Chapter 9 Sophie
SOPHIE
The morning air is cool as I hurry across the quad Wednesday morning, crisp enough to raise goosebumps on my arms, but not quite to the point of needing a jacket. My stomach’s been in knots since last night, twisting tighter with every step that brings me closer to the psych building.
First quiz of the semester.
Most people would shrug it off, but not me.
I can’t. My brain doesn’t let me. I’ve already color-coded my notes, made flash cards, and stayed up late reviewing every disorder we’ve covered so far.
Still, the what-ifs spiral. What if I forget everything the second the paper hits my desk, what if I blank, what if my GPA starts slipping here, in the one class I can’t afford to tank.
I tighten my grip on my coffee, forcing myself to breathe.
Halfway up the path, movement catches at the edge of my vision. A familiar figure falls into stride beside me—broad shoulders, messy brown hair, calm in the way that makes my nerves stand out even more.
Beck.
“Morning,” he says, voice low enough that it doesn’t cut into the rush of footsteps around us.
“Morning,” I echo, though mine comes out thinner, nerves bleeding through.
We reach the psych building at the same time. He pulls ahead by half a step, catches the door, and holds it open without hesitation.
“Thanks,” I murmur, brushing past, careful not to spill coffee down my front.
“No problem.” He follows me in, the door shutting with a heavy thud behind us.
Students are already clustering near the classroom door. My pulse stutters, and I shift the cup from one hand to the other.
Beck glances at me then, not in a nosy way—just steady, like he actually sees me. “You look like you’re about to sprint a marathon.”
“Feels like it,” I admit, a laugh catching in my throat. “I hate quizzes.”
“Yeah?” His mouth tips up, the smallest grin. “They’re just warm-ups.”
Easy for him to say. But somehow, hearing it out loud makes my chest loosen just a fraction.
We fall into step toward the lecture hall, the buzz of students thick in the air. Beck doesn’t rush, doesn’t fidget—he just walks calmly, like nothing could throw him off. I envy that more than I want to admit.
Inside, the room is already filling up, backpacks slung across chairs, laptops glowing. I head for the row we’ve unofficially claimed since day one. The seat beside mine is still open, and sure enough, Beck slides into it a second later.
He drops his notebook onto the desk, flipping it open with no fanfare. I set my coffee down carefully, fingers tapping against the cup.
“You actually study for this?” I ask, half teasing, half desperate to make conversation that distracts me from the panic simmering under my skin.
He arches a brow, pen clicking in his hand. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. You’ve got…a lot going on. Football. Practice. The whole campus depending on you to win games.”
His jaw twitches like he wants to laugh but doesn’t. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care about grades.”
I blink. “So you actually like psych?”
He nods once. “It’s the only thing that makes sense off the field.” His eyes flick to mine, steady, unreadable. “Helps me understand people.”
Something in my chest stutters, but before I can respond, the professor clears his throat at the front, holding up a stack of papers.
“All right, everyone. Quiz one. Five short answer, five multiple choice. You’ll have twenty-five minutes. No notes.”
The room groans, students shifting nervously, and my stomach clenches so tight it hurts.
Beck leans back in his chair, casual, like he’s completely unfazed. He glances at me once, catching the way I’m gripping my pen too tight.
“Hey,” he murmurs, low enough for only me. “You’ll do great.”
I swallow hard, nodding like I believe him, and slide my notebook to the corner of the desk as the papers start making their way down the rows.
Fine? Right.
Here goes nothing.
The scrape of chairs and shuffle of backpacks fills the lecture hall as the professor collects the last of the quizzes. My shoulders ache from how tense I sat the whole time, and my pen left faint grooves in my fingers.
Beside me, Beck slides his notebook into his bag like it was just another Wednesday. No panic. No shaking hands.
We walk out together, the cool air a relief after the stale classroom. Students spill across the quad, buzzing about what questions they nailed and what they blanked on.
“So,” Beck says, glancing down at me. “How’d it go?”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Terrible. My brain doesn’t work right on tests. It’s like the second I see the paper, every fact I studied goes out the window.”
He studies me for a second, not mocking, not pitying—just…listening. “Test anxiety?”
I shrug, hugging my bag tighter against my side. “Always. Even if I prepare, my brain convinces me I didn’t do enough. Sometimes it feels like the walls are closing in.”
For a moment, I worry I’ve said too much, laid myself out bare in the middle of the sidewalk. But Beck just nods, thoughtful.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t know the material,” he says finally. “Just means your brain doesn’t cooperate under pressure.”
I blink, caught off guard by how simply he put it.
“That’s…” My voice softens. “Actually exactly how it feels. Which is weird, because I normally thrive under pressure and in stressful situations.”
He adjusts the strap of his backpack, gaze forward, steady as ever. “Then don’t beat yourself up for it. Quizzes aren’t everything.”
Easy for him to say, but somehow the knot in my chest loosens anyway.
We reach the point where our paths split—him heading toward the athletic complex, me going to the library.
“I’ll see you Friday,” I say, shifting my bag.
“Yeah,” he replies, and for the first time, a small, almost hidden smile flickers across his face. “Friday.”
By the time evening rolls around, my brain is fried. I’ve gone over flashcards twice, rewritten notes that didn’t need rewriting, and convinced myself at least a dozen times that I failed the Abnormal Psych quiz.
Ava finally texted me.
Stop spiraling. My place. Movie night. You’re bringing popcorn.
So here I am, standing at her door with a grocery bag looped over my wrist, the buttery smell of microwave popcorn already seeping through.
She swings the door open, hair up in a messy bun, flannel pants hanging low on her hips. “Took you long enough.”
“You said popcorn, I brought three bags,” I say, lifting the bag in triumph. “And chocolate, because you’d cry without it.”
“God bless you.” She grabs the snacks, stepping aside so I can slip in.
Her apartment is small but cozy—pillows everywhere, string lights draped across the wall, and a stack of DVDs by the TV, even though everyone streams now.
I kick off my shoes, and we curl up on the couch. By the time the previews start rolling on the streaming app, Ava’s already got a blanket thrown over both of us.
“So.” She shoots me a look, tearing into the chocolate. “How was the quiz day?”
I groan, burying my face in a pillow. “Horrible. I blanked on the short answers and spent half the time trying not to pass out.”
She nudges me with her foot. “But you didn’t pass out. You survived.”
“Barely.”
“Still counts.” She pops a piece of chocolate into her mouth. “Maybe Harrison can tutor you.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
Her smirk is pure trouble. “Beck. The linebacker. You’ve been sitting next to him all week.”
I roll my eyes, trying to play it off. “He’s…nice. That’s all.”
“Mm-hm.” Ava stretches out, smug as ever. “We’ll see.”
I throw a piece of popcorn at her, which she catches midair and eats like she planned it. We dissolve into laughter, the movie starting up in the background as the tension from the day finally slips off my shoulders.
Half an hour into the movie, we’ve both demolished too much popcorn, and Ava’s stretched out sideways on the couch, her feet in my lap. After my phone goes off for the fifth time, she mutes the TV during a lull in the action, turning her head toward me.
“Are you ever going to answer that?” she asks.
I look down at my phone, seeing three more missed calls and twelve unanswered texts since I last checked it thirty minutes ago.
“No, didn’t really plan to.” I shrug before deciding to just turn it off.
“Zach’s been blowing up my texts since I’ve sent every one of his calls to voicemail.
He even sent me an email, swapping from ‘I’m sorry’ to ‘fuck you’ in the same email.
The other calls are just my lovely parents, trying to push me right back to that dumpster fire. ”
Tossing my phone to the table, I keep going. “They only care about the outward appearance. They haven’t asked me one single time if I’m okay with what happened or even why we are done. I’m exhausted with the fake niceties and such. So, no. I won’t be answering.”
“You go, girl. I’m proud of you. Subject change before your wrath ignites more,” she says, voice gentler now. “How are my little chaos monsters at the center?”
A smile tugs at my lips instantly. “Exhausting. Wonderful. Same as always.”
She grins. “Give me the rundown. Who’s driving you crazy this week?”
I laugh softly, picking at the seam of the blanket. “Mia refuses to nap unless someone reads or sings to her first. Today she made me go through Goodnight Moon three times before she finally crashed.”
“Classic Mia.” Ava’s eyes warm.
“And Jaden’s been drawing nonstop. He had me tape one of his pictures up by the cubbies yesterday. Told me it was ‘so people know where he belongs.’” My throat tightens a little, the way it always does when I think about how much these kids crave stability.
Ava nudges me with her toes. “And our favorite?”
“We can’t have favorites, Ava.” I roll my eyes, but the smile lingers. “But Caleb is doing well. He followed me around all morning with his toy dinosaur, roaring at anyone who came too close. Said he was protecting me.”
“Four years old and already your knight in shining armor.”
“Pretty much.” I sink deeper into the cushions, my chest aching with both fondness and the weight of knowing what waits for them when they leave the center. “They’re resilient, though. Braver than most adults I know.”
Ava studies me, her expression softening. “They’re lucky to have you.”
I shake my head, embarrassed. “I’m just a volunteer.”
“Yeah, but you show up. That alone makes a huge difference.”
The room goes quiet for a beat, the muted movie flickering across the screen. I let her words settle, the knot in my chest easing a little.
Then she unpauses the movie and shoves another handful of popcorn in her mouth, deliberately breaking the moment. “Now, hush and stop over thinking, or I’m switching it to a rom-com.”
I laugh, settling back against the couch, grateful for her in more ways than I can count.
As the movie plays and Ava hums happily beside me, I can’t help thinking about the kids again—about Mia’s stubbornness, Jaden’s drawings, Caleb’s tiny, fierce protection.
They deserve steady ground beneath their feet. Safety. Someone who won’t leave. I want to be that for them someday. To give them what I’m still trying to find for myself.