Bully Years Sophomore Year
AUDREY
Welcome to your second year of college!
We’re excited to have you as a transfer student and we hope you’ll love your new home at our university!
Sincerely,
The Honors Dorm Leaders
Outside my window, laughter and loud music from a party drifted across the quad, daring me to look. I didn’t bother.
My sophomore year was off to a failed start, and it felt like a rerun of my worst days at my previous school—No, of high school.
Too restless to close my eyes, I picked up my phone and scrolled through social media. I lasted five minutes before tossing it aside and wandering the empty halls, the hum of fluorescent lights keeping me company.
Every corner of the campus reminded me of somewhere I’d already been—some version of myself I thought I’d outgrown but hadn’t. And every time my mind tried to fill the quiet, it reached for the same name.
Before I knew it, I was dialing Taylor’s number by heart.
It rang once.
It rang twice.
“Hello, Audrey,” he answered, voice deep and sleepy.
“Hi.”
Silence.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No.”
“Okay…” His low laughter sent a flutter through my chest. “Then why are you calling me?”
“This was a butt dial. Sorry, I’ll—”
“Wait.” He stopped me before I could hang up. “How are you these days?”
“Amazing,” I lied. “College is everything I wanted it to be and more. You?”
“I’ve been better. Do you like Iowa?”
“Yeah. Do you like New York?”
“Not really…”
The silence hung between us until I finally burned through it with the truth.
“To be honest,” I said, “I haven’t done much since I flew in and set up my dorm room. Unless I can count taking a walk around campus tonight.”
“You went for a walk at one in the morning?”
“Parties are still going on. I’m guessing this place never sleeps.”
“More like there’s nothing else to do in fucking Iowa.”
I tried to hold back a laugh, but it slipped out anyway.
“That’s probably it,” I said. “Why are you up this late? Eight a.m. class?”
“Hell no. I’m not suicidal.” He chuckled. “I joined a running club. We meet in an hour.”
“Oh. Well, I hope you enjoy that. Bye.”
“Stay on the phone with me, Audrey,” he said, his voice softer, almost pleading. “Let’s catch up.”
“Why?”
“Because you want to.”
“Not really.”
His laughter deepened, rough and warm. “Okay, fine. Would you rather write me an email or a letter?”
“Yes, actually.”
“I’ll give you my address.”
“Will you write back?”
“Always.”