Chapter 8 #2
The dining hall, which is messy at the best of times, is packed to the brim.
People are sitting on tables, discussing the situation in voices that are anything but hushed.
I inhale through my nose and breathe out through my mouth, trying to keep myself calm.
Flipping my phone around in my hands, I manage to keep my mind from falling into the same chaos that’s surrounding me.
“Hey, everyone!” one of the RAs yells, and I jerk my head up. “I have an announcement—”
He cuts off, pressing his phone up to his ear, jerks his head back in annoyance, and jams his finger down to end the call.
And then he yells out for our attention again. “Okay, so I’m gonna give it to you guys straight up: admin has no idea what they’re doing.”
Wow, way to inspire confidence.
“Anyway, they say they’ll have an update in five minutes to four hours. You guys can, uh, stay here if you don’t have class, and we’ll try to figure something out.”
Just like that, I know exactly nothing more than I did three minutes ago.
Then my phone beeps, startling me.
Ian Scott
Holy shit I just heard what happened
Are you ok???
How on earth is it possible for someone to be so intuitive? It’s like Ian knows exactly how and when to cheer me up.
Then again, my chest goes all achy whenever he looks at me.
Yeah I’m fine, thanks for asking. Everything is confusing because they aren’t telling me much
The RAs are saying that the school will provide an update at some point today
Yeah that’s what I’m seeing online, too. Where are you now?
In the dining hall with everyone else
It’s a bit packed
I’m in the kin building
Come hang out w me in the common room
I can’t help but smile at that casual offer to spend time with him, and I head next door to the Kinesiology building. Ian is sprawled out on one of the couches in the empty undergrad common room, and he gives me a friendly wave once he sees me.
Nobody’s ever been as happy to see me as he has, and guilt courses through me with every step I take on my way over to him. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and I choose to repay him by undressing him with my eyes and fantasizing about horizontal hugging whenever we run into each other.
“Hey, man,” Ian says, greeting me with one of his handshake-clap things that confuse the heck out of me. “Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
He stares blankly at me, blinking. “Your house got destroyed.”
“That’s a little dramatic,” I counter. “A tree fell on the other end of the building. That’s far from being destroyed.”
He presses his lips together in an expression that’s half-smile, half-sympathy. “Still scary, man. I’d be shitting myself if I was in your shoes.”
Ian doesn’t say anything else but pulls a container of cookies out of his backpack, opening the lid and motioning for me to take one.
With how many cookies he always seems to have on hand, I’m not entirely sure how he’s as buff as he is. Maybe they’re protein cookies, or he does a lot of cardio.
Aaand now I’m thinking about how attractive he would look after a run.
I shove the image out of my mind, swiping one of the oatmeal raisin cookies and letting the addictive flavor flood my mouth, before I choke on the bite when my phone beeps with an email.
It’s either a grade notification or an update on where I’m living tonight.
Dear Residents of Maple Hall,
WMU Residence Life and University Administration is working tirelessly to ensure the safety and security of all displaced students.
While a more sustainable solution to the recent event is still in development, we are pleased to announce that WMU is making arrangements for affected residents to stay overnight in the Leblanc Athletic Center.
In cooperation with the New Hampshire Emergency Response Department, one cot will be provided for each affected resident.
That doesn’t sound like a proper plan.
“What does it say?” Ian asks.
I tilt my phone toward him, and he leans over to read the email, his soft hair brushing against my cheek and filling my brain with unwelcome, attractive thoughts.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he says, his voice echoing in the vast common room. He furrows his thick, neatly groomed brows and scoffs, shaking his head. “Their solution is to put you on a cot in the gym?”
I nod. “Yeah, it sounds like”—shit—“crap, but what else can I do?”
“You’re welcome to stay with me, Cal. Say the word, and we can head to mine.”
Woah, that’s so generous, which means there’s no way I can take him up on that. “Thank you, but I shouldn’t impose.”
He lets out a humored huff and bites his tongue in a way that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Again, it’s not imposing when someone offers, Callum.”
“I don’t want to accept help.”
His face falls a tiny bit, and I don’t have time to think about why. Maybe he’s lonely.
Probably not—he’s got friends.
Shoot, I might have been rude.
“It’s up to you,” he says after a few seconds. “The offer still stands, though, and let me know if you need anything.”
“Sure. And yeah, I appreciate the offer, but I want to take care of myself. It’s, I don’t know, a me thing.”
“Hyper-independence,” he says with a dry smile. “Be careful with that.”
Yeah, the last thing I want is to rely on anyone else. Hyper-independence, if it is what it sounds like, doesn’t seem like the worst thing for me to be.
“Anyway,” I say, “I’ll check out the sleeping arrangements after dinner. They can’t be that bad.”
Ian hesitates for a moment. “Sounds good. Hope it’s decent there.”
It isn’t decent—it’s grim. It’s so freaking grim.
Fluorescent white light washes over the basketball court from above. Camp beds are placed into rows from wall to wall, with only a few feet between each of them. And on said camp beds? One scratchy-looking blanket. No pillow.
I try not to think about how long I might have to sleep here.
There’s a sleeping assignment diagram stuck to the folded bleachers on the far end of the gym, so I head over, backpack in tow, and weave through the grumbling crowd of displaced students as I wait my turn to check.
As soon as I haul myself over and settle into bed 68F, I groan. There’s no mattress and no give, and I’m underneath a stupid light that may as well have been designed to burn my retinas to a crisp. Closing my eyelids doesn’t help at all, like how facing the sun with closed eyes still causes damage.
I can only hope that someone turns the lights off at some point, but right as that optimistic idea enters my head, a disgruntled member of the admin staff mumbles into a microphone and clarifies that no, they can’t do that because of security risks.
From the way the entire population of the gym yells out in protest, I’m beginning to think that this horde of angry students will pose a greater security risk than a little darkness.
Groaning to myself, I reach for my phone and hover over the messaging app. For a second, I contemplate texting Ian and asking him if I can sleep at his apartment, even if it’s just for tonight.
Then I wipe that intrusive thought right out of my brain.
It’s almost ten, and he might be asleep. There’s no way I’m doing that.
Instead, I grab my jacket, the same one Ian gave me, and wrap it around my head to block the light out.
As for the noise, it doesn’t do much. I can’t have everything. I’m used to it.
The next morning, I wake up with heavy eyelids and a coil of sleep-deprived frustration brewing in my gut.
My phone says it’s already nine, so I scrub a hand across my face and swing my legs over the side of the cot, untangling my jacket and putting it on.
There are a couple of texts on my phone, so I answer them, hoping that using my brain will wake me up.
Laura Pierre
Yo
I heard the school made you guys sleep in the gym?
Yeah. Rough night
Damn
You’re welcome to crash at me and Sabrina’s place
Is this…a thing? Do people here really open their houses to someone they’ve met twice?
Ian offered for me to stay at his but I didn’t want to intrude
Omg Callum
You’re too nice
He says it’s hyper independence
And he’s right. Are you going to keep living in the gym?
Admin is gonna announce living arrangements today
At least that’s what they say
That’s good at least
Then I switch to Ian.
Ian Scott
Hey man how’d you sleep?
Bad
They couldn’t turn the lights off
Wtf
Are they at least feeding you?
I glance off to the side and see some tired residence employees unpack a box of sandwich ingredients. And then another box, full of the same thing.
Come on, what’s the word? It’s so basic.
I know it in French—pain, which is fitting.
What the hell? Why can I only remember the word for the toast precursor in French? I can barely string a sentence together in that godforsaken language.
I think they’ll give us untoasted toast
Untoasted toast?
Bread?
That’s the word.
I’m so tired
Sorry
Omw. Hang tight
Hang tight for what?
I get my answer a few minutes later when Ian strides into the gym holding a metal flask and a paper bag. He scans the room, breaking into a soft smile when he sees me.
His approaching figure is backlit by the sun shining through the door, which catches on his dark blond hair and makes it glow. My god, he’s so cute, and I’m way too tired to fight it, especially when his athletic physique somehow manages to show through the thick jacket he’s wearing.
His steps slow as he gets closer. By the time he reaches my cot, that smile of his has turned into a concerned frown.
“Holy shit, Cal. You look tired.”