Chapter 3
Karan
As I watch my parents drive away from the John Abbott residence parking lot, a single thought makes its home in my mind:
For the first time in my life, I’m free.
Yes, my throat is knotted, and I had to hold back tears when my mother was bawling her eyes out in my arms. If it had been up to her and Dad, I would have stayed in Val-d’Or for my two years of CEGEP.
But despite the pain of missing them already, I can’t help thinking it was about damn time.
The only way I managed to convince my parents to come to Montréal for CEGEP, instead of waiting until university to leave home, was the reminder that pursuing my studies in English would improve my chances of getting the job they’d always dreamed of for me—software engineer.
Is it true?
Absolutely not.
I’m here to become a video game developer.
I turn and head back inside the century-old red-bricked residence building, guilt gnawing through my insides. It’s not that I don’t want to serve my parents in the way Dad has taught me to do. Game development still pays well. They won’t have to worry about a thing.
By the time Dad retires, I’ll be a senior developer, and I’ll make enough to support them.
Them, and the family I’ll hopefully have by that time.
Instead of heading back to my room, which is on the second floor, I decide to walk around instead. The hallways are busy with other families helping their kids move in, and I have to watch my large, clumsy self so I don’t bump into anyone.
I’m doing the right thing by being here.
Yup. I am.
The more I tell myself that, the more I’ll believe it.
Sniffling sounds interrupt my thoughts, and I slow my pace before turning the corner of the hallway. The sight in front of me stops me short.
The tearful sounds are coming from a little girl with chestnut hair, probably around eight or nine years old. But that’s not who took my breath away. The culprit is the stunning girl holding her against her chest.
Silky peach skin. A shiny cascade of chestnut hair. Bright green eyes framed by dark lashes. And pouty pink lips I can’t stop looking at.
I’m far enough away that she hasn’t seen me.
And I don’t want her to, either. From the looks of it, this is a heavy moment.
The two adults, who must be her parents, have puffy eyes from crying, but seem to be impatiently waiting for the little girl to calm down.
And this beautiful girl looks so brave, so caring, as she tries to soothe the child.
There’s just something about this girl. Now isn’t the time, but I know I have to see her again.
It takes four days before I see her again.
Well, not technically.
I do notice her sitting way at the back of my humanities class on Tuesday, but by the time I manage to wrangle myself out of the stupid desk-chair combo that definitely isn’t designed for someone my size, she’s already gone.
On Thursday night—or as the rez kids call it, Jeudredi (a French portmanteau of Thursday and Friday)—I attend my first party with my three roommates.
The music is loud and the beer plentiful, purchased by those who have had the pleasure of turning eighteen already.
It’s the cheap kind, but I don’t turn up my nose at the offer of free drinks by the hosts.
“Bro,” my roommate Johann says with a bump on my shoulder, his German accent thick. “Now this is a party.”
I wouldn’t know. There isn’t a universe in which my parents would have let me attend a party. In this universe, my sixteen-year-old roommate has seen more parties than me and can outdrink me by an entire six-pack, if not more.
To be honest, I’m not really paying attention to the vibes of this crowded party. Instead, I’m scanning the room for someone in particular. Someone that my thoughts have kept coming back to, over and over.
And there she is.
Leaning against the wall with a red solo cup in hand, she looks absolutely beautiful in the flowery summer dress that falls just above her knees, leaving her soft calves exposed. My mouth goes dry at the sight of her.
Yet, she seems so small. Not because she’s particularly petite—she’s about average height with a medium, lean build—but because of the way she’s leaning into herself. Those chestnut locks of hair cover half her face, as if she’s trying to hide herself away.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell my roommates before making a beeline for this girl.
I stop when I’m ten feet away. The last thing I want to do is come off as creepy or scary, so I lean up against the same wall as her and awkwardly slide along until I’m about three feet away.
She turns her head to me with a side glance, her pink lips pursed.
“Hey.” I raise an eyebrow. “Do you come here often?”
Wow. Real smooth, Karan.
The girl looks around. “So, where’s the wine?”
“Uh…” I look down at my red solo cup. “This is beer. I think that’s all they have?”
She settles her bright green eyes on me. “Oh, that’s too bad. I like some wine with my cheese.”
It takes me a second to realize she just made a joke and for me to burst out into an awkward guffaw.
“Your joke was definitely better than mine,” I tell her.
Being this close to her is messing with the chemistry of my brain.
“I’m sorry, this…” I gesture to the loud ambiance of teenage drunkards around us. “... is new for me. And I just saw you here, and I’ve seen you in my humanities class, and I just thought…”
My voice trails off when I realize I might come off as too stalkerish.
“I saw you, too.” Her cheeks go red.
My heart skips a beat. “You did?”
“Yeah.” She looks down at her glass. “This isn’t really new for me, but I came with my roommates and they ditched me. I don’t really like parties.”
A surge of anger bubbles in my veins. We don’t all get lucky with our roommates, and it looks like she definitely didn’t.
Who would leave this angel alone?
“That’s kind of fucked up.” I slide an inch closer and smile. “Want to get out of here, then?”
My pulse speeds up at the audacity that just came out of my mouth.
She purses her lips again. “Presumptuous, sir.”
Shit.
I slide a bit farther away, racking my brain for ways to make it seem like a joke. “Uh…”
The girl bursts into laughter, and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve heard in my entire life.
“I'm just fucking with you, dude. Let's go.” She starts to walk, but stops in her tracks. “Before I run away from a party with you, I should probably know your name.”
My heart is in my throat when I speak. “I’m Karan.”
The girl’s face softens, and immediately, my insides turn to jelly.
“I’m Rachel.”