Chapter 5
FIVE
ANNIKA
I glare at a piece of hair that refuses to brush down with the rest of my shoulder-length black hair.
Of course, my hair chooses eight a.m. on a Monday to be temperamental.
Thankfully our suite mates don’t have class until later in the day, so I can take my time getting ready.
Mine and Chloe’s dorm room share a bathroom with two other girls.
They are nice, but I rarely ever see them.
To be fair I don’t really make an effort either.
Probably because I wake up earlier than everyone else just so I can have our small bathroom all to myself.
It’s a process to look this cool and confident so no one realizes I’m second-guessing every decision I make.
I decide water is going to be the only thing that can tame this beast of a head of hair.
So I gracefully shove my hair under the faucet and fish out Chloe’s blow dryer from under the sink that her mom gave her as a graduation gift.
She rarely uses it because she says it changes her “natural wave.” The other suite mates and I use it more often than Chloe thinks about it.
Working meticulously, I tame the strand of hair that is trying to make me look like Alfalfa from The Little Rascals and flip the ends of my hair out so they land on my shoulders.
Satisfied with the result, I move on to makeup, which these days is pretty simple.
I cannot be bothered to go all out with blending eyeshadow and contour as I did in high school when all I do is sit through day-long lectures.
I dab a bit of concealer under my eyes, a few swipes of my eyebrow pencil to define the ends, and a swoosh of mascara, which I stab the wand in my eyeball at least once a week.
Before I duck out of the bathroom, I snap a few mirror selfies that I tell myself to post on my socials but probably won’t.
Tip-toeing out of the bathroom, I see Chloe is still in her bed, curled up with her comforter swirled around her like a nest. When we learned we could dorm together at UC San Diego, we squealed so loud I’m pretty sure my mom’s hearing hasn’t been the same since.
I cannot imagine going through college, let alone life, with anyone else by my side.
Chloe and I have always been there for each other.
We are both marketing majors, even though neither of us is certain what we want to do with our lives. I mean, does anyone even know what they want to do? Even if I did know what I wanted to do, how do I know I’m going to want to stick with that forever? It’s too much pressure.
If Chloe had her way, she’d probably ditch all pleasantries and become a beach bum, reading books all day, painting strangers' portraits for cash, and couch-surfing her way through life. Yet here we are, both pretending to live a life we think we are supposed to live.
I don’t dislike marketing, per se. I think it is all helpful information to learn, and if anything, I can use what I learn to be an influencer or publicist. It’s just each time I have to get ready for class, this cloud of dread looms over me.
Like my subconscious is telling me it’s not really what I’m meant to do.
My intrusive thoughts tell me to drop out, but that will never happen.
It means too much to my parents and my family that I see this through.
I graduated high school with honors. It only makes sense that I go to college and continue the good streak.
I’d be the first of my family to graduate college with a degree.
I picture the future with my parents at my graduation as I walk across the stage with my diploma.
That thought alone makes each day I climb out of bed to sit through a lecture on “Quantitative Methods of Business” worth it.
Moving on from my existential dread.
My outfit, or as I like to call it, my uniform, consists of high-waisted “boyfriend” jeans, a slouchy graphic tee, and a crew neck sweater that I tie around my shoulders.
San Diego is seemingly always above seventy-five degrees, but the professors insist on keeping their classrooms at a bone-chilling sixty-two degrees, so a sweater is a necessity.
I learned the hard way my first week of freshman year when I was giving the entire lecture hall a peep show through my tank top.
My graphic tee today is a faded dark gray *NSYNC T-shirt.
I slip on my dirty white Converse high-tops and grab my bag, chucking in a few books.
I smooch Chloe on the forehead before she pulls the covers over her face. “Bye, Chlo, don’t miss class at eleven!” I yell at her before leaving our room.
I walk past a few other students studying on the plush bean bags in the lounge as I head through the halls of our dorm.
Zura Hall isn’t anything special with its gray carpets and gray walls except for the “pop” color wall here and there.
The lounge has a tangerine orange wall with a cork board where people tack flyers and notes.
At least it’s a little more updated than the other dorm buildings, and lucky for me, it’s only three buildings down from my first class of the day.
The sun burns my eyes immediately as I walk outside, and I scramble to fish my sunglasses out of my giant tote bag.
I will never get used to how the sun in Southern California can somehow see into my soul with its brightness.
Even though I grew up a few hours from San Diego, it feels like I’m in the Mojave desert down here.
Even in the morning, the sun is out at the crack of dawn as if saying, “Good Morning Anni! It’s time to face the rest of your life!”
As I strut along one of the winding paths toward my lecture hall, I spot Isaac in the corner of my eye, walking in the same direction. Before I get the chance to swivel away so he doesn’t see me, he immediately spots me and jogs over, yelling my name and waving his hands around in the air. Crap.
Isaac’s been my neighbor growing up through childhood, so we’ve stayed friendly enough to each other.
It is nice to know someone else from our hometown here.
I can tolerate him most of the time, but he is always trying to get me to come to one of his parties.
I went to one at the start of freshman year, and it was something I’d never like to relive.
His fraternity, Delta Psi, is no doubt the party, wild boy frat.
They throw parties almost every weekend and it usually consists of music that is too loud, beer that is watered down, and frat guys trying to feel you up whenever you walk past. His frat brothers, especially the upperclassman, are a little too eager to get their hands on all the new pretty girls that show up for their parties, and unfortunately, I was one of those at that first party I attended.
Isaac is nearly out of breath after his thirty-second jog over to me. “Hey, Anni! How’s it hanging? We missed you at last weekend’s rager.”
I roll my eyes, and my gaze goes down to inspect his outfit today. He is wearing dark blue cargo shorts and a brick red shirt that reads “Don’t Worry, I Pull Out!” with a winking cartoon loveseat below it. Sick.
“Yeah, you know I haven’t shown up to one of your parties ever since Trey grabbed my ass within the first minute of walking in,” I say as I try to keep walking toward my class, hoping Isaac gets the hint that I don’t want to have a morning chit-chat.
“Well, I hope you change your mind. This weekend is my birthday, and hopefully, you can make an exception for me.”
He strokes my arm and gives me the worst display of puppy-dog eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see about that. I have a lot of studying to do, and exams are next week.”
Which isn’t a complete lie? I do have a quiz in my photography elective class. And it’s not so much of a quiz and more so we have to submit all the pictures we’ve taken in the past month. Still, I’d rather get a root canal than go to another Delta Psi party.
“If it makes you feel any better, it’s not hosted by my frat. Well, I guess, yes, it is technically at the frat house, but I’m hosting it and only inviting my closest compadres.” He finishes with a wink and finger guns.
I roll my eyes, pondering over the possibility of maybe going to another college party. It does help the smallest bit that Isaac is in charge of the guess list. Isaac’s friends are mostly guys in his major, a few other people from our high school, and Chloe and I.
“Chances are still slim, but I’ll let you know. Gotta get to class, see ya.”
He does a double-air punch as if he’s made a touchdown and waves goodbye as he saunters to the building next to my lecture hall.
The invitation lingers in my mind a bit longer as I consider actually going.
I’m not sure why, but a part of me is drawn to go to this party.
Not because it’s Isaac’s birthday. I really couldn’t care less about that.
I feel like I should be going to more parties and outings as a college student.
It’s only been a few months, but I am in the same routine of waking up, going to class, getting lunch with Chloe, doing homework, rinse, and repeat.
Occasionally Chloe and I venture out to the beach or thrift shops.
Even though I’m away at college, it feels like I’m not getting the college experience.
I haven’t even made any actual new friends since being here.
I can’t even remember the names of my suite mates I share a bathroom with.
Is it Charlotte and Abby? No, no, I think it’s Carly and Aimee. Shit, I’m the worst roommate.