The Late Bloomer

Chapter 1

Iknow we’re supposed to be happy with ourselves—love who we are—and I agree. I do love myself. But when I look like a cross between a gorilla and a magpie, some changes need to be made.

A few nights before leaving for my freshman year at the University of Arizona, I’d called my best friend, Mikaela—the only successful person I knew who’d made it out of Honeyvale, Arizona. Now that she attended Georgetown in Washington DC, she never answered my texts. Her social calendar was packed with more dates than a Turkish bazaar. Whereas my social calendar had more empty spaces than a parking lot on Christmas Day. A question burned within me only she could answer. “Do you think I’m frumpy?”

Mikaela gasped. “Oh, Gabby. Who told you that?”

Mikaela distanced herself from me after my junior year talent show debut two years ago, but she never told me what bothered her. “I just don’t want to be known as Gabby the Goat Girl anymore.”

“You’re just a late bloomer,” she said.

Great.I’m a shriveled bud waiting for a touch of sunlight before blossoming.

She tried to sugar-coat her response, but it still sounded suspiciously like frumpy. “You just haven’t figured it out yet.”

I’m a late bloomer, I thought to myself. I just haven’t figured it out yet. Whatever it was.

Mikaela’s words echoed in the inner chambers of my heart while I packed my ratty sweatpants and oversized tees into a duffle bag. I do like myself. I have talents and good character traits, as everyone does. But my friend’s statement awoke me to myself. I needed something to turn this ugly duckling to a swan. And I needed it fast because I was heading to college.

I was the first in my family to be accepted to university. My sister, Gayle, still lived in our small town in the not-so-respectable Winsome Apartments where the pool was often greener than the grass in the summer. She worked at the Quik-E-Mart, making minimum wage and dated her sleazey boyfriend, Dirk, who she’d been with since she was a freshman in high school, hitting up the local Dairy King for their Saturday night dates. She had no plans, no future, and no way out of Honeyvale, AZ: population 1,200 and change.

I wanted more than that for my life.

When I arrived at my Tucson apartment complex, I was the first of the four roomies to move in. While my older brother, Bryan, helped me haul my meager belongings into the dingy college pad which smelled of moldy cheese, I pondered another reason why I needed change. “I didn’t go to high school prom.”

Bryan set down a stack of banana boxes we nabbed from the back dumpster at Harlways Food and shrugged. “I didn’t go to prom either.”

“It’s different for boys.”

“How?”

“You had a choice to ask, and you chose not to ask someone. I didn’t get asked.”

Out of the three of us siblings, Bryan and I looked the most alike. His dark hair tickled his collar, and if I squinted, I could imagine him as a caveman, dragging his knuckles on the ground. “Why spend a bunch of money on a girl I won’t even remember after high school graduation?”

He had a point. “Going to prom is a memory. Girls like getting dressed up. They like to feel pretty.” Of course, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn a dress. Or felt pretty.

Bryan arched a shaggy eyebrow. “Why don’t girls get dressed up, have a big party, and leave the guys out of it?”

“Because we need someone to admire us!” This was ironic because I had few admirers. The last time someone had a crush on me was Clarence, the kissy-boy at Honeyvale Elementary—in second grade.

Except Beau. But I didn’t count Beau. I didn’t even like thinking his name. He resurrected my elementary school title of Gabby the Goat Girl after we broke up. Enough said about him.

Bryan stood and wiped sweat from his brow. “Prom is so high school, anyway.”

A deep ache resounded through my chest cavity. “I would like to go to a formal occasion and feel comfortable dressing up and being in my own skin.” I envisioned being suave, sophisticated, and other-centered—asking questions, being a good conversationalist, making other people laugh. I just didn’t know how to get there.

“Get on with your life. You’re at university now.”

University! The word thrilled me. Here, I carried no baggage. No demeaning moniker. I had a fresh start—no social hierarchy and no popular pecking order like high school. At college, I could be whatever and whoever I wanted to be. Maybe I could even go by my middle name, Elise. Elise VanGunderson sounded so sophisticated. If only I knew how to be sophisticated.

The Tucson heat poured through the apartment with only the faint mist of a swamp cooler to fight the hair-dryer August wind. After a few trips back and forth, Bryan paused to sit on a twice-used box with a bottle of water to slake his thirst.

I stored a box of housewares in the galley kitchen which came with a chipped Formica top. “So if you saw me at a college party, would you ask me out?”

He didn’t even give me a sideways glance. “You’re my sister.”

“But if I wasn’t your sister, and you saw me a party, what would you think?” I pinned him down with that one.

He gave me an appraising once-over. “Honestly?”

“Honestly.” I could depend on him for his bluntness.

“You just don’t look like you’re trying to attract guys.”

His words hit me with the force of being butted in the chest by a two-hundred-pound Anglo-Nubian billy goat. I didn’t expect his honesty to hurt so much.

He wiped his hands on his over-sized T-shirt and then stuffed them into the pockets of his ripped jeans. “You’re not bad-looking. You don’t have that something…Belief in yourself? Self-confidence, maybe?”

My shoulders slumped. All the wind blew out of me. I had lots of self-confidence. I trained and groomed competitive goats and won several grand prizes and had the trophies to prove it. But I had zero self-confidence talking to and making friends with people—especially boys. In high school, whenever a guy heard through the small-town rumor mill I had a crush on him, he avoided me. Did I wear man repellant?

Bryan encouraged me with a grin. “You need to smile more, or something. I don’t know what it is, but you’ll figure it out.”

The word appeared again. The mysterious it.

With one arm, he enveloped me in a sweaty man-hug and left for his important life.

I picked up my shower caddy with only shampoo and a bar of soap in it.

I really wanted to figure this out. I just didn’t know how to do it.

So later than day, after I was all settled, I started a goal list:

1. Learn how not to be frumpy

* * *

Prior to moving in,I video-chatted with only one of my roomies, a Haitian-American, Marie Bizet—my room roomie. The other two, we had yet to meet—Kat Harris, and Lisa Friar—the latter insisting on bringing all the kitchen appliances and utensils.

Sitting on my bed and chilling, I had already unpacked most of my stuff—and no, I didn’t bring any goat trophies, ribbons, or mounted horns to remind me of home— Gabby the Goat Girl was going to stay buried in the back deserts of Arizona—when I heard a noise in the front room.

At the door to my bedroom, a giant stuffed bear filled the doorway pushing a pink suitcase. Someone stood behind the bear.

“Let me help you.” I held open the door.

“Thank you,” said a voice behind the stuffed animal.

I removed the velvety soft bear and tossed it on the top bunk.

Marie’s dark hair fell in gentle curls around a perfectly egg-shaped face, complete with smooth forehead. How was she not sweltering in this heat? In her baby-pink shirt, she was as fresh as if the weather were a balmy seventy-six degrees outside rather than the sweltering triple digits and only a swamp cooler to keep us from boiling.

I shook her outstretched hand.

“Nice to finally meet you in person.” Her smile revealed past orthodontic work. Or excellent genes. Both were enviable.

“Yeah.” A few heartbeats passed where we just stood staring at each other. “So, you want the top bunk or the bottom?” I thumbed in the general direction of the mattresses.

“I don’t mind. I’ll take whichever.”

“Well, I think your bear claimed the top bunk.” I snorted.

She giggled.

I froze, riveted to my spot. A lightness sprang into my heart. Laughter was the harbinger of friendship. I’d like to think my sense of humor is unique, but it’s probably shared with spastic clowns, The Three Stooges, and ten-year-old boys. Anybody who laughed at my jokes must be a kindred spirit.

“Well, that’s settled,” I said. “Do you have any more stuff?”

She shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I have a few totes in my car.”

“I’ll help you.” I followed her out to the parking lot in the blinding sun.

Neat and organized matching pink plastic containers filled the trunk of her Prius.

I met a third roommate on the way back inside, though I couldn’t see her over all of Marie’s totes.

“Is my room on the right or the left?” a voice asked when we walked into the shade of the living room.

“Left.” I dropped the bins in our room. I returned to the living room to meet the new girl.

Despite the late summer’s scorching temperature, a black trench coat draped from her thin shoulders to the floor. She had to be sweltering with her long-sleeved poet’s shirt on. And wearing black leggings and boots—how was she not dead of heat stroke?

“Gabby and Marie.” I pointed as I said the names. I’d tried to get a feel for the girls when they responded to the ad I placed at the Student Union. “You must be Kat.” The photographer from Bisbee. Kat was the wild card. A wild card with maroon hair. Ah, Bisbee. An eclectic town. Explains a lot.

“I’ll get my stuff.” Kat pointed over her shoulder.

“We can help,” Marie said.

“Naw.” Kat shook her head. Her dyed locks shifted around her shoulders. “I don’t have too much.”

Marie arched her eyebrow as Kat stalked out the door. I shrugged. “She seems cool.”

Marie nodded.

But I’d guess she was less sure.

Then the last roomie, Lisa, arrived with a stack of boxes. Her parents also held stacks of boxes. They came in, dropped off boxes and returned outside presumably for more boxes. Egad! How much stuff did this girl bring?

Marie and I glanced at each other when Lisa didn’t introduce herself.

Sweating from the heat, Lisa’s parents grunted when they dumped about a thousand and two boxes in the living room.

Surveying the room with a dour expression, Lisa pushed up her large red glasses which had slipped down her sweaty face. Her pale hair hung from a thin ponytail at the base of her neck. She wiped her hands on her faded flowered shirt. Her front teeth were too large for her mouth so her lips didn’t meet unless she pressed them together. Her pinched face made me wonder if she was unhappy about the apartment, about the heat, or about moving. Or all three.

Lisa started unpacking boxes, pausing to listen to her parents’ direction, leaving boxes half unpacked, opened all over the front room and kitchen.

We had difficulty starting a conversation with her because her parents kept hovering over her, telling Lisa where to place things. I decided to wait until they left.

“Put the salt and pepper shakers on the table, dear,” her mother said, lifting a ceramic Elizabeth and Darcy onto the small kitchen table.

“Put the sugar next to the flour. Keep the spices separate from the oil.” Her mom moved items I had already put away.

“In this kitchen, you can wash dishes, cook, and eat at the table at the same time.” Her father stood with his hands on his hips, inspecting the kitchen.

“Adam and Eve called and wanted their carpet.” Her mom spritzed air sanitizer all around. “Did the last tenants fry everything?” The mother even tucked one of Lisa’s stray hairs out of her face.

Marie and I looked at each other but said nothing.

At last, the flurry of activity subsided, but the boxes remained in half-opened, half-unpacked chaos and disarray.

“Don’t forget to take your vitamins.” Her mom embraced her at the door.

Her dad pointed to the detector above the hall. “And change the batteries on your smoke alarm. You can never be too careful.”

Wow, parental support. Standing on our front porch back home in Honeyvale, my dad had patted me on my back before I tucked into Bryan’s car. As the third kid to leave for the nest, my dad didn’t care anymore. And I certainly couldn’t imagine him hauling boxes into my college pad and telling me where to put things.

I just stood there, watching, unsure if I should say anything.

Finally, with one last kiss on her forehead, her parents left.

“Hey, welcome!” Marie stepped forward first. “You must be Lisa.”

“What makes you think that?” Lisa asked. A furrow deepened in her forehead and a mild frown crossed her face.

Marie started at her abruptness but recovered beautifully. “Because everyone else is already here.”

“Process of elimination,” I said, a few seconds before I thought the better of saying it.

“So.” Marie fiddled with her lustrous locks. “Do you need help?”

If I had to guess, Marie hinted at her to remove her stuff which covered the entire front room.

But Lisa didn’t catch the hint. “I got it.” She knelt in front of the boxes and extracted stacks and stacks of books.

Marie tried again. “Do you want help putting them in your room?”

“They’ll fit fine in here.” Lisa stacked the books into the bookcase in the front room. “Anything left over you can put in my room.”

I pointed to her stuff clogging the living room floor. “What’s in all of these?” I prefer the direct approach.

“Books.”

“All of them?” I counted ten boxes.

Lisa nodded to the closest ones. “Those two have some clothes and things.”

“Don’t you have an e-reader or something?” I asked.

Marie kicked me in the ankle.

Kat opened the door. “Woah! What happened in here?” She held two large black garbage bags in each hand.

Why was she bringing trash in here?

“Looks like someone is moving in the local library.” With her long legs strapped into her boots, Kat stepped around and over the box obstacle course.

“They’re just books.” Lisa pushed up her glasses and continued to unload.

Kat paused. “As long as they aren’t cockroaches, we’ll get along great.”

“What do you have there?” I pointed to the construction bags in Kat’s hands.

She swung them over her shoulder, swiveling to answer my question. “Just my clothes. I don’t own nice matchy-matchy luggage or anything, and my parents wouldn’t take me to get boxes. They said to stuff it in bags. So here I am.” Kat weaved through the maze of boxes Lisa created to their room and disappeared inside.

Marie knelt near Lisa’s boxes, pulling them close to the bookshelves flanking the couches. “I can help you put these away.”

“Thanks.” Lisa stood and stalked into her room with a box. “I’ll unpack my room.”

I tried to decipher Marie’s expression. Her face read a mixture of surprise and disbelief. Now left alone to unpack all of Lisa’s books, she set to work.

I knelt next to Marie, sliding hardbound copies into the shelves. “I think she heard you are going to put away the books for her, not with her.”

Marie giggled then shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“When we get all settled, I suggest a roommate meeting to discuss house rules.”

“You think there’s going to be trouble?” Her dark eyes widened.

Finished with the first box, I pulled another one closer. “Oh, girl. Where there is more than one girl living in a space, there’s always trouble.” Gayle and I always fought over closet and wall space. She wanted the nook for clothes, and I wanted to keep my goat-grooming stuff there. “Someone’s got to lay down the law. I’m not doing Ms. Prissy Pants’s laundry and dishes.”

Lisa came out at that exact moment. Her scowl burned a hole in the carpet beneath me.

Marie’s eyes grew big.

I stared at the books. My cheeks burned. Me and my big mouth. Why did I always shoot it off? Heat rose up inside my shirt.

Kat entered the living room and leaned against the door frame and crossed her hands over her poet’s shirt.

Marie lifted her chin. “Let’s have a roommate meeting. We need to discuss some things.”

“Not now.” Kat glanced at her phone. “I’m going to Area 57.” She picked up her wallet and dashed out the door before anyone could question her.

Marie’s jaw dropped. “Area 57? Isn’t that the popular bistro where you have to make reservations, like, six months in advance?”

I arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I’m not from here.”

Marie grabbed her phone and searched. “It is. And look at these menu prices.”

We all crowded around her phone. Nothing was under fifty-seven dollars. Maybe that was why they called it Area 57.

Lisa shook her head. “She couldn’t be going there. She’s making it up.” Lisa slinked toward her bedroom with her book. Her boxes remained unpacked.

Marie turned to me. “How did Kat get reservations?”

Pausing at the doorway, Lisa shook her head. “Most likely, she’s lying.”

I didn’t know, but without Kat here we couldn’t discuss things. I hung a whiteboard on the fridge. School started on Monday. With a blue erasable marker I wrote: Roommate Meeting tonight at ten p.m. Be there!

“Maybe you should write out an agenda.” Marie bit her lip.

“An agenda?” I capped the marker. Who used an agenda?

“For all the things we need to discuss—making sure rent is on time, create a chore rotation chart, and make rules about putting away one’s stuff.” She eyed Lisa’s boxes.

Half the boxes had been unpacked. The others yawned open with the contents spilling out like partially masticated food.

“That’s good.” I wrote that down. “Maybe some rules about boys?”

“Like no boys sleeping over?”

“That’s not going to be a problem for me.” I wrote stuff on the board.

Marie arched an eyebrow.

I shrugged and capped the marker. “I’m not very good at guys.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind.” I couldn’t tell Marie I had trauma.

* * *

“Ok,let’s do some roommate bonding.” After she got home from Area 57, Kat sat with her long legs crossed on the couch. “I see you’ve already done a chore chart, great! Let’s get down to the real business. Tell us your deepest, darkest secrets.”

“No way.” Lisa arched an eyebrow over her book. She lounged on the couch taking, up two of the three cushions. “I’m not telling you my deepest, darkest secret. We just met.”

“How are we going to bond?” Kat asked shrugging her shoulders. “I’ll tell you mine. Once, when I was eleven?—”

Marie stepped in. “How about we share a little about our past, not necessarily the deepest, darkest secret of our soul?”

“Okay,” Kat said totally disappointed. “I’ll go first. I was a yogi in my past life.”

Lisa arched a brow, her voice as prickly as cactus. “We’re talking about this life. Not some other made-up life.”

“Okay.” Kat pursed her lips. “Fine.” She stretched her legs to the other side of the couch nearly touching Lisa.

Lisa scowled at her feet.

Marie blew out a breath. “Let’s start with this. Where are you from, and what are your goals for school? Then tell us about your family.”

“Okay, my name is Kat. I’m originally from California. I want to be a traveling photographer. I like to capture the odd, the weird, and the bizarre.”

That didn’t sound too bad.

“Once, I photographed a close-up of a booger. Some dude wanted to buy it.”

Marie parted her lips. Creases marred her forehead. “What about your family?”

Kat shrugged. “My parents split when I was young. My dad lives in California with his ‘other family’ and my mom and I live in Bisbee.”

“How many siblings?” Marie asked.

Kat squished an eye and stared at the ceiling. “Two step-brothers. One half-sister.” She nodded.

“I’ll go next,” Marie said. “My family came from Haiti. I understand French and can speak some Creole. My dad wanted me to study business, but I’d like to get a Master in Counseling. I have a relationship blog and do live chats Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I would love to venture into podcasts this year.”

“Wow, like a real-live advice blog?” I asked. “What’s it for?”

Marie sat back on her hands. “Like Dear Abby but no mothers-in-law. Like, mostly high schoolers and college kids write in about relationship issues, and I help them solve their problems.”

“How many followers do you have?” I asked.

“Only a few thousand, but I’m planning on getting the word out here on campus.” She tossed her head with modesty.

I sat back. “I’d love to have a few thousand followers anywhere.” Social media wasn’t my friend. It only magnified my social awkwardness.

“What made you decide to do a relationship blog?” Kat sat with her legs up on the wall with her back on the seat of the couch. Her maroon hair cascaded to the floor.

Marie shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I don’t know, people came to me with relationship woes in high school, so I made my answers available to everyone. Anonymously, of course. Now people chat live, and I post the edited transcripts when I’m done with the evening.”

“Sounds exciting. I should write in sometime!” Kat said, knocking her boots together on the wall. “Except I don’t have a boyfriend yet. Just Frank who keeps begging me to have his baby.”

Marie’s eyes widened. “Lisa, what about you?”

Lisa plopped down her book. She blinked through her glasses. “I am an English major. I would like to write romances.”

How interesting. “Are you taking any writing classes?”

“No.” Lisa blinked.

“Oh?” I hugged my knees to my chest. “How exciting! What have you written so far?”

“Nothing.” Blink, blink.

“Oh.” I sat back. Not so exciting to be a writer if you don’t actually write.

“I have five siblings, and I call my mom every day. We’re really close.” Lisa’s voice was monotone, and her lips were a straight line.

Gulping, I nodded. “That’s cool. Must be nice to call your mom all the time.” A twinge burned in my chest.

“She’s, like, my best friend.” Lisa went back to reading her book.

Dread grew in my stomach. A lump formed in my throat.

“Okay, what about you, Gabby?” Marie patted my leg.

I inhaled. “I grew up in Honeyvale, Arizona. I raised goats.”

Kat glanced at me. “To eat? Or for milk and cheese? Care for some chèvre?”

I stuffed my hands into my cargo shorts. “Actually, neither. We did show goats. Groomed them and trained them for competitions. I sold several goats. My prize-winning one, Gertie, gave me some spending money for this semester at college. They called me Gabby the Goat Girl. But that’s probably my deepest, darkest secret, so I’d like to keep it that way.”

“What about your family?” Marie nudged me.

I stared at the carpet. What could I say? I steadied my erratic breath.

A knock interrupted the interrogation.

Kat flew to the door. Her friends poured into the living room.

Impromptu party. College was going to be great!

I relaxed into the floor. The questions were over.

Long after midnight, I crept into my room. Marie had gone to bed earlier, and I didn’t want to wake her.

I flopped onto my unmade bed, untangled my covers, and rolled over. Lights from the nearby streetlamp sliced through our vertical blinds. Someone outside in the parking lot blared the bass so loud, it throbbed in my heart.

“You never told us about your family.” Marie spoke quietly in the dark.

I blinked. I could ignore her or pretend to be asleep. My heart beat with every passing second of deception.

Finally, I exhaled to still my racing heart. “My family isn’t as interesting as yours.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re not special.” I focused on the boards above keeping her mattress from squishing me. A tear leaked down my cheek. How could I tell her about how no one would come to our house because it reeked of goats? Goat hair clung to my clothes in elementary school and kids pointed it out and made fun of me. How could I say my family grew science experiments in the fridge because food rotted in there so long? Dishes piled high in the sink, because Dad didn’t assign steady chores—gave us no responsibility. Consumed with grief after my mom passed, Dad worked and when things got too bad, I would hand-wash the dishes since we didn’t own a dishwasher. How could I explain how our little adobe house reminded me more of an episode of hoarders rather than a magazine spread? All those secrets would stay hidden for now.

“I want to hear about your family.”

I clutched my sheet around my shoulders. Did Marie want to hear about my sister? Trust had yet to be forged. And until I trusted someone, they didn’t get to learn my secrets. “I will tell you but not tonight.”

I thought about all the changes I made so far. Moving out of my small town to Tucson was a huge change. But I still felt like Gabby the Goat girl—a socially awkward girl with no filters and no manners. I don’t know how to carry on a conversation or to say nice things to other people. I knew this version of Gabby was inside me, screaming to get out. I just wish I knew how to do it.

I made an internal list of attributes of what I wanted to be:

1. Learn how not to be frumpy

2. Learn how to be well-spoken (and figure out how to say hard things)

But first, I needed a job, and I needed one quick. Because Dad couldn’t afford to pay any of my living expenses, and my savings from Gertie would only take me so far.

* * *

On the firstday of school Monday, I had two hours before my speech class. Rather than swelter out in the Arizona noonday heat, I sought cool air or, at least, shade. Passing the bearded palms, I headed for the library hoping to search for a job opportunity. Once inside, the AC froze my sweat to my pits. I approached the circulation desk.

Nobody was behind the counter.

A tall guy checked out a tower of books at the self-checkout off to my right.

I stood at the counter for a while, listening to the beep, beep of him checking out a whole stack of books. From the corner of my eye, I studied him.

Tall, lithe. I didn’t get a good look at his face until he glanced up and caught me staring at him. He had a defined jaw and gasp! a dimple graced his left cheek.

“Do you need some help?”

His amused brown eyes swallowed me in their depths. My mouth popped open like a koi fish. He spoke to me. Without a ready reply, I shook my head. I eyed his stack of books, reading some of the titles. The Best of Southern Cooking, Ten-Minute Meals for a Hectic Day, Fifteen-minutes: Fridge to Table.

And he was adding more to his stack. A guy checking out cookbooks? And not just two or three. Like twenty. At a university library. How strange.

I had to comment. “Learning how to cook, are you?”

He glanced up again and grinned, adding more books to his stack. “No.”

I was not expecting him to answer in the negative, so I had nothing left to say. Maybe I should’ve asked him a different question, but what? “Do you like to cook?” or “What are you cooking?” might have been better. Maybe I should’ve said, “You know, you have to make those things, you can’t eat the pictures” or some quip.

I shifted my feet and searched for someone behind the desk to spare me the torture of my awkward self.

He added more cookbooks to his stack.

“You know,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “you can look up recipes on the Internet.”

“Where I’m going, I won’t have access.” He winked.

My heart thundered. “Where are you going? Cambodia? I read somewhere only nineteen percent of the Cambodians have access to Internet.”

The guy laughed. “Not Cambodia.”

He had a nice smile with an open friendly demeanor. Oh, and that dimple on his left cheek. Mmmm.

And I made him laugh.

A short girl finally came to the desk. I stepped up to the student worker. “I was wondering if you had any openings for work.”

“Do you have student aid?”

“No. What is student aid?” A quick glance toward the guy with the books assured me he listened in. I gulped. I remembered school announced some parent thingy my dad was supposed to go to where they explained all of this, but he didn’t.

“We’re only hiring those with student work aid.” She brushed back a long, black strand of hair. “Depending on income, you could qualify. I can help you fill out forms right now for next semester.” A stack of paper forms lined the counter.

My faced burned. “Like my income or my dad’s income.”

The girl smiled and chuckled. “Your parents’ income, silly. You haven’t filled out your FAFSA? Take one. You’ll have to get your parents’ financial information. Like if they had any exemptions.”

I nodded, but was sure Dad forgot all about this.

The guy grinned. He stacked his last book on top of a huge pile.

I wasn’t sure if I should say anything. But he was clearly listening in.

Heat radiated out of me. So much for finding a place to cool off. “Thanks.” Wiping my sweating hands on my baggy jeans, I snagged a FAFSA booklet off the top and nearly bumped into someone. “Sorry.”

The guy stacked his books in his rather long arms, hovering nearby. “See you later.”

I kind of nodded my head in his general direction and scurried away before my body blew up like an atomic bomb.