3. Calista
THREE
CALISTA
C ollege was making me nocturnal. It was only a few weeks into the semester, and the all-nighters had already started.
I was heading onto hour eight of working on my latest research report.
Caffeine fueled my sleep-deprived brain.
I’d spent most of the past two hours trying to keep my eyes open.
The light from my laptop seared them dry.
Sitting in a dimly lit dorm room probably wasn’t one of my wisest ideas either.
I rubbed at my face, willing the discomfort away.
What was I thinking when I convinced myself that taking an additional biochemistry course would be a good idea?
It’s alright , I reminded myself, a few more pages, and I’ll be able to sleep for the entirety of the weekend.
The torture would be worth it. It had to be.
Otherwise, why would anyone put themselves through a treacherous university degree?
I rested my head in my hands for a moment.
If this is what my undergrad consisted of, I could only imagine what a prospective master’s degree would be like.
Maybe I should get my Bachelor of Nursing and get out while I still could .
I shook my head. As much as I enjoyed the idea of graduating and being done with all-nighters, pandering to professors, and memorizing things I may not ever have to use again, I couldn’t bring myself to actually go through with it.
When it was time to apply for universities during my senior year of high school, I had only filled out an application for Fenton.
My guidance counselor had attempted to convince me to add a couple more colleges to my list. He tried gently to remind me how prestigious the Ivy League university was and how critically low the acceptance rates were.
To his dismay, I never did.
Fenton University was the only option. It had been since I was twelve years old, and I learned about the sacrifices my parents made to bring me into this world—specifically my mother.
I was going to make her dreams come true.
I was going to meet every expectation she ever had for me.
I was going to make her proud to have me as a daughter.
The lock on my dorm room jiggled, and I swiveled in my seat. At this point, I’d welcome any excuse to turn away from the jumble of words on the screen.
“Calista Madison Hale, that cup of coffee better not be the only thing you had today,” Ella, my roommate, said with an accusatory finger.
Prior to Ella being assigned as my roommate, I thought I was going to get lucky and have the space to myself.
The last girl, who had only been there for three weeks and kept too many Beanie Babies on her bed, transferred to a new college across the state.
I had the room for three whole days until Ella showed up at the door with her Louis Vuitton luggage trailing behind her .
I’m not going to lie. I was bummed—thinking that I was stuck sharing the room with a prima donna. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.
It wasn’t until later that evening when we were eating microwavable macaroni and cheese on our beds and talking about how she was kicked out of her sorority for not conforming, that I realized she wasn’t what I pegged her to be.
Instead, Ella had proven herself to be one of the most thoughtful people I ever met.
She made sure I was taking care of myself and often acted as the angel on my shoulder who pointed out the silver lining in everything.
The coffee-stained mug that I had purchased from a nearby thrift store came to a halt below my parted lips. “I don’t have a middle name. Where did you get Madison from?”
“It was the first thing that came to mind. It kinda has a nice ring to it, don’tcha think?”
I raised a brow in response, taking a swig of my now-cold coffee. “You’re so talented,” I muttered.
Ella flashed me a beaming smile, dropping her keys on the entry table. “Thanks.”
She kicked off her shoes, placing them on the short rack next to the door, a mere few inches from the closet.
It was a tight fit—even with only two people.
The rooms in our building were cramped and didn’t have the luxuries of private washrooms and a kitchenette.
But they were much more budget-friendly than the newer dorms at Fenton.
“How was class?” I asked, hoping she wouldn’t grill me about living off Americanos and breakfast sandwiches from our dorm’s cafeteria.
“Same old, same old. New concepts taught by prehistoric professors. I might as well be teaching myself at this point.” Ella threw herself back onto her bed. She sighed. “How about you? How’s the paper going?”
“It’s going… well.”
“You haven’t moved since I left this morning. Did you at least shower?” Ella asked.
A twinge of self-consciousness bubbled up as I took in my stained Fenton U sweater that I had slept in the night prior. “I’m working on peeling myself out of this chair, but honestly, the chair is winning.”
Ella raised her brows, a knowing smile on her face. “Well, when you’re ready, I bought this new hair mask when I went downtown with Olivia the other day. It smells delicious. You can use it if you’d like.”
I envied people like Ella Gillard. People who could stay out all night at the campus bar and still manage to hand in a project the following morning.
People who led a social life while waist-deep in the university trenches.
People who kept their heads above water and didn’t have to pull all-nighters.
Girls that were sweet and gorgeous simultaneously.
“Yeah, that would be nice. Thank you.” I returned her smile. A self-care day sounded like exactly what I needed.
“How much more do you have to go?” she asked, pulling her blonde tendrils into a high ponytail.
I hummed, turning back to my laptop to glance over my notes. “Not too much… a couple more pages and then the citations.”
“Does that mean you’ll actually have time to come out this weekend?” Ella asked from her position on her bed. A romance novel was already held securely in her hands, but a hopeful smile was directed at me.
“Honestly, probably not.”
“And why not?” Ella pouted over the open pages .
I spun around again and crossed my legs. “You know that master’s program I’ve been telling you about? The one I want to apply to for next year?”
“Yeah?”
I pulled out a loose thread from my sweatpants. “Well, I finally got Hamilton to agree to write me a reference letter.”
Ella sprung into a seated position, slapping her book down onto her unkempt comforter. “That’s great!”
“But,” I said, “in exchange he wants me to tutor a failing student of his from one of his anatomy blocks.”
Ella’s shoulder deflated. “Of course he does.”
“Basically, I have to help this guy pass the course if I want Hamilton’s reference.”
“Okay.” She perked up, optimism shining from her hazel eyes. “That’ll be no problem. All he has to do is pass, right?”
“In theory…”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Ella waved her hand as if shooing away an invisible fly. “You’re a natural teacher. I’ve been around when Divya comes by to study with you.”
“That’s only because I spend so much time preparing on my own. This is like adding another course to my semester.”
Ella picked up her book again. “Don’t think of it that way. You’re going to knock this tutoring thing out of the park and get Hamilton’s reference. No stress.”
“I wish I was as optimistic as you are.”
“What is there to be pessimistic about?”
Raising my hand, I pushed back the stray hairs that tickled my forehead.
“I wouldn’t say I’m a pessimist… but more of a realist.” I motioned to the stack of cue cards.
“You see those over there? That’s half of the material for a midterm I have coming up.
Half . Between attending lectures, labs, studying for exams, and practicum experience, I’m just worried I’m going to burn myself out before the semester is over.
Maybe if there were ten more hours in a day, I wouldn’t feel like I was drowning and could handle it. ”
A thoughtful wrinkle appeared between Ella’s brows. As her lips parted, the door opened, and a fiery red mane appeared in the doorframe.
“Dinner is served,” Harper said as she stepped into the room. A drawstring bag was dangling from her shoulder, and a white take-out bag was in her hand. If I had to guess, I would have assumed she was heading back from the gym.
She placed the bag on my clutter-filled desk. The plastic handles parted just enough for me to spy the sub sandwich inside. My mouth instantly started to water. I clearly hadn’t realized how hungry I was.
“How did you know I haven’t eaten yet?”
Harper gave me a knowing look as she plopped to the carpeted floor. “Consider it a lucky guess.”
One of the many benefits of going to college with your childhood best friend was having someone to remind you to eat.
Harper and I met in art class during our freshman year of high school.
During the pottery unit, our two pieces were the only two to explode in the kiln, effectively destroying the projects of half the students in our class.
I don’t know if it was the shared embarrassment or the lunch hour we spent cleaning up the mess, but we had been inseparable ever since.
“BLT with cheese?” I questioned, emptying the bag.
“BLT sans the B with extra, fake mozzarella. ”
I grinned at the sound of my usual order. “You’re a saint.”
“So, what are we talking about?” Harper asked, leaning against Ella’s bed frame.
“Cali’s been conned into tutoring.”
I scrunched up my nose. “Well, when you say it like that …”
“Tutoring?” Harper raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d sworn to never do that again.”
By the time both sets of eyes landed on me, my cheeks were already stuffed with bread. “ Technically, ” I tried to say. The pair sat quietly, waiting for me to swallow. “I didn’t get conned. I was offered the chance to tutor one of Hamilton’s students in exchange for a reference letter.”
“ The reference letter?” Harper leaned in ever so slightly.
I nodded, biting back into my sandwich. “ The reference letter.”
“That’s substantial, Cal,” Harper said. “You’ve been trying to find an automatic into that nursing program, and you finally have it.”
“I don’t have it yet ,” I said, placing the sub back onto its parchment wrapper. “I have my in, but if I don’t successfully tutor this guy, I’m screwed.”
Ella had propped her head up on her hand. “Like I said earlier, I don’t see that being an issue.”
“I don’t know…” I said, stuffing one of the stray tomatoes back into the bun. “Not all students placed into supplemental instruction actually want it, you know? I just hope he doesn’t give me a hard time.”
“Do you know who you’re tutoring yet?” Harper asked.
Dusting breadcrumbs off my hands, I spun around to face my laptop. “Actually, I got an email about it earlier, but I was too busy cross-checking references to see what it said.”
Harper and Ella were up in a flash, their heads over my shoulders. I scanned through my overflowing inbox before I came across the subject line: Supplemental Instruction Assignment.
The room was silent—the only noise came from the clicking of my mouse pad as I opened the email. I slid my finger along the laptop, scanning for any useful tidbits of information.
“Referral number. Professor. Course. Supplemental Instructor. Ah, there it is—student.” I murmured to myself. With the cursor, I highlighted over the black text that read the name Lincoln Pierce .
“His name is—” I started, before the energy in the room shifted. Behind me, I could feel my best friends tense.
“Wait,” Ella interrupted, head next to mine. “That can’t be the Lincoln Pierce, right?”
Harper spoke next, her voice low and mumbled as if she were thinking out loud. “Please tell me there’s more than one person with that name on campus.”
Then they simultaneously said the most unnerving thing they could have possibly said at that moment.
“ Fuck .”