32. Chapter 32
With only two weeks left before winter break, I’m furiously working to get everything done. Technically, the semester goes until mid-January, but I like to have all my loose ends tied up. If I don’t, I’ll ruin my break by dwelling. The majority of my classes are straightforward. A test to study for in O-Chem, a review of my favorite hiking trails for hiking class, but my latest essay for English is going to kill me.
If I could have chosen my subject, things would be fine, but it was chosen for me. My English professor thought she’d go easy on us by assigning “fun” topics. For me, it’s anything but fun. Maybe others would enjoy writing about how the hippie movement shaped history, but I’ve been struggling to develop a cohesive argument in order to relay the information properly, and it shows. My paragraphs are all over the place. They’re disjointed, choppy, and lack any sort of general flair.
I’m frustrated with myself, but Brynn Erlenmeyer doesn’t quit.
Hunkered down in my room, which happens to be on the main level of our house, I commit myself to this paper. I have three hours until I meet Sam. Plenty of time. All my resources are readied, websites opened, books stacked. I just need to concentrate on rewording these sentences so they make sense.
Twenty minutes into working, Lisa opens my door without knocking. “What’cha doing?” she asks, popping her gum.
Drumming my fingers on my desk, I don’t look up. “Writing a paper.”
“Ooh, you sound super excited about that.” She snickers. “Do you want to grab lunch later before you meet up with Sam?”
I shake my head, still keeping my focus on my work. “I need to finish this. I’ll just have a sandwich or something.”
“Okay, fine.” She sighs, but doesn’t leave my doorway. “What’s the paper about?”
“Hippies.”
“What?” She practically laughs the question out.
“My professor assigned us topics, and mine is about how hippies shaped history. I hate it.”
“Why? It sounds fun. I love the music from that time. If you want, I can?”
“Lisa,” I say curtly as I finally turn to look at her. “I don’t need help right now. I just need you to leave so I can finish.”
Her face crinkles with annoyance. “Yes, ma’am,” she says, saluting me with her middle finger before walking away.
I groan and get up to close my door. I know I pissed her off, but I’ll apologize later. I have work to do. As I settle back at my desk, I don’t read more than two sentences before “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”by The Kingston Trio comes blaring from our living room stereo.
I clench my jaw to power through the noise, but after the song ends, it starts again. It repeats three times before I realize Lisa is playing hippie and having her own form of protest.
“Ugh.” I drop my face into my palm and take a deep breath. “It’s okay. I can work through this.”
Thirty minutes later, I’ve heard the song at least ten times, but it’s faded into background music at this point. In fact, I’ve come to consider it almost white noise. I’m feeling better about my ability to finish this paper when thumping sounds from the room above me, and I slump in my chair.
Lisa has taken over the living room, so Hannah must be doing her workout. In her bedroom directly above mine. It’s a normal occurrence when you have three roommates with varying schedules, but why does it have to be right now?
With a frustrated groan, I shut down my computer and pack my materials. I can’t concentrate under these conditions. It’s bad enough I hate my essay topic, but now with the same song on endless repeat and my bookshelf rattling every five seconds, I’m at my wit”s end.
I leave my room, striding through the living room toward the front door. Lisa lounges on the couch scrolling her phone, and I send a glare her way. She twiddles her fingers in the air as I storm out the front door, slamming it behind me.
Once I’m outside, I breathe in the brisk December air. After a few days of twenty degrees or below, this forty degrees feels like a heat wave. I briefly shut my eyes, taking a moment to bask in the sun before setting off for the library.
The precarious ice patches make my walk longer than normal, but by the time I reach my destination, my angry frustration has ebbed. I don’t have anyone to blame except myself. If I hadn’t been rude to Lisa, she wouldn’t have commandeered the living room and Hannah wouldn’t have been doing jump squats eight feet above me. Maybe if I had apologized right away, I’d still be in the comforts of my own room, and not in the library.
At least it’s quiet in here. This could be a good thing. Sometimes a change of scenery is all it takes.
It worked with me and Sam.
After we started meeting at his place, things improved between us. Okay, so that may have been due to us sleeping together, but it was an improvement nonetheless. Even now, without having sex, we’re still in a good spot. Meeting at the coffee shop has been great. Granted, today will only be our second time, but Sam and I don’t argue anymore, we don’t pick at each other. In fact, we seem to have completely let go of our hatred and are getting along better each time.
The thought buoys my mood as I take a seat at a computer station. Digging through my backpack for my student ID, I come up empty. That’s odd. It’s always in the inside pocket. I don’t put it anywhere else…
Shit.
I took it out when we went to Jackie’s art show last weekend. She won a competition that landed her a temporary spot in a gallery, and students got in for free on opening night. I remember tucking my ID into my pants pocket.
The pants that are currently sitting in my hamper.
With a heavy sigh, I trudge to the front desk to get a temporary login. It should be a simple task. All I need is for a librarian to print me off a code so I can log into our school server. Except, there aren’t any librarians anywhere.
I wait for what feels like forever before I track one down and it takes all of twenty seconds to get a pass code. When I finally sit down at a computer, I notice it’s been thirty minutes since I left my house. I’ve wasted half an hour just trying to get started again.
I still have plenty of time to dedicate to this paper. It’ll be okay.
Popping in my ear-buds, I set to work. The steady stream of hard rock songs drowns out the noise around me, and surprisingly, I fall into a steady flow. I manage to not only read through, but rewrite the majority of two pages. In only forty-five minutes nonetheless. A smile pulls at my lips as I let the weight of the past two hours slide from my shoulders.
That is, until my music suddenly stops. “What the…?” I pull my phone from my pocket to see a black screen. “Awesome,” I groan. Guess I forgot to charge it last night.
I tell myself it isn’t the end of the world and dive back into my paper, but concentrating proves harder than I thought. I lose focus more times than I can count. The idea that I’m unreachable niggles at me.
What if there’s an emergency? This could be the one time my parents need to contact me, and they can’t. Sure, they could call Lisa, but I left without speaking to her, so she doesn’t know where I am.
I lean my elbow onto the desk, dropping my face into my palm. I’m usually so much better prepared than this. How I even forgot to plug in my phone last night is beyond me.
It’s just an off day.
With a deep breath, I begin the same paragraph I’ve reread at least six times. I’d like to finish it before I have to leave...
Crap. What time is it?
I glance at the clock on the computer. “Twelve-forty!? Shit.” I hurriedly log off and throw my materials into my backpack. The coffee shop is a short walk from my house, but the library is on the other side of campus, so now I have twice as far to go.
Racing out of the library, I speed walk down the street. If I keep this pace, I’ll make it to Cuppa Joe’s just in time. It’s a good thing I run for fun.
As I come to an intersection, the light threatens to turn, so I speed up. I’m not paying attention when I step off the curb onto a patch of ice I expect to be sturdy, but my foot goes right through. I shake the water from my snow boot, patting myself on the back for deciding against sneakers.
That sense of pride slowly fades as my sock becomes wet. Great. I have a hole in my boot somewhere. A moist sock has to be the most uncomfortable feeling in the world, and I don’t have time to run home.
Frustrated tears sting my eyes. This day has not gone at all how I had hoped. All I wanted was to finish a paper that I don’t want to look at anymore, but I couldn’t even get that done. And now, I’m late to study group prep.
When I get to Cuppa Joe’s, I find Sam waiting outside again. A smile ticks up on his lips, and all my tension releases. Dammit. Why do I find him so comforting? I didn’t used to. In fact, it was the opposite. Whenever I saw him, it irritated me and I couldn’t wait to get away from him, but things have changed. It”s one thing not to hate him, but counting the minutes until I see him again? I shouldn’t be doing that. We’re nothing except classmates, now.
As I get closer, the cheerful expression on his face fades, instead turning to concern. “Hey, is something wrong?”
“I’m having a really shitty day.” I sniffle, swiping at my dewy lashes before eyeing him suspiciously. “Why are you outside? Hiding from Maya again?”
He snorts out a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“No, you’re just predictable.”
“Ouch.” He lays his hand on his heart, but winks before he opens the door. “After you.”
Sam steps to the counter while I head straight to the bathroom. I not only need to pee, but I spend a minute using the hand dryer on my sock. Standing on one foot shouldn’t be this difficult. I’m hopping from side to side, leaning all over as I try not to touch the bathroom floor with my bare toes.
When my sock is dry, I bend to slip it on, but lose my balance. I end up over-correcting as I hop backward, and bang my elbow on the sink counter.
“Fuck!” I shout. Could this day get any worse?
Once my boot is back on, I go order my drink. After this shitty day, I deserve something fun, so I order one of their holiday specials. One I’ve never had before. When my name is called, I grab my cup, but instantly pull my hand away. It’s piping hot, even through the paper cup.
Groaning inwardly, I slip a cardboard sleeve around my drink and join Sam at a table. I plop into my seat, letting out a heavy sigh.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Sam asks in his most gentle voice, and it disarms me.
So, I let it out. I start at the top, telling him about how I pissed off Lisa all the way to the hole in my boot. “And, to top it off, this coffee is way too hot to drink, so now I have to wait.”
The sympathetic look on Sam’s face doesn’t waver throughout my entire vent session. “Well, how about you sit there and listen while I talk about the presentation? You don’t have to do anything for a while. Maybe that way, nothing else will go wrong.”
I chuckle, nodding. “What’s your idea for next week?”
True to his word, Sam does all the talking for the next several minutes. Diving into the presentation information, he goes over all the details, but never opens his computer. He gives me all his attention even though all I’m doing is listening.
And boy, I could listen to him talk all day. His deep voice is so smooth, it wraps me in velvety softness. A few times, my mind wanders, and I conjure the sound of his voice when he’s talking dirty in my ear. Even with these extra layers on, I get goosebumps.
When he’s finished, he picks up his coffee. “So, what do you think?”
“I think it all sounds good.” I tentatively wrap my hand around my cup, elated when I find it cooled enough to touch. “Finally,” I say in a breath.
Sam laughs. “You sure are excited about that coffee.”
“Well, I wanted to try something new.”
“Really? What did you get?”
“Gingerbread latte,” I say, lifting my cup to my lips.
Sam snatches the cup from my hand, yanking it away like I was about to drink acid.
“Hey!” I shout. “What the hell?”
“You’re not drinking this.”
Is he joking? If so, it’s not funny. “Want to bet? Give it back.” I reach across him, but he scoots his chair back, shaking his head. “Sam,” I say, folding my arms. “Give me my drink back.”
“Brynn, you can’t drink it.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because they top it with cinnamon. See?” He pulls the lid off to reveal a fluffy mound of foam sprinkled with brown powder.
My eyes widen. “Oh, shit.” I slump back into my chair. “I didn’t even think to ask.”
“Yeah, obviously. You really want to top off your bad day with a trip to the hospital?”
I squeeze my eyes tight, flashes of my almost future playing behind my eyelids. My body temperature rising. My throat constricting. My tongue swelling. It hasn’t happened since I was young. I’ve been so vigilant, so meticulous about ingredients. Until today.
“You need to be more careful.”
I bristle at what sounds like Sam chiding a wayward toddler, but when I open my eyes, the fear on his face confuses me. As I stare at him, I let his words replay. The tone of his voice echoes in my mind, sounding more and more like concern each time.
He wasn’t berating me. He was scared, and he protected me the only way he could.
My anger slowly ebbs as his regard for my safety warms me. “Thank you,” I say, ducking my chin.
“No worries. It’s what friends are for.”
I whip my head up. Friends? Only a few months ago, that word would have made me scoff. Now, it hits me like a rock to the gut, but it’s my own doing. I called off our arrangement. I friend-zoned myself.
With an accepting nod, I sigh. “Sorry I got mad.”
Sam’s expression softens, his mouth curling into a sweet smile. “Hey, it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t fight me about it.”