That Infuriating Feeling: An Academic Rivals to Lovers Novel (Chasing Feelings Book 2)

Chapter 3

June, Monday, Move-in Day

“I’m not sure about this girl,” my father said, leaning down to speak quietly to me. “You’re here to learn, not to fraternize. You should have fun, but…” He cocked his head to encourage me to extrapolate.

He stood to my left, watching the very same roommate I was as she went on and on about how much fun she had freshman year and how excited she was for sophomore year. We’d been in the dorm room for less than ten minutes, and she’d already given a few too many details about what the inside of a frat house looks like. My mother audibly gasped when the girl was confident enough to verbalize that she hoped the freshman class would offer some new, of-age pickings.

I knew without having to think twice that Daya would have loved this roommate. I could practically hear her as she stood on my shoulder in miniature form, squeaking into my ear. “You have to go out with this chick! She seems so fun!”

I kicked my imagination aside. “Yeah, Dad, I pretty much got that down last year.”

He smiled and patted my back, looking at me with an odd mix of pity and pride. My mother caged me in from the other side as she said, “We’re so proud of you. We’ll miss you very much.”

With that, they both kissed me on the head, sent one last bewildered look toward my new roommate, and walked out the door. I stood between my two giant suitcases, watching as the roommate folded a T-shirt between her hands. She kept her eye on the door until the lock clicked and my parents’ steps disappeared down the hall.

“Now that they’re gone…” She smiled, flicking her hazel eyes to me. “Mary.” She stuck her fingers out.

“June.” I took her hand reluctantly.

Mary was pretty. The tight coils of her dark hair reached just to her shoulders. Two buns held the top half in twin sections on her crown, and she had gold sparkles smeared across her russet brown cheeks. It was 10:00 a.m. on a Monday, for fuck’s sake. Who wears sparkles at 10:00 a.m. on a Monday?

“I was going to offer you this shirt,” she said, holding the T-shirt in my direction. “It was a gift and looks horrible on me, but I don’t think it’d do you any favors either.” She looked me over and gave me an apologetic shrug, pursing her lips to let me know she wasn’t trying to be a bitch. I wasn’t sure if it was a reference to my size, complexion, or style, but I was cool with it. She didn’t dance around with pleasantries, and I actually appreciated that.

“No worries,” I said. “I usually keep a bag of unwanted clothes and donate them every time it gets full. We can start one.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet!” She jumped toward me and threw her arms around my shoulders as if we’d known each other for years. Just like Alana used to do. I closed my eyes and stood rigid as she finished out her one-sided embrace. Finally, she pulled away. “So, besides being a good girl and donating to charity, do you do anything else? Will you party with me this year?”

“I don’t know. I’m a bit quieter.” A complete and utter lie. I was rambunctious growing up. A star student, too. Alana and I used to torment the dickhead football players by setting off stink bombs in their locker room or hiding their sneakers whenever one of them bullied a kid in the lunch hall. The principal never suspected us since we were awfully good at getting straight A’s and sticking on sweet smiles. So, really, I used to be as outgoing as they come. But it had been a long time since I’d fraternized, as my father put it.

“Quiet girls can have fun too, you know.” Mary tilted her head down and looked at me through her lashes before turning back to her things.

I didn’t answer as I mirrored her actions, placing my suitcases down in front of my identical armoire and unpacking clothes just as she was.

We made menial small talk as we spent the next hour shifting our things around. Mary strung a line of pictures over her bed while I placed a singular family photo on my desk. She slipped pink tie-dye sheets onto her mattress while I placed a more comfortable topper over mine and covered it with navy blue linens. Navy blue so they wouldn’t appear too dirty when I accidentally left them too long, as Daya had suggested freshman year. When we finished, my side of the room looked downright depressing in comparison. Though technically, I’d be looking at her side as I sat on mine, and vice versa, so perhaps the burden was hers.

By the afternoon, she informed me she was off to some boy toy’s place. On day one. A gathering, she assured me, that I should most definitely accompany her to. I denied her pity invitation and made comfortable atop my bed, sitting crisscrossed with my laptop in front of me as if I were going to use it.

“Are you positive?” she asked before slipping out the door.

I nodded.

“I go out a lot,” she said. “You’ll always be sitting here alone if you don’t come along or find other things to do.”

“Don’t worry. I have a video chat with some friends.”

Mary shrugged as she turned out of the room and let the heavy door fall shut behind her.

I was alone, just as she said I’d be. I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I couldn’t tell if it was worse to sit here by myself with absolutely no incoming calls from absolutely no friends, or to put in the strenuous effort of pretending to be okay on this, yet another day of firsts, without Alana.

I wished I had my box. Mary seemed nice enough. She probably wouldn’t have tried to steal it.

“Then again, if she’s the type to have boy toys, one of them might. Or maybe there’ll be a robbery. Or maybe we’ll get hazed and groups of bullies will raid our closets,” I said aloud. “No. Better the box stay at Daya’s. So long as no one breaks in and steals her safe…”

◆◆◆

The next day, I found myself out and about around campus, watching the masses of people as I strolled across the quad. Winding, concrete paths spread through the beautiful green space which was dotted with happy students and sounds of friendship.

I ignored the general cheer and continued on my way to my first class. History, thankfully. I entered the lecture hall and chose a seat, not too far back nor too far toward the front. Not that I wasn’t confident in my intelligence, but I had to scope out the competition.

Beside me sat a burly boy. Man? He might’ve been twelve feet tall, if I had to make a rational guess. His thick, brown beard had me questioning if he was a sophomore like me or some kind of super senior. He hunched into his red flannel, scratching away at the notebook in front of him, a few strands of hair dangling over his tan face from where they’d fallen from his pushed-back hairstyle.

“Never seen a beard before?” he asked without so much as turning his head away from his notebook.

My mouth dropped open as my curiosity about the man was quashed and replaced entirely with offense. I scoffed. “Rude.”

“You’re staring,” he said plainly, pushing today’s date into the top corner of the page with his pencil.

Sorry for having fucking eyes. I humphed into my seat, ignoring the impertinent man to my right and turning my attention to the front of the room. He seemed like an asshole anyway.

There was a man with a thick, black mop of hair sitting on the desk at the front of the lecture hall, his eyes smiling through his wire-rimmed glasses. Another man with sand-colored hair stood just in front of him, drinking from a paper coffee cup. I focused in on the pair.

“Mr. Hatzakis, that desk is not for sitting, it’s for working,” said the one holding the coffee.

“Among other things,” I thought I heard the one with the black hair, Mr. Hatzakis, say.

I’d seen Mr. Hatzakis around campus once or twice. He might’ve been some type of advisor. I could only assume that meant the other man was Finn Brown, our history professor, according to the syllabus posted to our online board.

“You’re making me look uncool in front of my students,” Mr. Brown (I think) said, laughing as he urged Mr. Hatzakis off his desk.

“I don’t need to do anything,” Mr. Hatzakis answered with a smile. “Your too-short corduroys do it for me.” He sauntered toward the door of the lecture hall, followed by a pink eraser that Mr. Brown flung at him.

I giggled to myself, and the rude man beside me turned to look at me, one eyebrow lifted. My smile immediately fell. I gave him a flat look.

The two faculty members had a playful friendship, it seemed, and I enjoyed watching it play out, though it made my burnt, blackened innards cave in. My chest had once been filled with a similar glow, but it fizzled to a crisp three years ago.

I wanted to throw erasers and tease and giggle, but there was no point. My body and brain were no longer capable as they were constantly working to keep my heart pumping enough for me to survive, let alone enjoy.

It turned out the one with the coffee cup and the too-short corduroys was indeed Mr. Brown, and he moved straight into the curriculum after a few formal introductions, posing a question to the class. “As many of you know from the syllabus I posted—which I know you all read—we’re starting with the Renaissance. We’ll be learning all the dates and details of the significant events that occurred during the time. Before we get into that, can someone kick us off by telling me why the Renaissance was significant?”

The bearded jerk beside me raised his hand.

“This should be good,” I mumbled to the air.

He side-eyed me at that, flexing his jaw with that damn string of hair still falling in front of his nose. I don’t know why the dangly hair pissed me off so much. I just think hair strands should be reserved for hot people, like Superman’s curl, for example. And this man was not—ugh. Never mind.

“You, in the red. What’s your name?” Mr. Brown asked.

“Oliver Awad, sir,” he said formally, sitting straight in his chair with his hands folded neatly on the desk. Sir. I could’ve laughed aloud. What a dickhole.

“Oliver, nice to meet you. What are your thoughts?”

“The Renaissance was significant because it was a time of enlightenment in Europe. Artists and scholars rediscovered ancient works which brought an entirely new wave of culture to the continent.”

Our professor nodded. “Good, okay. Does anyone have any other opinions?”

It was the most basic, textbook answer I’d ever heard in my life. I had to rebut. My hand shot up as I murmured to myself, “Dickish and closed-minded.”

Oliverwidened his eyes at me in the corner of my vision, sticking out a hand in question. “I’m right here,” he said as if I hadn’t known that.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” I snapped.

Oliver’s face slackened into disbelief.

Mr. Brown’s eyes lingered on me when he saw my raised hand, filling with amusement as his smile stretched wide. Uhm…creepy? He held out a finger and pointed it right at me (rude) before turning back to his desk and picking up a sheet of paper. He scanned it and looked at me once more. “Miss Juni! Juni Sharma!”

Ah. My reputation precedes me.

Perhaps he’d seen me walking around outside talking aloud to myself. Or maybe he’d caught a glimpse of me bawling my eyes out on the campus steps.

“My name is June,” I said as kindly as I could. I didn’t really have a problem with the name Juni, but I did have a problem with being spoken to like I was being reprimanded, and my full name seemed to provoke that feeling in me.

“Of course.” He slapped a hand to his forehead. “My apologies, June. Daya and I used to be like this.” He held up his hand and crossed his middle finger over his pointer, implying he and my sister were tight, as the cool kids say.

Huh. Now that he mentioned it, I did remember Daya having a roommate named Finn during her last year of college, though I was only twelve at the time. I was pretty sure the two of them still met for dinners every once in a while with the old house crew. Weird that I hadn’t connected the dots until now, but it was pretty sick that it made me an immediate favorite. I had to strike while the iron was hot. This was my chance to get special treatment all year.

“So great to meet you, Funky F—”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Mr. Brown chuckled and wagged a finger at me. Funky Finn was the campus DJ and a well-known noise maker, according to an old photo on Daya’s Facebook. “Very funny. I like you. Now, please do answer before my dark past is revealed.”

I smiled at my professor before turning to face Oliver, ensuring I could stare him in the eye while I ripped apart his surface-level claim. Oliver reared his head back, looking me over from head to toe, his eyebrows caving slightly in the middle.

My face melted into a stink. Did he just openly fucking look me over?

Ugh. Men.

I grabbed my notebook off the desk and hugged it into myself, covering the sliver of stomach between my ripped jeans and my red tank top. He rolled his eyes then, leaning an elbow on the desk and sinking his forehead into his fingers as if he were already exhausted with me.

Good. So we were on the same page. We hated each other.

“I don’t think it was that significant,” I said. “Not at the time. Not for the grand majority. The Renaissance only affected a very small percentage of the population, the wealthy, but we hardly ever talk about that.” I lifted my eyebrows at Oliver, giving him the chance to say something stupid in response.

“Is this like…?” Oliver looked at Mr. Brown and then at me. “Are you trying to debate? Because I’ll debate.” He said that like debating was his favorite thing in the world. Unsurprising, for someone so obviously unlikable.

I glanced over to find Mr. Brown holding up both hands in surrender, offering us the floor. Oliver turned in his seat to face me, crossing one giant leg over the other. Sigh. He even sat like a dick. And what the hell was that on his black T-shirt inside his open flannel? I couldn’t decipher if those were letters printed on the cotton or a fucking spider web.

“If the Renaissance wasn’t significant, why are we still talking about it?” He shrugged as if it were completely obvious.

“I don’t know. If it’s 90 degrees out, why are you wearing a flannel?”

He cocked an eyebrow at me, apparently unaware of the answer. Not a problem. I could elaborate.

“Because people are stupid.”

Oliver’s hand dropped to the desk defeatedly. He glanced at our professor. Thankfully for me, our professor did not chew me out for being rude, but instead shrugged, wearing a snippy little smile.

“Art created by the elite can still cause a shift for the majority,” Oliver argued, returning his attention to me.

“Right. Like Hollywood movies today created by a small elite can have a cultural impact on us. I agree that it can happen. My point is it wasn’t happening then.”

“Just because a historical event didn’t affect everybody, doesn’t mean it wasn’t significant. It drove change.”

“The Renaissance wasn’t one event that drove change. It was a string of events, discoveries, and creations that happened over centuries. Or, as one might put it, the natural progression of art and culture.”

He flicked a dismissive hand in my direction. “It was more than that. They rediscovered information they didn’t have access to before, and that did change everything.”

“Yes, and I learned where this lecture hall is this morning, something I didn’t know yesterday, and now I know where to go to argue with my rude classmates. Would you say that this personal Renaissance of mine is significant?”

“No.” He brushed the loose chunk of hair back with a large hand. Fucking finally. “I would say that’s simply learning a new piece of information you didn’t have before and using it to go about your day differently from here on out.”

I propped my elbow on the desk and sank my chin into the heel of my hand, smiling. “Exactly. Natural progression.”

“The Renaissance was not a lecture hall, Miss Juni.”

“Nor was it as significant as you think, sir.”

“All right!” Mr. Brown interjected happily. “Thank you both. That is exactly what I’m looking for. I want us to remember that some questions don’t have correct answers. Some questions are thought-provoking, a way for us to form opinions. For example, June and Oliver’s entire debate could’ve been completely derailed if I simply asked: What does the word significant mean to you? But I won’t do that.” He grinned our way, and I thanked the heavens he moved on instead of sending us back into conversation.

The class continued with a PowerPoint presentation and ended promptly at 10:45. As everyone filed out of the lecture hall, I took two quick steps forward to bug my new enemy some more. Making friends wasn’t exactly my strength, but I considered being right a hobby. So, for the sake of proving my point, I could converse.

“Did I convince you, then?” I asked as we shuffled onto the cement walkway leading through the quad. He was even larger than I’d imagined standing up. His strides doubled mine easily, and I was above average height.

He shook his head. “No. Your opinion is incorrect.” His tone of voice warned me that he really wasn’t in the mood to continue the conversation. Good.

“Opinions can’t be correct or incorrect. They’re innately subjective, sir.”

“Whatever, whiz kid. Then your statements were incorrect.”

I practically tripped over my own feet at that. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

He didn’t answer, only stared ahead as he continued to walk, somehow not sweating his ass off under the blazing sun even though he was wearing that freaking flannel.

“And why do my statements even matter to you?” I asked, realizing I wasn’t going to get an answer. I almost felt silly with the way I was skipping along to keep up, clutching my books as my bag bounced against my hip.

“They don’t, Juni.” He picked up the pace.

“My name is June.” I stopped in my tracks as he advanced too swiftly for me to catch him.

“That’s not significant to me,” he said over his shoulder.

Dick.