Chapter 3
Pre-Med, Post-Mortified
Sebastian
I drop my backpack and immediately update my schedule. A massive whiteboard covers one wall, colour-coded by subject, priority, and deadline. Now, I need to add "tutoring" somewhere in the few remaining white spaces.
My phone rings. The caller ID reads "Mom." I consider ignoring it, but guilt wins out. I haven't called home in two weeks.
"Ciao, Mamma," I answer, switching to Italian as I always do when she calls.
"Sebastiano! Finally, he remembers his mamma exists," comes her warm, melodious voice, the familiar accent of home.
"I've been busy with classes," I say, my standard excuse.
"Too busy for family? Your father asks about you. Sophia and Lucia were here Sunday for dinner. We missed you."
My guilt intensifies. My two older sisters, both working for the family construction business, live close to our parents. They're the good children who stayed. Idiot, don't be bitter.
"School is important, Mamma. I have exams to prepare for."
"Always with the books," she sighs. "Your father says the company's expansion is going well. They're breaking ground on the new development next month. He could use another Moretti on the team."
Here it comes: the subtle pressure to abandon my medical dreams and join Moretti I do feel relieved I won't have to go alone. Maybe I can make an appearance, get my name checked off, and escape to coffee with my friends.
Oh my god… Why do they make us come to these things? Should've said I had a lab. Or food poisoning. Or—fuck, is that Dr. Harrington? Quick, look busy...
Streamers in teal and silver droop from the ceiling like they're as tired as everyone here. The Psych department's table has a brain model and a sign that says "Get Inside Your Head!” in Comic Sans. Comic fucking Sans.
Dr. Smith-Jones stands by the History table, the corners of her mouth twitching up every time a student walks by, then dropping immediately when they pass. She has the same energy as a retail worker on Black Friday.
The Engineering kids built a robot that keeps rolling into people's ankles. The English department... put out books. Like, books on a table. With a plant.
Someone's playing jazz through speakers that sound like they're from 2003, and every professor clutches their plastic cup of punch like it's the only thing keeping them from fleeing.
JP hadn't been able to convince any of the others in The Geek Squad to venture out tonight, so it's us, and a guy named Wie from the engineering program, walking together as we enter.
We're wearing variations of the same outfit: jeans, button-ups, and sweater vests.
The unofficial uniform of students who care more about what's in their textbooks than what's on their bodies.
"Scope out the room," JP whispers dramatically. "So many possibilities. Look at the Arts section. Painters have good hands."
"We're here to get our names checked off, not to hook up," I remind him, knowing that while he talks a good game, JP doesn't like being touched by people he doesn't know.
"Speak for yourself," Wei says, his eyes already locked on a tall woman at the snacks table. "Some of us have been too busy with labs to remember what human contact feels like."
"Fifteen minutes," I say firmly. "We make an appearance, we talk to someone from another department, and we leave."
"You're such a joy vampire," JP complains. "Fine. Fifteen minutes, then we release you back to your natural habitat of textbooks and coffee."
We approach the sign-in table, where a perky student volunteer checks our IDs against a list.
"Pre-med, awesome!" she says with a scary amount of cheer. "Make sure to visit at least three department tables. There's a scavenger hunt with prizes!"
"Oooh, prizes," Wei says, and he sounds like he means it. "I need a new highlighter set."
I'm about to make a sarcastic comment when the doors open and a loud group enters behind us. I can tell right away they're athletes from their matching jackets.
And there, towering over most of them, is the blonde giant from the library.
My stomach does a strange flip. He's talking excitedly, waving his hands around to explain something, and his teammates are cracking up. His hair is slightly damp, like he's showered, and from here, I can enjoy how his jacket stretches across his broad shoulders.
"Earth to Sebastian," JP says, waving a hand in front of my face. "You're staring."
"I am not," I snap, too quickly. "I recognized someone."
"Tall, blonde, and brawny?" Wei asks with a knowing smirk. "Can't blame you. That's a lot of man."
"He's nobody," I say dismissively. "A guy I ran into at the library."
"Well, 'nobody' is heading straight for you," JP says quietly.
I turn, and sure enough, Gavin the giant jock and his group are approaching the sign-in table. I quickly grab a program from the stack and pretend to be deeply interested in the night's schedule.
"Hey," comes that deep voice, much too close. "You're Doc, right? From the library?"
I look up, way up, pretending I'm just now noticing him."Oh. Yes. I mean no, I’m not a doctor."
Up close, he's even more gorgeous than I remembered. His shoulders seem impossibly huge in his jacket, and he seems to fill up way more space than he actually needs.
"Gavin Robins," he says, offering a hand the size of a dinner plate.
I shake it briefly, trying to ignore how my hand disappears in his. "Right. The... football player."
"Among other things," he says with a smile that hints at more, but he doesn't elaborate.
"You enjoying the mixer?" he asks.
"It's thrilling," I say dryly. "Nothing I love more than forced socialization and root canals."
To my surprise, he laughs, and it's deep and loud, like he doesn’t care that people are looking over here now. "Yeah, not exactly my idea of fun either. But hey, free food."
Before I can respond, JP pushes himself into the conversation with the subtlety of a marching band.
"Hi! I'm JP, Sebastian's infinitely more charming friend." He extends a hand to Gavin. "And this is Wei."
I close my eyes briefly, mortified.
"Nice to meet you both," Gavin says easily. "These are some of my teammates, DeShawn, Marcos, and Jamal." He gestures to the guys behind him, who nod in greeting. "Guys, this is the doc we were bugging in the library. DeShawn, you're pre-med too, right?" Gavin looks at his friend, who nods.
"Organic Chem with Hayes?" DeShawn looks closer at me and asks.
"Unfortunately," I confirm, slightly thrown by this turn in conversation.
"That pop quiz last week was brutal," DeShawn says.
"The aldehyde reactions? I thought it was straightforward," I say before I can stop myself.
DeShawn laughs. "Of course you did. Hayes mentioned a Sebastian who keeps setting the curve. Guess that's you."
I feel a slight flush of pride, followed by immediate embarrassment at how good it feels to be recognized for my academic prowess.