Chapter 2
Daisy
Iloved Tuesdays.
Maybe it’s the promise of the weekend looming closer, or the fact that I managed to get through Monday with nothing more than a smile and a pep in my step. But even with four hours of sleep and a coffee cup that should’ve been retired yesterday, I am unstoppable.
My alarm blared at six thirty a.m., and I rolled out of bed with all the grace of a newborn deer. My hair looked like a crime scene, and my favourite hoodie had migrated somewhere under the bed (RIP). But still—up I got, because sunshine doesn’t sleep in.
Now, standing outside of campus with the cold morning air kissing my cheeks, I balance my thermal filled with cheap store-bought coffee in one hand, and my psych notes in the other. I am a vision. Sort of.
“Daisy Sandoval, is that you radiating divine energy this early in the morning?” A voice calls from behind me.
I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is. “Only if divine energy comes with chronic exhaustion and a side of coffee.”
Ezra sidles up beside me, fully decked in glitter eyeshadow and a scarf that was so thick it could double as a freaking quilt. “You say exhaustion, I say edgy glow.”
We walk onto campus together as Ezra scrolls through TikTok whilst I read a paragraph on my phone on Freud for the third time.
I still can’t decide if he was a genius, or really just needed therapy and a good sandwich.
The entire campus is buzzing with energy as students crowd the quad, expensive cups of coffee in hand, looking far too alive for people running on deadline panic and vending machine diets.
I wave at a few familiar faces, most waving back, some even smiling at me first. That’s the thing about being the ‘sun’, people tend to just like me.
Professors remember my name, strangers hold open the door, and I get invited to almost everything, even when I rarely go.
I guess people assume sunshine equals stability.
They don’t see that I haven’t bought groceries in four days despite having next to no food, or that I’ve had the same voicemail from my dad sitting unopened in my inbox because I’m too tired to listen to whatever mess he’s in now.
No one sees that, and I make damn sure of it, too.
I breeze through my first two lectures, taking colour-coded notes, nodding thoughtfully, even asking a question that makes my ethics professor raise her eyebrows like she’s both impressed and terrified of how seriously I take everything—because being a failure is not an option.
By the time classes end, I’ve taken four pages of notes, answered two questions aloud, and handed out three pens to strangers who forgot theirs, of course, not getting them back.
Thankfully, I have a lifetime supply of gel pens at home.
I’m not sure when I started collecting them, but now I have at least three drawers full of them in a range of colours.
Some sparkly, some neon, and some that write in a funky bubble writing.
After class, I meet up with Talia at the student union for our usual Tuesday smoothie ritual that I absolutely cannot afford to obtain.
She’s already waiting at our table, tapping away on her laptop, with her hair twisted into a sleek bun and her eyeliner sharp enough to cut anybody who pisses her off. And that happens to be a lot of people.
“I got you mango-pineapple,” she says, handing me the straw with one hand and still typing with the other. Psycho.
“You’re a goddess among mortals,” I say, sinking into the chair and taking a long freezing sip.
“And you’re late,” she mutters.
“I was having a full-blown existential crisis in the library bathroom about deadlines. You know… Tuesday things.”
She finally looks up, snorts, and flips her screen toward me. “Wanna read the paragraph I wrote about maternal bonding and identity projection through the mythic archetypes?”
“Only if I can cry about how I still haven’t finished mine.”
Ezra appears with a beaming grin, plopping into the seat beside me. “Good news! I convinced the theatre department to lend us fog machines for the next cheer showcase. Bad news… they said if we break them, we owe a grand each.”
I blink in utter confusion. “… Ezra. Sweetheart. Why do we need fog machines?”
He sips his iced mocha, letting out a dramatic ahhhh of satisfaction. “Because the spirit of cheer demands it.”
We burst into laughter loudly, earning a few glances from annoyed students.
But I don’t care. This right here is my favourite part of college.
Not the grades, not the accolades. But this—laughing until your ribs hurt with the people who make your world glow, who keep you sane.
The ones who let you continue to be the sunshine, even when you’re running on fumes.
Ezra had been my best friend since high school, and every year I’ve watched him turn more sparkle-obsessed than the last.
His bright, long, softly curled ginger hair and his freckle-splattered face match his fiery personality.
If I were the sun, he was the sunset. Beautiful, breathtaking, and demanding of attention.
His green eyes were a match for emeralds, like little sparkling gems that were always so full of life.
He was the breath of fresh air in my life, my anchor, my platonic soul mate.
We even made a pact that if we both weren’t married by the time we were forty, we would just marry each other, despite the fact that he most definitely was not into girls.
He tried to convince himself he was straight in the final year of high school, and even dated a girl for a while. Of course, it didn’t last, and he ended up sleeping with her brother instead. He low-key deserved the slap she gave him.
If Ezra and I were the bright sunshine and sunset, Talia was the night.
Sexy, seductive, and everything I wished I was.
She oozed confidence, her chestnut brown hair never out of place, her honey brown eyes always lined with an eyeliner wing I could only dream of achieving.
She was utterly beautiful, and she knew it.
She refused to settle down, despite Bradley Everington trying for the best part of a year to get her to.
In her words, “I am way too young and sexy to be anchored down to just one man.” I admired that about her, being a ‘free spirit’, as she liked to call herself.
I’ve been with Ethan for six months now, and I truly think I’m in love with him, even if neither of us has said it yet.
Where Talia enjoys having casual sex, I’m the polar opposite.
At twenty, I’m still a virgin. I don’t know why.
I guess I’ve just had so many other things going on in my life that I’ve just kept putting it off, despite Ethan’s eagerness to go further.
I’ve done other stuff, like giving him head, but he refused to return the favour and go down on me.
Apparently, that was ‘gross,’ and he didn’t do that because only girls were supposed to go down on guys. Talia said he’s a ‘fucking loser’, and only ‘little bitches’ don’t go down on their girlfriends, but I don’t mind; it’s not like I know what I’m missing out on.
After smoothies, I head to work at the campus cafe, and like always, the shift is busy.
Students and faculty swarm in like caffeine-starved locusts.
I wear my apron and my customer service voice like armour and keep the smiles coming until my cheeks ache.
I recommend a cinnamon chai to a girl who looks like she’s seconds from tears, and she lights up like I gave her a free puppy.
Sometimes, that’s all it takes—a little light in someone else’s day to make everything better. Even if mine is stitched together with cheap coffee and poor coping mechanisms. On the plus side, work means I get the good coffee for a change, not the cheap crap that sits in my cupboard at home.
By the time my shift ends, I’m sticky with syrup and feel like I’ve been steaming milk for a decade.
Not to mention the unbearable amount of Taylor Swift that has blasted over the radio for hours.
I step outside into the fresh air, cheeks flushed, and take in a deep breath.
It’s a good day. I mean, sure—I’ve got two essays due, a stack of laundry taller than my fridge, and a voicemail I’m still ignoring.
But the sun’s out despite it being freezing, my friends are weird and wonderful, and I’m still standing.
So, that has to count for something. But despite my utter exhaustion from work, I still had one more thing to do: cheer.
The football game runs late, again. The sky’s gone from golden hour to dusky pink, and sweat sticks to me as I re-lace my shoes. My legs feel like jelly, and I can already tell I’m going to regret those final stunts in the morning.
“Nice work today,” Coach yells as the squad starts packing up. “You’re clean on timing. Keep it tight!”
We all groan in half-unison, some collapsing dramatically onto the turf. I grab my water bottle and take a long sip before standing and stretching myself out.
My eyes scan the field, spotting him almost instantly.
Tall, dark brown eyes and messy brown hair.
Ethan stands by the bleachers, helmet tucked under one arm, sweat-soaked jersey clinging to his broad chest. He’s already grinning when our eyes meet, and it takes all of two seconds before he’s jogging toward me, his brown hair sticking to his forehead.
“Hey, baby,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the side of my head. His hand settles low on my waist, then lower, fingers curling possessively around my hip. “You looked hot out there.”
I smile, but it’s strained as I focus on his hands lowering down my body. “Thanks. You guys looked good, too. Congrats on the win!”
He shrugs off the compliment, then slips his hand from my waist to my lower back, pulling me into his side. “You wanna come hang for a bit? Some of the guys are heading out for drinks.”