3 first day, worse news
I wake up before my alarm, which feels illegal considering how long it took me to fall asleep, and for a second I just lie there staring at the ceiling, letting the unfamiliar quiet settle around me before I remember exactly where I am and why my life has already decided to be complicated on day one.
There's a soft rustling from across the room, and when I turn my head slightly, I see Jackson half-hanging off his bed, one arm dangling toward the floor like gravity personally betrayed him, his phone still in his hand, screen dark.
Of course.
I push myself up carefully, trying not to make noise even though I don't know why I care, and grab my clothes, slipping into the bathroom down the hall before the morning chaos really starts.
By the time I'm back, dressed and somewhat resembling a functioning human being, Jackson is awake, sitting on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair like he's trying to piece himself back together.
"Morning," he says, voice rough with sleep.
"Barely," I reply, grabbing my bag.
He watches me for a second, then nods toward my desk. "You organized your entire life in one night."
I glance at the neatly stacked books and aligned pens, then back at him. "It's called coping."
He huffs a quiet laugh. "Right."
I sling my bag over my shoulder, pausing for a second. "I'm going to classes. And then I'm going back to the housing office."
"Yeah," he says, like he already knows that part. "Tell them they're ruining your life."
"I don't need to tell them. They already know."
That gets a real laugh out of him, and I shake my head slightly as I head for the door, because if I stay any longer, I'll be late, and I refuse to start my first day like that.
The campus looks different in the morning, busier, louder, filled with people moving with purpose like they've already figured everything out, which is wildly unrealistic and slightly offensive.
I follow the map on my phone to my first class, slipping into a seat near the middle, not too noticeable but not invisible either, which feels like the safest option.
Intro to Psychology.
At least I'm starting with something familiar.
I pull out my notebook, smoothing the page flat, and for a second, everything feels almost normal, like I'm just another student sitting in another classroom, like I didn't spend the night in a situation that makes absolutely no sense.
"Is this seat taken?"
I look up, and for a second I forget how to speak, because the girl standing next to me looks like she walked straight out of a summer ad, warm skin, dark curls catching the light, a smile that feels easy in a way mine never has.
"No," I say quickly, shifting my bag. "Go ahead."
"Thanks," she says, sliding into the seat, setting her iced coffee on the desk like it's an essential part of her personality.
"I'm Nola."
"Everly."
She glances at my notebook, then back at me. "Psych major?"
"Yeah."
"Same," she says, like that's the best possible outcome, like we just accidentally aligned our lives in the first five seconds of knowing each other.
I let out a small breath, something loosening in my chest. "That's actually really convenient."
"Right?" she grins. "We can suffer together."
"Perfect," I say. "Exactly what I was hoping for."
She laughs, and it's light, effortless, the kind that makes it impossible not to smile back, and just like that, the edge of the morning softens a little.
The class starts, and I focus, writing down notes, letting myself fall into the rhythm of it, the structure, the predictability, the way everything makes sense when it's written out in neat bullet points and clear definitions.
This is my thing.
This I can handle.
Between classes, Nola sticks with me like it's already decided, walking beside me, talking about professors, schedules, random things that don't matter but somehow make everything feel easier.
"So where are you staying?" she asks as we step outside, sunlight hitting her hair in a way that feels unfair.
I hesitate for half a second.
"Uh," I say, adjusting my bag. "Hawthorne."
She stops walking.
"Hawthorne?" she repeats.
"Yeah."
"That's a male dorm."
I close my eyes briefly. "I'm aware."
Her expression shifts from confusion to something dangerously close to amusement. "Wait. Are you serious?"
"I wish I wasn't."
She laughs, actually laughs, like this is the best story she's heard all week, and I can't even be mad because, objectively, it is kind of ridiculous.
"Oh my god," she says, shaking her head. "Please tell me you have a normal roommate at least."
I let out a breath. "Define normal."
Her eyes light up. "You don't."
"He's... fine," I admit, which feels like the safest answer. "We're trying to get it fixed."
"Trying," she echoes, still smiling. "Okay. I need updates on this immediately."
"Of course you do."
"Obviously."
By the time my last class ends, I'm tired in that specific way that only comes from too much information and too many new faces, but it's not bad, not overwhelming in the way I expected, and a lot of that has to do with the fact that Nola somehow made the entire day feel less like a test I was failing and more like something I might actually figure out.
Still, as I walk toward the administrative building again, the weight of reality settles back in.
This isn't fixed.
It's not even close.
The office is just as crowded as yesterday, and I wait longer this time, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as I rehearse what I'm going to say, how I'm going to say it, how I'm going to make them understand that this is not sustainable.
When I finally reach the desk, it's the same woman from yesterday, and she recognizes me immediately, which is either reassuring or deeply concerning.
"Back again," she says, not unkindly.
"Yeah," I reply, forcing a tight smile. "Still in a male dorm."
She exhales softly, like she's been expecting this conversation, and gestures for me to step a little closer. "I looked into your file more thoroughly after you left."
Something in her tone makes my stomach drop.
"And?" I ask.
She turns the monitor slightly, though I can't really see much, just lines of text and my name at the top. "It looks like there was a mix-up in the system."
"A mix-up," I repeat.
"Yes," she says carefully. "Your profile was accidentally merged with another student during housing assignments."
I frown. "Another student?"
She nods. "Logan Coleman."
The name hits instantly, familiar in a way that tightens something in my chest.
"My brother," I say flatly.
She gives a small, apologetic nod. "Yes. It seems his housing designation-male dormitory-was applied to your assignment instead."
Of course it was.
I let out a short laugh that doesn't hold any humor. "So I'm in a male dorm because of my brother?"
"I'm afraid so."
I press my lips together, my mind already flashing to Logan, to the way he would absolutely find this hilarious if he knew, to the inevitable told you college would be a mess comment he'd throw at me without hesitation.
"Is he even here?" I ask.
"No," she says. "Different campus."
"Even better," I mutter.
She shifts slightly, clearly choosing her next words carefully. "We are working to correct the error in the system, but physically relocating students is a separate process, and at this time-"
"There's nowhere to move me," I finish for her.
She nods, relieved I said it first. "At least not immediately."
I run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up again, sharper now that I actually know why this is happening, because it's not random, it's not bad luck, it's a clerical error tied to someone who has been complicating my life in small, consistent ways for years.
"Okay," I say slowly. "So what am I supposed to do?"
"For now," she says gently, "remain in your assigned room until an opening becomes available. We'll prioritize your case."
"For how long?" I press.
She hesitates.
Which is all the answer I need.
"Right," I say, letting out a breath. "Of course."
She gives me a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Everly. I know this isn't ideal."
"That's one way to put it."
I don't trust myself to say anything else, so I turn and walk out before the frustration spills over into something worse, pushing through the doors and into the late afternoon air.
So this is Logan's fault.
Somehow, that makes it both more ridiculous and more real.
I pull my phone out for a second, hovering over his name, already imagining the conversation, the way he'd laugh first and apologize second, if at all, and I shake my head, shoving it back into my pocket.
Not right now.
If I call him, I'll either yell or hang up, and neither of those are productive.
By the time I make it back to Hawthorne, the initial shock has settled into something heavier, something more permanent, and I push through the doors, heading up to the third floor like it's already routine.
Room 312.
I pause for a second outside the door, then step inside.
Jackson looks up from his bed, one eyebrow lifting slightly. "Well?"
I drop my bag onto the chair, exhaling slowly. "We're screwed."
He studies my face for a second, then sits up straighter. "That bad?"
"It's worse," I say, running a hand through my hair. "They mixed my file with my brother's. That's why I'm in a male dorm."
He blinks. "Your brother?"
"Logan," I say, a hint of disbelief still in my voice. "Apparently his entire existence decided to ruin mine from a different campus."
Jackson lets out a quiet laugh. "That's actually kind of impressive."
"It's actually kind of infuriating."
"Yeah, that too."
I drop onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. "They said there's nothing they can do. Not right now. Maybe not this semester."
There's a pause.
Then, "Okay."
I turn my head, narrowing my eyes slightly. "Okay?"
"What do you want me to say?" he asks. "It sucks. But we'll deal with it."
I let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "You're way too calm about this."
"I'm choosing not to panic," he says. "There's a difference."
I watch him for a second, then shake my head slightly, because I don't fully understand it, but I also don't hate it.
Still, I roll onto my side, pulling my bag closer as I start unpacking the rest of my things, because if this is really happening, if this is really my reality for the next few months, then I need to figure out how to exist in it.
And as much as I don't want to admit it-
At least now I know exactly who to blame.