Chapter 5 Signal to Noise （Wren）
SIGNAL TO NOISE (WREN)
The library’s fourth floor is my safe space. Quiet carrels, old heating vents humming, that familiar cocktail of worn textbooks and academic despair that peaks during midterms. No one performs up here. No one notices anyone else.
That’s the point.
I’ve claimed the corner desk by the window, pencil clicking against the margin while I work through problem sets that should take thirty minutes but keep stretching to fifty because my brain refuses to behave.
I stare at the same thermodynamics equation for the third time. The numbers blur. Behind them—disruptive, insistent—is the memory of steel blue settling into the seat beside me in Feldman’s class.
Kieran O’Connor’s knee angled into my space without touching.
The split on his lower lip I clocked before I could stop myself.
The smell of cold air and cedar layered with a faint peppered edge that made my pulse trip over itself.
I should not be thinking about him.
I click my pencil four times to reset my brain. Entropy. Heat transfer. Systems in equilibrium.
Mine is anything but.
The pencil clicks again. I freeze, annoyed at myself.
He texted me. Used my publicly posted tutoring number and signed off with a casual K, pretending we’re already friends.
I’ve opened the message six times. Read it. Closed it.
No reply is still a reply. He’s smart enough to get that.
And I’m smart enough to know silence will only wind him up. He’ll decide it’s a chase and make it my problem.
My phone lies face down on the desk. I flip it over before I can stop myself.
UNKNOWN
Partners should probably exchange contact info
Stats tutoring flyer on the bulletin board had your number
Hope that’s not weird —K
It is weird. It’s weird that he went looking. It’s weird that he bothered. It’s weird that the message is still stuck in my chest three hours later, humming its own frequency.
I flip the phone back over and return to the problem set.
He shouldn’t take up this much space in my head. He’s exactly the kind of guy I know to avoid, the kind I’ve looked past my entire life—loud, charming, unpredictable. A gravitational field all his own.
I turn to a clean page and try again. The symbols blur, rearranging themselves into the shape of his grin.
This is ridiculous.
A chair scrapes. My pulse jumps.
Theo’s head is bent, strands of hair falling over his forehead, a stack of books tucked against one hip. His glasses are slipping again; he pushes them up without noticing.
His presence is a muted sage-green in my mind—soft, steady. A color that settles instead of sparks.
He doesn’t push.
He doesn’t even notice the space.
A warm pull starts low in my stomach. Misplaced. Pathetic. I’ve had a crush on him for a year and still can’t form a coherent sentence around him.
“Hey, Sensei.” His voice is the exact shade I expect—gentle, balanced, calming. “Is this seat taken?”
My brain: No. Sit. Don’t leave.
My mouth: “Um. No. Go ahead.”
Smooth.
He sets his books down. I watch his forearm flex, geometric lines disappearing under his sleeve. My fingers itch to follow the pattern.
“You studying for 204?”
I nod. “Trying to.”
He laughs softly. A small amber ripple brightens across my vision. “Same. I swear Feldman invents new rules every time he talks about differential equations.”
“I think he does,” I say, relieved my voice sounds semi-human.
Theo flips open his notebook. I pretend to read mine but mostly just watch him from the corner of my eye. He leans over his work with total focus, brows drawn in, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek.
Unreasonably attractive. In a way that never asks anything of me.
I could suggest we compare notes. Or that we walk back together. Or just casually bring up our hypothetical children’s future SAT scores. Anything to keep this crush from silently dying in a corner.
Before I can gather courage, he looks up.
“Oh—actually,” he says. “Could I borrow your lecture notes from Monday? I spaced out during the last twenty minutes.”
My pulse kicks.
This is my opening. A tiny one, but still.
“Sure,” I say. “They’re…thorough.”
“I know.” His smile deepens. “That’s why I’m asking.”
It feels like my chest opens up. I hand him my notebook, our fingers brushing. The green around him softens, brightens.
He doesn’t react—not badly, not well. Just...nothing. I always forget that comfort doesn’t look back.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he smiles, flipping through the pages.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” he says. “You make math make sense.”
Which is not the same as making me make sense to him.
Theo closes the notebook neatly, like a transaction completed. “Thanks. I’ll bring it to the study lounge tomorrow?”
I force a smile. “Yeah. Sure.”
If I were a better person, I’d admit this is not a date. I choose not to.
He gathers his books. “See you then.”
I watch him walk away longer than I should, waiting for something he doesn’t turn back for.
His tee pulls across his shoulders when he reaches for a book.
The ink on his forearm flexes and shifts.
Geometric lines vanish under the fabric, and my brain—traitor that it is—wonders where else he might have them.
He disappears around the corner.
I slump forward and let my forehead thud onto my notebook.
Borrowed. Not chosen.
My tutoring shift at the student center drags. Thursdays usually do. I still take every hour I can get.
Tuition and the cafeteria plan are covered, but everything else is on me.
The meal plan leans hard on fries and mystery meat, calls iceberg lettuce a vegetable, and has never met a spice besides salt and pepper.
If I want real food, I have to buy my own groceries.
If I don’t work, I don’t eat well. It’s that simple.
My boots are wearing thin and my little cousin’s birthday is coming up. If I squeeze in a few extra sessions this week, I can afford one of those Sephora body sprays she fogs the entire house with, plus a set of ridiculously overpriced lip balms “all her friends have.”
A freshman approaches the table clutching a calc textbook.
“Are you…Wren Marin?”
“Yes,” I say, voice polite even though exhaustion is dragging at me. “What do you need help with?”
“Um…everything?”
I nod and pull out scrap paper.
Halfway through explaining limits, I feel it—sharp white static at the edges of my perception. The kind that means something has entered my orbit without permission. A cluster of voices in the hallway, laughter rolling in bright, metallic arcs.
One sound slices through the rest.
Steel blue.
Kieran.
I don’t turn or acknowledge. My hand just tightens around the pen until my fingers go numb. Ink bleeds a little where I pause too long.
The freshman hasn’t noticed I’ve stalled.
“So then you plug the value back in?”
“Yes,” I say, throat dry. “Try it that way first.”
The voices fade.
The job keeps me anchored. The numbers don’t care who’s nearby.
But the color lingers like an afterimage. Bright. Unwanted. Impossible to blink away.
By the time my shift ends, the sky over BU is tinted lavender with approaching snow. I zip my jacket and walk fast, head down, dodging a group of guys in Iron Hounds hockey team hoodies.
I expect my brain to still be on Theo—the safe choice, the smart choice—but it isn’t. My gaze slides over every face in the crowd, hunting for someone I have absolutely no business looking for.
Kieran.
Pathetic. And confusing. And I hate that I’m doing it.
My phone buzzes, jolting me out of the spiral.
AUbrEY
Where are you? Dinner and a movie? Meet you at your place in ten?
WREN
On my way
When I make it back to the dorm, Aubrey’s waiting on the floor in front of my room, legs crossed in sweats and an oversized sweatshirt, blonde curls piled high like a halo of judgment.
“Brought us Chinese takeout. Approve?” She holds up a paper bag.
I nod and unlock the door.
“You look stressed,” she says, following me inside. “More than usual stressed. Like you broke your favorite pencil and the backup pencil.”
“I’m fine.”
“Try again, girlie.” She kicks off her shoes and settles on the floor, pulling out containers of rice and vegetables. “What happened?”
I drop my bag and sink down beside her. “Theo.”
Her eyebrows jump. “Okay, shocking plot twist. What about him?”
I exhale. “I’m tired of pining after a guy who doesn’t even notice me.”
“Good.” She sits up straighter. “Evict him from your brain. Clear his lease. Change the locks.”
I wince. “I keep hoping he’ll finally look my way. But he won’t.”
Aubrey snorts. “That’s his problem, not yours.” Then her eyes narrow, a wicked light flickering. “Besides, there seems to be another jock seeing you very clearly. Half the campus is buzzing about Kieran O’Connor choosing to sit next to you in Feldman’s class.”
I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with skin.
Because she’s right.
Because he is sliding in—loud, bright, uninvited—and I hate how aware I am of him.
“I just like Theo,” I insist, waving her off too quickly.
Aubrey’s face softens, then flattens into dry disbelief.
“Wren. Bestie. You’ve been staring at this man for a year.
A year. And he’s still not even clocking that there is a girl who gets all flustered when he’s around.
Yes, he has amazing shoulders and is super smart, but he treats you like the human embodiment of a lab manual. ”
I groan.
She nudges a takeout container toward me. “Meanwhile, someone else is out here texting you and rearranging the color palette in your brain. Maybe stop acting like that’s not happening.”
Steel blue flickers at the edge of my thoughts.
Intrusive. Uninvited. Impossible to shake.
“I don’t want chaos,” I mutter.
“Maybe chaos wants you,” she says.
I look away, pretending my dumpling is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. I pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Clearly.” She softens, shifting to sit cross-legged facing me. “Okay. Real talk. Do you actually like Theo, or do you like the idea of him?”
The question lands. I think about his sage-green voice. The calm that settles over me when he’s nearby. The way he’s smart without being loud about it, kind without expecting anything in return. Safe. Predictable. Understandable.
Everything I need.
“I really like him,” I say quietly. “He’s...steady.”
“Steady.” Aubrey repeats the word like she’s testing it. “That’s one way to describe a guy.”
“What’s wrong with steady?”
“Nothing. Steady’s great. Steady’s safe.” She picks at the edge of her sweatshirt. “But when’s the last time steady made you feel hot and bothered?”
The question hits wrong because I don’t have an answer. Hot and bothered isn’t a feeling I’ve ever had for anyone.
Until Kieran O’Connor.
That sharp, electric, skin-prickling awareness that made my pulse forget its rhythm when he sat down next to me in class and angled his knee into my space without asking permission.
“Theo makes me feel safe,” I insist.
“Okay,” Aubrey says. “But does he make you feel…tingly?”
I don’t answer.
She watches me for a long moment, her expression softening. “I’m not trying to be harsh. I just—” She hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “You’ve had…a lot to carry, Wren. More than most people our age. I get why safe feels like the only option.”
My jaw tightens. “Safe is realistic.”
“And what about happy?” she asks quietly.
“Happy is expensive.” The words slip out sharper than I expect. “Happy is risky. Happy is distraction I can’t afford.”
“I know.” Her voice softens. “But you’re also allowed to be a twenty-year-old college student who has a crush and does something about it. Can we address the elephant in the room, please?”
I shrug my shoulders. She means Kieran O’Connor, and we both know it, no use pretending otherwise.
“He wants me to tutor him.”
“Ok, that’s a start. And you said…?”
“No.”
She blinks. “Why?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again.
“Because it’s a bad idea.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s enough.”
“Not even close.”
I shove a piece of chicken around my takeout container. “Aubrey…I can’t. I have too much on my plate. Textbooks, new winter shoes, my cousin’s birthday. My scholarship GPA. If I screw up, I won’t be able to graduate.”
“Tutoring him wouldn’t make you fail.”
“It would if it distracts me.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Does he distract you?”
I look away. The color in my mind brightens, uninvited. “No.”
“That’s a yes. You get weird whenever O’Connor is even mentioned.”
“Because he’s loud.”
“Because you like him.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“He doesn’t mean it,” I snap. “And even if he did, it wouldn’t last. I can’t afford that.”
Aubrey pauses. “Are you sure about that?”
I grit my teeth. “Guys like him don’t choose girls like me. Not for real.”
“That,” she says gently, “is bullshit.”
I shake my head. “He’s just not used to hearing a no. Or he’s bored. Or—whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
“Wren.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I repeat, voice tight. “I can’t afford chaos. Not right now.”
Aubrey studies me for a long moment. “Is this about your parents?”
My throat closes. The room’s colors dim. Gray-blue settles heavy in my mind.
“Aubrey,” I whisper. “Don’t.”
She nods and drops it. She always knows when to stop pushing.
We finish eating in silence.
My phone buzzes on the desk behind me. I twist to look.
TANTI DANA
Are you coming next weekend?
My chest tightens. I haven’t seen my aunt and uncle for a few months now, and they are the only family I have left. At the same time, every time I visit them, it’s a reminder of what I have lost, and what could have been. I prefer to stay away and not have to think about it.
WREN
Looking forward to seeing you guys
When I turn around, Aubrey’s watching me with that look—the one that’s equal parts sympathy and frustration.
“Your aunt?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t want to go see them?”
“They took me in when my parents died. They didn’t have to.” I pick up my pencil, clicking it once. “I owe them. Besides, I enjoy my cousin Larisa.”
“The scary tween?”
“Yes.” I chuckle. “Middle-school girls are terrifying.”
Aubrey opens her mouth, then closes it. “You should take it. Not because he’s him. Because you don’t get to keep shrinking your life to stay safe.”
My forehead scrunches. I don’t have a comeback that doesn’t sound ridiculous.
Aubrey’s watching me with that knowing look. “He rattles you.”
“He’s loud.”
What I don’t say is:
His voice turns the air steel blue, and I can’t stop hearing it.
He looks at me like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve.
He makes my pulse kick when he’s close, and I hate that I notice.