Chapter Five
Caleb
Drudgery.
It was the only word for this holding pattern I was in. The days bled into each other, each one an echo of the one before. All of them a fucking slog of wasted time.
“Mr. Alexander,” the professor called as class was being dismissed. “Can I see you for a moment?”
After gathering the books I hadn’t bothered opening, I waded through the sea of exiting students like a lone fish swimming upstream.
Two girls blocked my path, locked in a heated debate about the role of religion in politics. Neither of them moved as I approached. Neither of them even noticed me. They were so deep in their argument, the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
I used to have that. That fire. That drive to care about something so much the world dropped away.
I’d had it with skateboarding, once. The thrill of standing at the top of a ramp, the obsessive need to land a trick I’d failed a hundred times. But that felt like another life now. Another version of me who gave a shit about something.
The last time I’d felt anything close to it was at a house party three weeks ago, debating the existence of love with a drunk woman whose name was like a fucking mantra in my head. We’d kissed, and the world had dropped away then, too.
I shoved that thought to the back of my mind and squeezed past the girls, trudging up to my professor’s desk.
“Hi, Caleb.” She studied me the way teachers do when they’re about to deliver bad news.
“I wanted to check in. You’ve taken on a heavy course load this year, and with the summer session on top of it, I’m seeing signs of burnout.
You haven’t completed the last two assignments, and I don’t think you looked up from your desk once today. ”
“I’m fine. It’s just taken me a while to adapt.”
“To the workload, or something else?” She wasn’t prying. She genuinely didn’t know. That was the thing about Toronto—nobody here knew me. Nobody had my backstory. I was just another student who wasn’t performing.
It should’ve been a relief. But it wasn’t.
“Look, I think you have the ability to do well in this course,” she continued. “But I’d rather see you drop a class or two and actually engage than watch you burn out trying to power through it. There are two days left to withdraw without academic penalty—”
“I appreciate the heads-up.” I cut in, unwilling to hear any more of her measured, reasonable concern.
She wasn’t saying anything wrong. That was the problem. She was being perfectly professional. Perfectly helpful. And it still made no difference.
Nothing here did.
I thanked her again, grabbed my bag, and left before she could say anything else.
The mid-September sun was still warm. The campus was green and full of people taking advantage of the last stretch of summer weather. Students sprawled across the quad, laughing, arguing, making plans…living.
For once, I wanted nothing to do with any of them. The drudgery had morphed into something worse—a full-fledged feeling of displacement. Like I was in the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong damn life. Like there was somewhere else I was supposed to be.
Someone else I was supposed to be with.
When I reached the building on the other side of campus, I didn’t hesitate. I strode into the registrar’s office, ignored the sign telling me it was closed, bypassed the empty waiting area, and walked straight up to the desk.
The registrar stood with her back to me, her shoulders almost as tight as the knot of her perfectly coiffed blond hair. Her red-tipped fingers tapped in irritation across the top of the printer, which was grinding out pages loud enough to mask my footsteps.
"I need to withdraw," I said.
She turned, already scowling. Then she saw me and her face fell. "Oh, Caleb, no."
“Hey, Cece.” I smiled at my sister despite the hard glare she’d trapped me in. “I think university dropout has a nice ring to it, don’t you?”
“You can’t. I refuse to allow it.”
“It’s not up to you. Either you help me with it now, or I come back later when the other woman’s here. What’s her name? The one you don’t like? I’m sure she’ll be happy to help me.”
“I don’t like any of them,” she grumbled.
“Will you do this for me, please?”
Celeste had always been a hard edge. Even after divorcing her cheating husband, she hadn’t softened. If anything, being single had made her worse. She was angry and mean, and I’d never fully understood why.
But I knew she had a soft spot. A big, squishy center that only I seemed able to reach.
“You ask like it’s a simple thing. Like I can turn a blind eye while you throw away your future. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t call Mom and Dad right now.”
“Because I’ve gone numb here, Cece. And after everything…” I choked back the lump of unexpected emotion. “I need to feel like I’m doing something that matters. This isn’t it. I don’t belong here, and I think we both know it.”
The harsh set of her jaw didn’t shift, but I could see the gloss of unshed tears gathering in her eyes. “I know,” she agreed with a heavy sigh. “I just kept hoping you’d settle in. That maybe I could do something to help.”
“It’s not something you can fix. It’s not something anyone can fix. I just need to go home.”
She quirked her perfectly manicured eyebrow. “You realize you sound like you’re breaking up with me.”
I laughed. “Maybe I am.”
Someone cleared their throat behind me. Her coworker—the one she didn’t like—stood in the doorway, staring us down, having caught only the tail end of our conversation.
Celeste planted her red-tipped fingers on her hips and leveled her coworker with a look that made me grateful it wasn’t aimed at me. “Oh, for God’s sake, Janice! He’s my brother, and it was a joke. Keep your mind on your own shit—you’ve got enough of it.”
Poor Janice looked properly scolded as she scurried off to a desk on the other side of the room. I wondered if she sat that far away from my sister on purpose.
“Fine.” Celeste turned back to me with her usual scowl in place. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”
“No, that’s Eric’s title. I’m just hoping to make the life he saved a little better.” She smiled at me, and for once it wasn’t forced. “One of us has to be happy, and you know it’ll never be me.”
“I’m feeling better already.” And I meant it. The weight I’d been hauling around since I came back from Copper Ridge was suddenly lighter, and it felt damn good.
“Good. I’ll file the paperwork. You need to take your delinquent ass home and tell our parents about this decision. But don’t you dare tell them it was me.” She raised her voice. “You can tell Mom and Dad it was Janice who helped you drop out of school.”
With her usual malicious smile, she shooed me out of her office. It was strange, but somehow she seemed happiest when making other people miserable.
I headed back toward my dorm, and for the first time in three weeks, I had something worth smiling about, too.
Something real. Something other than the memory of a kiss.
A name I’d been trying not to think about since the night I’d first heard it.
Zadie.