Chapter 5
5
MADDIE
I t’s pathetic to admit, but I made zero friends during my freshman year of college.
I started at Brumehill as a Business major. That was always my plan. Or the plan for me, at least.
My parents are founding partners at a consulting firm. They always wanted to pass the business on to one of their children. Once it was clear that Lane’s heart was set on going pro in hockey, it was obvious that he wasn’t going to put in the work getting an MBA like he’d need to take over.
So, my parents pinned their hopes on me.
Don’t get me wrong. They didn’t force me into it. They didn’t even pressure me. It was just clear that that’s what they wanted from me, and I internalized that fact and went along with it like a raft floating down a stream.
Declaring a business major at Brumehill, loading my schedule up with business classes, and only joining extracurricular activities that would look good on a future MBA application—I never imagined doing anything else.
And I never imagined how miserable I would be at college once I was in the thick of it.
I didn’t like my classes. I didn’t feel like I had anything in common with my classmates. It didn’t help that I didn’t get along with my roommate, either.
For most of last year, I was depressed. Really depressed. The only bright spots were when I would hang out with Lane and Rhys. But that fact just made me more depressed, because I should be making new friends and having new experiences at college, not just clinging to my brother and his friend like I did growing up.
I kept my depression to myself for a long time. It was just growing pains, I would tell myself, adjustment to moving away from home and being on my own for the first time.
Obviously, that wasn’t a smart or healthy strategy for dealing with things.
As my first year of college drew to a close, the thought of three more years of doing the same thing, and then spending even more time getting an MBA, made me want to cry.
Rhys was the first person I talked to about it.
For a long time, he just let me vent. He let me get my feelings out to a sympathetic ear. He was the person I needed to hear me put into words the emotions that had been swirling inside me for months.
Then, he said something so simple.
“You should study art instead. It’s what you love. Your parents will understand. And Lane and I will support you even if they don’t.”
Sometimes, when you’re so deep in the storm of your own emotions, the simplest solutions don’t even occur to you. Your feelings and worries are like layers of clouds blocking out the rays of the sun.
But at Rhys’s words, those clouds cleared up, and it was like warm rays were shining on me for the first time in a long, long time.
Art had always been what I loved, but I never considered it anything other than a hobby. Once I let the seed of making it my career into my mind, it immediately sprouted.
Rhys was right. My parents did support me. And with Jasmine’s transfer application getting approved and knowing that she was coming to Brumehill and we’d be able to be roommates, I quickly went from the saddest and most pessimistic I’d ever been to the happiest and most optimistic.
That optimism is buoying inside me right now as I walk the short distance to my very first class of the semester.
It’s an intermediate Figure Drawing class. Anatomically accurate drawing has always been one of my weaknesses. I tend to paint in a more abstract or impressionistic style, and when I do paint more realistic scenes, they’re usually landscapes. I feel like I’m going to learn a lot in this class and fill one of the big gaps in my artistic skills.
“Maddie! Hey!”
I turn to see Summer and Olivia walking up to me from another section of the pathways that wind through the center of campus.
They’re both dating hockey players who live with Rhys and Lane, so I’ve gotten to know them from spending so much time at their house. Summer is dating the goalie, Hudson Voss, and Olivia is dating one of the forwards, Tuck McCoy.
“Hi Summer, hi Olivia,” I answer them, smiling.
“You didn’t greet the third member of our little group,” Summer says. “She’ll be very offended.”
I pinch my brows. My eyeballs dart side to side, but unless I’m really losing it, there’s no third person with them. “Huh? Who?”
Summer flashes a grin before turning around. She’s wearing a pet carrier backpack, and her and Hudson’s adorable cat Salsa is traveling in it. She lets out a purr and paws at the mesh caging.
Hudson found the big, fluffy Norwegian Forest Cat last year and took her in as a stray. But Tuck was allergic, so he couldn’t keep her in their house. This somehow led to Hudson and Summer pretending to date in exchange for Salsa living at Summer’s place.
I don’t really know the whole story of how they ended up falling in love for real, but they’re a super cute couple despite Hudson’s grumpy tendencies, and their cat baby Salsa is the cherry on top.
“I don’t have class until later,” Summer explains, “so I’m taking her to the park to get some fresh air and sun. She can get cooped up at home.”
We chat a bit more until we come to Flesher Hall, the main art building on campus, a beautiful three-story building of green-tinted stone. I say goodbye to Summer and Olivia, and I wear an excited smile as I walk through the halls and take a seat at a desk for my very first college art class.
I enjoy my first class a lot, even though we don’t delve too deeply into the material since it’s just the first day.
One of the things I’ve been looking most forward to about changing my major is meeting fellow art students and finally making friends with people who share the same interests as me.
But when class is over, and lots of my classmates are talking to each other, introducing themselves, catching up after having gotten to know each other in art classes last year … I freeze.
Everyone here already seems so familiar with each other. This is an intermediate class, after all, so they probably took the beginning class together. My advisor signed off on me skipping some of the introductory art classes to make up for lost time since my portfolio demonstrated how many well-developed skills I already have.
All the other students seem so comfortable and familiar with each other while they casually chat like they’re already friends. A wave of intimidation and anxiety rolls over me.
Instead of finding someone to introduce myself to, I chicken out and end up the first person to leave the classroom.
No. I didn’t chicken out , I tell myself, trying to erase that negative self-talk from my inner vocabulary.
I just froze. Panicked a little. I have social anxiety, and it’s not a personal flaw; it’s just something I have to find healthy ways to overcome.
Replacing that negative self-talk with positive becomes harder when the exact same thing happens with my other two classes today.
Each time, I try to puff myself up with confidence, telling myself I’m going to introduce myself to someone and try to at least make one acquaintance in my next class—and each time, I find that I just … can’t.
I know all I need to do is introduce myself, talk about how I just switched to an Art major, make small-talk by asking one of my classmates what their favorite art class has been so far or something … but my social anxiety makes me seize up, and suddenly moving my tongue feels impossible.
I walk back home feeling disappointed in myself.
I try to tell myself that it’s just the first day, that I’ll have plenty of opportunities to make friends in the art department, that there are clubs I can join and events I can go to where breaking the ice might be easier for me.
But I still can’t shake the morose mood that settles over me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve let myself down.
I hoped to come back to my dorm this afternoon in an even better mood than I left it in. I imagined that the excitement would blossom into elation after a great first day, a day where I loved my classes and took at least the first step toward making new friends.
I hoped I’d be excited to tell Jasmine all about it—maybe that we’d even giggle together as I’d tell her about a cute art guy I had a brief conversation with as we packed up after classes.
Instead, I’m glad she isn’t home, so I don’t have to answer any questions about how my first day was.
With my dorm room door closed behind me, I let my bookbag slink off my shoulders onto the floor. I’m just about to plop backward onto my bed and stare at the ceiling when something by the window catches my attention.
Underneath that window, in the space between our beds, we have a short bookshelf that my vinyl record player sits atop.
When I was in seventh grade, I got really into indie music, especially from the 2000s. There’s just something about the vibe of that style and era of music that made me fall in love. I was playing it around my house so much that I dragged Rhys into my obsession, too.
We would share band and song recs and listen to albums together when Lane was off doing something else. The Christmas when I was in ninth grade and he was in eleventh, we both bought each other vinyl record players as gifts.
But it’s not the record player that’s been sitting there since we moved in that catches my eye: it’s an album propped against it that I’m positive wasn’t there before.
I walk over. It’s Room on Fire by The Strokes, a band I love. When I pick it up, I notice a folded-up piece of paper tucked between it and the side of the record player.
I unfold it. A warmth spreads in my chest as I instantly recognize Rhys’s handwriting.
Your first day as an art student calls for a little gift, don’t you think?
A smile pulls on my lips. Still holding Rhys’s note, I place the album on the record player and turn it on. I lie on my bed as the music flows through the speakers. The note stays clutched in my hand while I rest it on my chest.
The negative emotions that were just weaving through me start to fade, like waves smoothing away a drawing etched in the sand.
How did Rhys even get in here? Did he know my schedule and come by when Jasmine was here to let him in? Who knows.
All I know is that he somehow always finds a way to be there for me when I need him, even when he isn’t here.