The words stick in my throat and I have to turn a sob into a cough. It’s too soon for jokes.
‘God, Mia, I’m sorry. That’s shit. What a wanker.’
And then a miracle occurs. Oliver puts his arms around my shoulders and pulls me close. I hear him breathe in, his face pressed against my hair, and when he exhales, long, loose strands blow behind me and my whole body shivers.
‘Don’t worry about it. He’s brutal, a bully really. Everyone knows it. He loves taking people down, especially the clever ones.’
Eleven days. Eleven days have passed since our first hang-out at The Snug and I’ve tried my best to look cute, be funny and learn literally everything there is to know about every malesinger-songwriter, from Bob Dylan to Sombr. The one thing that finally pushes Oliver to make a physical move? My getting a shitty grade on a paper.
‘You can’t let him get to you.’ He pulls away and lifts my chin with one finger. My lips are parted, my eyes hazy. ‘Quinn does not deserve this much emotional space in here.’
He taps my temple lightly with the pad of his forefinger and I have to press a hand against the wall to stay upright.
‘Did he tell you what you’re studying next?’
‘Bleak House,’ I murmur and when he moves his finger away from my face, I miss his touch immediately.
The groan that echoes off the corridor does not fill me with confidence.
‘I know there’s a clue in the title, but does it have to be so bloody depressing?’ He gags and rolls his eyes skyward. ‘It’s easy though. All you have to do is bang on about metaphors. The lawsuit is a metaphor for society, caged birds, endless fog, it’s all metaphors. That was my entire essay.’
‘And you passed, right?’
‘Can’t remember.’ He shrugs like he could care less. ‘Don’t worry about Quinn. Everyone knows he downgrades your first essay to scare you into working hard the rest of the year.’
He does? I cling to his statement like a life raft.
‘Tell you what, I’ll be done in an hour. Meet me at The Snug for a coffee? The best cure for a shit grade is a double chocolate chip muffin.’
I’ve never known anyone so easy-going before and it’s intoxicating. This is what I want, this unbothered attitude, but my mom says I was born with a frown on my face and I fear I am destined to stay that way. Coffee at The Snug might sound like the thingI need to pull me out of a Dr Quinn-sponsored spiral only it isn’t, not really. It’s what I want, not what I need. What I need is to go back to my room and start readingBleak House. Only it’s tricky, finding the balance between the life I’ve always had and the life I always wanted. The whole point of coming to Hemden was to change things and now all my dreams are standing right in front of me, what am I supposed to say? Thanks, but no thanks, I’d rather read alone in my room?
‘Earth to Mia?’ Oliver cocks his head to one side. When he speaks, the iron bands that fastened themselves around my chest loosen a little and I can almost breathe normally again. ‘Will I see you in The Snug?’
‘You will see me in The Snug,’ I confirm on an exhale. ‘Enjoy wartime poetry.’
‘Ours is not to reason why,’ he calls as he strolls away. ‘Ours is but to try to stay awake for the next sixty minutes.’
Is it the sexiest line of poetry ever recited? No. But who doesn’t love a man who can quote Tennyson like that? Or misquote Tennyson at least. Still one thousand times more impressive than the guy I dated junior year of high school who copied a Rupi Kaur poem into my Valentine’s card after seeing it on a plaque in Home Goods.
Taking myDavid Copperfieldpaper out of my bag, I fold it in half and stick it between the pages of my notebook. Staring at a mediocre grade isn’t going to change the past and right now I’m way more interested in the future.
17
Ethan
So far, aside from the training centre, my favourite place on campus is the library. There’s something I never thought I’d say. As I leave, raising a hand to wave at the guy on the front desk, I look up at the painted domed ceiling and take it in. There’s something wild about studying in a building that’s been here for hundreds of years. We don’t have many places back home with that kind of history. I used to think Biltmore House in Asheville was ancient before I came here, and it was built at the end of the 1800s. Hemden had been churning out students for eight centuries by that time. My brain can barely process the numbers.
Early fall in the UK is a lot like early fall in South Carolina. I don’t know what I expected but the weather is perfect. Crisp and cool, the leaves are turning gold and floating down from the trees, the whole fall vibe. When I manage to forget what brought me to Hemden in the first place, I think I might love it here. I only wish I could forget permanently, pull out one of those memory erasers fromMen in BlackorEternal Sunshine. That’s something else I’ve been doing, studying up on classic films. We can’t stream for shit in the halls, but I got a deal on a Blu-ray player when I went shopping for a new laptop and now I’ve developed a pretty intense two-movie-a-day habit. It’s not cheap and the bookcase in my room is already almost full, but it’s better than any other addiction I can think of.
It’s almost lunchtime when I leave the library, striding across campus in the direction of my other favourite spot, The Snug. Not exactly a scene but they have a fire nitro cold brew and ginger chocolate chip cookies, and I would sell my own grandmother for one of their sandwiches. I don’t even think she’d be mad at it. Everyone on the planet needs to have a caprese panini from The Snug before they leave this planet. Pretty sure they could inspire world peace if we got them into the right hands.
Sticking to my dad’s rules – study hard, practise harder, avoid the bars and keep out of trouble – hasn’t been as difficult as I’d hoped it might be. Mostly because I don’t even know how I would get into trouble around here, the whole campus is just so fucking quaint. After two failed efforts, dating is not on my to-do list and I’d rather eat my own intestines than piss off Clive by showing up to practice hungover again. And I’m genuinely enjoying my classes. As in already-looking-into-post-grad-courses enjoying them. Psychology is fascinating and shockingly, I’m good at it. No one is more surprised than me.
Hot air from the radiators warms my cold cheeks as I walk in and head straight to the counter. Backpack on my shoulder, I dig my hands deep into my pockets and pretend to consider today’s menu.
‘Before you start, it would be medically irresponsible of me to sell you any more coffee today,’ Declan, the chemistry major and my favourite barista, states. ‘There is a limit to how much caffeine the body can handle.’
‘No way, man,’ I protest. ‘Look at me, I’m a specimen, this body metabolizes coffee like oxygen.’
