsburgh. I did my undergrad at Penn State, and I’m a dog person. I think those are the highlights.”
“Cole, thirty… from here, actually. I did my undergrad at Stanford and stayed out in California as an engineer for a few years before deciding to completely upend my life and start grad school. I’m also a dog person, you can come meet my rescue sometime.”
“Oh my God, you have a dog?” Sahara squeals.
“Yes, his name is Ernest and he’s only got three legs. He’s the only man I like.” Which used to be true but feels more and more like a lie. “I’ll let you meet him, but can I ask a favor in return?”
“Anything. I need some puppy snuggles to lower my cortisol levels.”
“Can I borrow your notes from last week? I was out sick and now I feel like I’ll never be able to catch up.”
“Easiest yes of my life.” She grins. “So is Ernest the only man in your life? Or woman, or person.”
The blush is back.
“Oh my God,” Sahara continues. “He’s not! Is it someone in our program?” She looks around the classroom as if she’s trying to test her investigative skills.
“No! Stop looking! No, it’s…” It’s what? Dr. Daly starts projecting his slide deck, saving me from having to continue. “Complicated,” I finish.
Sahara opens up her laptop, looking at me sideways. “Meeting Ernest, and a girls night. Those are my terms.”
And that’s how I end up making another friend.
Thea, Sahara, and I are in the middle of a rousing game of Yahtzee when the front door to my apartment opens.
“Red, why is your door unlocked? Anyone could walk in, it’s dangerous! Don’t they teach you that in—oh. Hi, ladies!”
Benoit Bardot is back to being the bane of my existence.
