2
If you’re lucky, you can sneak a few slices of pizza out of the dining hall on pizza day. The dining room staff are usually pretty lax with rules, but on pizza day, they turn into the Midway University Secret Police. There’s a limited supply of the pizza. So, while they will let you eat as much as you want while you’re sitting in the actual dining hall, they get fussy if you try to take any to go. Even if you haven’t eaten in the dining hall and want to take your meal to go, they will argue with you.
It’s become a game for us students at Midway.
How many slices did you smuggle out? There’s melted cheese stuck in the zipper of my backpack!
Needless to say, Pizza Day is the busiest day in the dining hall. I’ve seen the crowd swell enough that people have to sit on the floor or stand to eat. When I think about it, this is most likely what led to the smuggling. Students got tired of leaning against the wall or sitting on the hard tile, so they made getting pizza out of the dining hall into a game. Even with so many students taking their pizza to go, the dining hall remains full on Thursdays during lunch.
The most perplexing aspect to Pizza Day is that what the dining hall serves is nothing compared to the only decent restaurant in Big Fork. Which also happens to serve the same thing. Pizza Insanity is the only real restaurant for students at Midway University to hang out at outside of classes. Unless you enjoy the McDonald’s parking lot. The pizza is far superior to what is found in the dining hall, obviously. However, the place is frequented by the citizens of Big Fork, so that means limited seating for students. Additionally, if you’re a Midway student and linger too long, you get the vibe that the staff and townies wish you’d lave.
So, Pizza Day in the dining hall is a big deal every Thursday.
However, I wasn’t in the dining hall; I was sitting at my study desk in the dorm room I shared with Collin. Sharing a room with Collin had been the easiest part of my time at Midway University because he was rarely present. It was like having a dorm room all to myself. As any college student will tell you, having a dorm room to yourself is not only rare, it’s a luxury.
As I nibbled on the pizza I’d smuggled out of the dining hall in the gallon-size Ziploc bag I’d had stowed in my backpack, Collin was dressing. Or redressing. The guy had a thing for outfits. He had his “going to classes in the mornings”
outfits. Then there were the “hanging out after classes and lunch” outfits. Lastly, he had his “evening hanging out” sets of outfits. He was in a “hanging out after classes and lunch” outfit as he stuffed an “evening hanging out” set of clothes into his backpack.
Obviously, he wasn’t planning to return to our room at bedtime.
“Do you ever consider that being a nerd is diminishing your social life?”
he asked as he zipped around the room behind me.
“Did you ever consider that if you spent one night here studying you could bump your GPA up a full letter grade?”
I replied.
“There are no hot men here to take to bed,”
Collin quipped. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
I’m not ugly. Collin’s not ugly. We simply have no sexual or romantic interest in each other. Two gay men can be roommates and not desire each other’s intimate bits. I suppose it helps that neither of us was the other’s type.
“And not all of us have Friday classes,”
he expounded. “Some of us planned our schedules so that we could enjoy our junior year.”
“Some of us planned their schedules so they could have three day weekends every week to chase tail,”
I replied.
“Well, there is that.”
Collin cackled mischievously.
“Max again, is it?”
I asked, tapping away at my keyboard as I continued with my pizza feast.
“Max?”
Collin declared as he zipped up his bag. “Max? I haven’t talked to Max since first day back!”
I spun patiently in my desk chair to look at Collin. As soon as I finished chewing and had swallowed my bite of my pizza, I responded.
“So…three days ago?”
He waved me off and continued zipping around the room.
“Who is it then?”
I asked. “And what are you looking for?”
“Some freshie named Dylan,”
Collin replied as he continued to search his side of the room.
“All the sophomores, seniors, and our fellow juniors onto your tricks, eh?”
I teased. “You had to go after one that hadn’t met you yet?”
“And,”
Collin growled, ignoring me, “I’m looking for my earbuds. I can’t sleep without my earbuds. Especially in a strange bed!”
“Not that I think you’ll end up sleeping much,”
I mumbled, “but shake out your comforter. You were sleeping with them last night.”
Collin grabbed the long side of his comforter and shook the blanket roughly up and down as I sat and watched. A moment later, a small thump emanated from the wall next to his bed. He turned his head to look at me.
“Put them back on your bedside table to charge each morning,”
I said. “I keep telling you this.”
Collin was already waving me off and diving over his bed to retrieve the small white case that held his earbuds. I turned back around in my chair and took the opportunity to get another bite of my pizza. By the time I’d turned back to Collin, pizza still in hand, he was standing by his bed, slipping the little white square in his hip pocket. I bit off another slice of pizza as he slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Nothing I can say to convince you to not be a nerd for one night?”
he asked, leveling me with his eyes.
“Anything I can say to convince you to take your studies seriously for one night?”
I replied.
“Fine,”
he said with a dismissive wave as he headed to the door, “don’t wait up.”
“Seeing as I won’t be up all night, I won’t,”
I said with a laugh.
Collin shot me a rather rude one-finger gesture over his shoulder as he exited our room. When he pulled the door shut behind himself, he turned and blew me a kiss.
“Have fun, lover boy!”
I hollered.
With Collin gone, I had our dorm room to myself. From my experience of sharing a dorm room with Collin in our freshman and sophomore years, I expected I would have the entire weekend to myself. When my roommate found himself enamored with a new romantic prospect, things like studying, and even sleeping in his own bed, became unimportant to him. College wasn’t so much an opportunity for education and career advancement for Collin. It was the chance to meet as many available—and sometimes not so available—men as possible.
It wasn’t that I had anything against using some of my time at university for romantic prospects. However, with the cost of tuition at the institutions of higher learning in America, romance could not be my priority. Like most college age kids from a lower-middle class background, I was going to have loans to pay off when I got my degree. Unless some rich guy in college wanted to pay them, he would have to come second to focusing on my education.
I went back to the three pieces of pizza in the Ziploc bag, my laptop, and my syllabi.
Even though Collin called me a “nerd”
for my studying habits, I preferred the term “studious.” At worst, I would refer to myself as “responsible.” During the first week of each semester, after my daily classes and lunch, I go back to my dorm room to prepare for the following months. I read through the syllabus of each class, plot out a calendar of important dates, such as when projects and tests are due, and then I organize a binder with important materials for the classes. Then I make a list of everything I need to purchase at the student bookstore.
Typically, I go on the first Thursday evening of the first week of the semester. During freshman year, I went on Friday after my last class of the week, but found out that is when the student bookstore is its busiest. Going on Thursday evening and picking up everything I know that I need, plus what I anticipate I will be needed for my Friday classes, saves me time and stress. It also ensures that the bookstore stock hasn’t been depleted.
By the time I had all my binders made and organized, and I had created a virtual calendar on my laptop—that I synced to my phone, of course—the sun was setting outside. The windows in our beige painted cinderblock walled dorm rooms were prison-like, but they were big enough to estimate the time of day. Before long, everyone would be heading to the dining hall or off campus to snag an evening meal.
Only a few hours had passed since I’d finished my last slice of pizza, so I wasn’t quite ready for dinner yet. I’d timed my meal that way so that I wouldn’t be starving while shopping at the bookstore. I made sure my shopping list was complete in the notes app on my phone and shut down my laptop. I cleaned up my desk area and stacked my binders neatly before grabbing my wallet and lanyard. My student I.D. and keys jangled as I slipped the lanyard over my neck and headed out.
The student bookstore is a five-minute walk from the dorms, and in the cool evening hours of early September, it’s a pleasant trip. Besides the nice weather, you never fail to run into at least a few friends. Getting handed a flyer about a party or event is unavoidable. Sometimes there are companies with booths in the quad, handing out free samples of food, t-shirts, pens, and other school supplies. Breezing through the quad as often as possible during the first week of the semester is always advisable.
By the time I’d reached the bookstore, I’d snagged enough free pens to fill my hip pocket, a new lanyard with a rainbow pattern, a giant plastic drinking cup, a handful of free folders, a pack of notebook paper, several magnets from different LGBTQIA organizations, an individual sized bag of chips, and a candy bar. As soon as I got into the bookstore, I was going to have to get a canvas bag to carry all of my loot.
Before stepping into the bookstore, I peeked into the building next to it. Midway Roasters was our campus coffee shop. When we’d all arrived for the first day of the semester, it hadn’t been reopened yet. A notice had been put on the door that some deep cleaning and renovating still needed to be finished, and we should expect it to open by the third week of classes. I was sad to see that I’d have to wait even longer for my daily coffee fixes, but there was nothing to be done. I ducked into the bookstore.
“Welcome in!”
a chipper freshman girl announced as I breezed through the sliding glass door of the bookstore. “Let me know if you need help finding anything!”
I gave her a smile and a wave. She was a thin girl, average height, with a cascade of blue hair spilling over the left side of her head. Happy to be alive and excited for her first year in college and working in the bookstore, I gave her two weeks before she was dead inside.
I’d taken a job in the bookstore my first year at Midway. For some reason, it was a coveted job on campus for those needing tuition assistance. After my freshman year, I realized that I’d rather suffer through extra loans than deal with helping ungrateful college students shop. Having college students whine and bitch that the store was out of a book that they needed for a class the following day could crush one’s soul. As if them waiting to the last minute to get their required supplies was anyone’s fault but their own.
At the counter by the door, I grabbed two canvas tote bags. I hadn’t intended to buy two, but everything in my pockets and cradled in my arms needed to go somewhere. I dumped my pockets and arms into the first canvas bag, then slung it over my shoulder, holding the empty bag at my side in my other hand. Then I made my way to my first stop in the store—the math textbooks section.
Quickly grabbing the required book, I slipped it into the tote. I found my Economics of Information text and added it to the tote. Three other text books got added to the tote before I felt like I was dragging a boulder at my side. I finished my book shopping in the Literature section. Furtively, I glanced around, making sure that no one in the nearly empty bookstore was watching me. I pulled out my phone and brought up the Amazon app.
Comparing the books required in my American Literature class to those on the shelf, I quickly realized Kindle versions of the books would save me tons of money. Fortunately, I had two of the required books in Kindle format already. Only Waiting for Godot and Leaves of Grass would need to be purchased. I felt bad buying electronic versions of the book, but broke college students have to save a few bucks from time to time. If we’d had an indie bookstore nearby, I would have gladly supported them. However, the college bookstore was not going to gouge me for a third year in a row.
After adding the two books to my wish list, I made my way to the sale section of the bookstore. There was never anything but useless crap in the sale aisle, but it was always fun to look at the cheap supplies and trinkets the college tried to sell financially illiterate students.
Leaving the aisle with nothing more than I’d arrived with, I made my way up to the check-out counter. The same girl that had greeted me when I entered the bookstore an hour earlier was waiting excitedly to check me out. I did my best to be a pleasant customer since there was no need to hurry her to her soul-crushing discovery that college students were dicks. Unfortunately, she was not only excited to be alive, she was a talker. By the time she’d charged me hundreds of dollars for books I’d use for an incredibly brief period of my life, I knew more about her life than my own.
I said “goodbye”
and “thank you” and made my way out of the bookstore at last. Night had fallen on campus and the bags in my hands felt like sandbags. Stopping by the dining hall to get a meal to go had been my plan. The weight of the bags had me reconsidering my options. I practically dragged the two bags across the sidewalk to the rows of stone planters that lined the other side of the concrete path. Plopping down on the edge of the knee-high planter to rest, I let the bags fall at my feet.
A cool breeze whispered through my short, dark hair as I sat there, wondering if I could bribe a fellow passing student to carry my bags back to my dorm for me. Seeing as the quad was mostly deserted during the end of the dinner hour, I seemed out of luck. Eventually, I would have to get up and make the five-minute trek back to my dorm, eighty pounds heavier. For the moment, I was happy to enjoy the cool late summer night air.
I’d performed this ritual for the third time in my college career. Three down; one to go. Barring any graduate studies, the following year would be the last time hauling books across campus. Looking down at my bags, I decided that a graduate degree—if it ever happened—would come after a much-needed break from my studies. If it wasn’t the constant studying, homework, prep work, and tests, the thought of visiting a student bookstore ever again made me decisive.
Whether it was the desire to hurry up and get the inevitable over with, or the rumbling in my stomach, I leaned down to grab the handles of my newly acquired totes. I decided it was best to take my bags back to the dorm before procuring my supper. Trying to balance a to-go box and carry the totes was a recipe for disaster. So, dinner would have to wait until my purchases were in my room. If I simply couldn’t force myself to venture out of the dorms again, there was always plenty of ramen and other various snacks in our room.
As I was standing from the planter, a mumbling sound out in the quad caught my attention. Seeing as it wasn’t too late in the evening yet, I expected to see other students walking through the quad on their way to the dorms from the dining hall. However, when I lifted the two totes and gazed out into the murky darkness of the sodium lamp lit quad, my eyes landed on a solitary figure.
Squatting in the middle of the quad by one of the Hackberry trees, the person was mumbling something inaudible. The distance between us made it impossible for me to figure out what exactly the person was saying. Since they were all alone, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what they were mumbling. Witnessing an insane person spiral into murderous delusions was not on my to-do list for the day. However, the longer I watched the person squatting by the tree, mumbling to themselves, I wondered if I didn’t need to contact campus security.
When I finally noticed the blue light emanating from the person’s hand, I realized they had their phone out. Relief rushed through me when I realized they were obviously talking to someone on their phone. Crisis averted! A campus lockdown due to my frantically calling campus security could be avoided. I watched the person squatting by the tree for a minute, hoping they wouldn’t glance over and wonder if I wasn’t crazy for spying on their private moment.
There’s nothing more devastating than having a potentially crazy person assume you’re crazy.
As I was about to give up on watching the person, lifting the bags from the ground, two other figures appeared from the darkness on the far side of the quad. Their path led them right past the person squatting by the tree. The person by the tree looked up as the pair stopped and cried out:
“Dick!’
My brow furrowed as the pair cackled hysterically and carried on walking away from the person by the tree. Seconds ticked by, and the pair disappeared at the other side of the quad. I’d about made my mind up to lug my bags over to the tree to check on the person they’d screamed at, but they suddenly rose and took off. They weren’t quite running, but not exactly strolling, either. Maybe a powerwalk?
As they headed towards the dorms, passing under one of the sodium lights, I made out the blue of their shirt. The wave of hair atop the obviously male student’s head was nearly blonde in the glow of the lamp yards above.
It was the guy from our Economics of Information class earlier in the day. At least, it resembled him greatly, Of course, with so many students at Midway, it was possible that there were other blue shirt wearing dudes with similar haircuts. Regardless, he disappeared as quickly as the pair of jerks who had yelled at him for no reason.
Shrugging to myself, since asking him if he was okay was no longer an option, I hoisted my bags up and headed to the dorms. Ten minutes later, I had stowed and organized my books on my desk, and folded and put away the totes. Moments later, I was leaving the room once again in search of sustenance.
Due to arriving somewhat late for dinner service in the dining hall, my options were limited. However, anything other than ramen was preferable. I settled on a passable hamburger and double order of fries, which the dining hall ladies politely boxed up for me. I grabbed a can of soda from the cooler and a few packets of ketchup, and headed back to the dorms. I munched on a few fries on my way back to the room, simply to quiet the rumbling in my tummy.
By the time I got back to the dorm and had laid my dinner out on my desk, the incident in the quad was replaying in my mind. I had planned to read a few chapters to get a head start on a few subjects, but I couldn’t get the scene out of my head. What would possess two people to shout something so rude at a stranger who was minding his business? Granted, squatting by the tree and taking a phone call was a bit weird, but he hadn’t been harming anyone.
Being weird isn’t a sin in and of itself. I don’t think. I haven’t been to church in years. My family isn’t exactly what you’d call religious.
I’d made my way through my fries and half of my burger before I pulled out my phone. Frowning to myself for doing something that was against my nature, I opened the Peepers app Collin had installed on my phone after lunch.
“What was that guy’s name?”
I wondered out loud.
The half burger was in my right hand and my phone was in my left, my thumb hovering over the screen. All I could remember from my conversation with Collin was something about two gays from some other university. The guy’s name—or his ex-boyfriend’s name—was simply lost in my brain.
It’s funny, how studious I am, and how well I perform on tests, yet have no skill for retaining information about pop culture. Anything on the subject goes in one ear and out the other. I can watch a movie and not being able to recall the name the next day. Don’t even ask me which actors were in it. Name a famous model? Not on my life. A social media influencer? No clue.
I wracked my brain for what seemed like forever before it occurred to me that I could text Collin for the answer. However, I knew that a response would take hours—if I got one at all. Since he was with his latest love interest, I might not even hear from him until Sunday evening.
Right as I was about to give up, the name came to me.
Theo!
That was it. His last name, the name of his boyfriend, and anything else Collin had told me was lost to time. But I had his first name. It would have to do.
I clicked on the little magnifying glass icon on the screen, assuming it was a search option, and found that I was correct. Typing in “Theo,”
I didn’t hold out much hope. However, as soon as I typed in his first name, the search immediately hit gold.
Theo Hendrix. That was the first option. Recognizing this name as the one Collin had given me earlier, I jerked in my seat, pleasantly surprised. Obviously, the guy was popular—or at least renowned—if he was the first result in a search of his first name. Then again, “Theo”
wasn’t an incredibly popular name. How many users on Peepers could be called “Theo?”
If it’s for the gays, dozens, I thought to myself with a chuckle.
I clicked on the result and waited a mere second before I was directed to the account for Theo Hendrix. When his profile icon and bio popped up, I recognized him immediately from class. Except he was wearing a cream-colored shirt in his profile picture and his hair was a bit shorter than it was currently.
My eyes scanned the screen of little boxes under his profile data, realizing that each box was a video thumbnail. I quickly realized that each little box had a tag in the bottom right-hand corner of each thumbnail. The text in each tag told the users how long ago it had a been since the video had been uploaded.
days.
1 day.
6 weeks.
My eyes danced along the screen, wondering which video to select. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to realize they were in chronological order. My eyes went back to the first video and went straight to the tag.
Ten minutes.
Smiling, I clicked on the video thumbnail. I took a bite from my burger as the video loaded and I was greeted with the smiling face of Theo Hendrix. Obviously taken at nighttime, an orangish glow of a sodium lamp above him, I realized he had been taking a video by the tree. He hadn’t been squatting by the tree to take a phone call, he had been making a video for Peepers.
“Hey, everyone,”
he said into the camera, his hair rustling in the light breeze. “Look at this guy.”
The camera spun and I was treated to a view of a squirrel standing on its hind legs in front of him, its back to the tree. It had a piece of bread in its little hands, munching away like a crackhead as Theo filmed it. Obviously, he had met the squirrel and given it something to eat without scaring it away. The squirrel was on screen a few moments longer, its head twisting and turning, assessing the danger level at all times, its mouth constantly gnawing at the bread.
“He’s my first friend I’ve made here at Midway,”
Theo said as he turned the camera back to himself. “Maybe my only friend.”
Theo chuckled as he looked into the camera, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. I frowned as I bit into my burger again.
“Maybe if I’m nice, he can introduce me to more—”
The video ended abruptly.
The furrow in my brow deepened as I wondered what had happened. Had I clicked something in the app to stop the video? It took a moment for me to realize that Theo had actually stopped the video in the middle of his sentence and uploaded it.
Finally, it occurred to me, that was probably when the jerks walking by had screamed at him. Obviously, he couldn’t edit that out, but he didn’t want to waste the squirrel video, either. I sighed and clicked on the comments, wondering how many people had already seen it.
The first comment made me cringe.
Dick!
Quickly, I closed Peepers and locked my phone, setting it on my desk.
That was enough toxicity for one evening.