Chapter Five Evan
Since having lunch with my dad last week, I’ve been trying to embrace my college experience more. Whatever the hell that means.
Last weekend, I tried to play a video game with Miles, but he just yelled at me the entire time.
He usually plays a basketball game with Xavier, and because I beat him at every game, he thinks I’ve hacked into the software.
He thinks I’m—and calls me—a nerd, so he just assumes I know code, and then we got into a heated, jokey argument about how being good at things like chess doesn’t make someone a nerd.
Xavier somehow got roped into the argument, and demanded I prove I’m not a real nerd by going to their hockey game tonight. I couldn’t think of any excuses quick enough, so I agreed.
I think we’re making progress, and the quicker I can prove to my dad that my college experience is going swimmingly, the quicker I can get back to work and then he can stop worrying about me.
All the spare time I’ve had has been slowly eating away at me. I always need to occupy my mind with something, fill any quiet moments with something other than my own consuming thoughts.
The only thing I can think to do is to focus more on my music.
I don’t normally have much time for it between work and school, but now I do.
Going to live music events as a kid with my mom is one of the few good memories I have with her.
I used to see it as a punishment before I started piano lessons, and then I fell in love with it.
The way you could see musicians’ entire body language change when they started playing.
The soft sighs and murmurs of a satisfied crowd.
The quiet but not empty space between a note ending and a new one starting.
There’s a mix of control and the loss of it when I play piano that I can’t get enough of.
There are rules I follow to create specific melodies, but the times when I move away from that, something completely different and beautiful happens.
Playing piano is the only time I truly feel at ease, where my mind can finally rest, and I don’t have to worry about anything other than the sounds filling the room.
Having those routines and structure with music helps me feel in control of my life. If I follow my routines, everything will be okay. Everything has to be okay.
Still, this morning, I made a tiny mistake of checking the time wrong, and I ended up severely throwing my day off-balance, having to manically sprint to campus to make it to class on time.
The lecture hall is full when I get there, but my space on the middle row is empty as usual.
I don’t know why, but no one other than me and Scarlett Voss sits on this row.
It’s a perfect arrangement for our classroom arguments, and even better now that I can slide into my seat without having to step on any toes to get past.
The class hasn’t officially started yet, so I let my shoulders drop a little when I sit down.
I start unpacking my laptop and notebooks on the table, and I feel Scarlett’s eyes on me.
I catch her leaning closer to me in my periphery, her dark-brown hair a slight curtain between the two of us.
I try my best to ignore her and the strong smell of something fresh that follows her.
“Do my eyes deceive me or are you late, Branson?” she asks, her voice low and teasing.
“Your eyes do deceive you,” I mutter, fidgeting with the sleeve of my shirt.
“Really? Because judging by that clock over there, you’re very late.”
“By two minutes. That doesn’t count,” I say, trying to remind myself that it’s okay to be late every once in a while. I can tell Scarlett’s smiling without even having to look over at her.
“Oh, but it does count,” she taunts. “You always get here five minutes before Lawrence gets here. You’re never late.”
I turn to her and her eyes are still on me.
“Wow, I didn’t know you paid that much attention to me,” I say, leaning into her.
Her gaze drops to the space between us, and I can tell she doesn’t know if she should retreat or keep pushing.
There’s always this slight hesitancy about her when she gets closer to me like this, like she’s afraid the closer she gets, the clearer it’ll become that I’m not particularly interested in this rivalry of ours.
Either that, or she’s afraid she’s going to get cooties.
“I don’t,” she seethes. “It’s an observation.”
“Same thing,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’d rather be late than two hours early like you. It shows I have something to do with my morning.”
“Really, like what? Stare in the mirror and decide which boring tie you want to wear?”
My mouth pops open, pretending to be shocked. “Do you spend all your time thinking about me, Scarlett? Or is it just before class when you miss me?”
I inch closer. She backs up finally, flicking her hair over her shoulder, intentionally letting the ends of it swipe across my face.
“Miss you?” she scoffs. “Every morning I pray you get into an accident on your way to campus. It seems like my manifestations aren’t working.”
“Hm. Maybe you should try a little harder next time.”
She smiles evilly. “Oh, believe me, I will.”
I smirk, happy to know that I’ve got a rise out of her just like she did to me last week.
I’m used to having these short-lived arguments with her. It’s the dynamic we’ve established over the last two years or so. But since Miles started dating her best friend, Wren, I’ve seen Scarlett a lot more than I’d like to.
I try to keep things civil because I’ve already burned my family’s reputation once by letting my feelings get the better of me and I’m not going to do it again. But that doesn’t mean Scarlett won’t try. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m way too eager to play along.
It’s fun—the back and forth, the waiting, the anticipation of what insult she’s going to come up with next. It’s one of the most exciting things about college, and maybe if my dad saw me doing more of this, he would realize just how well things are going for me.
We both work quietly, taking notes as Professor Lawrence presents his lecture. At the one-hour mark, he lets us have a break, during which I check through my B&Co appointed email only to find out that I’ve been taken off the email list and I haven’t received any updates since last week.
I guess my dad really isn’t playing around.
Professor Lawrence’s voice brings me back to the lecture as he steps to the front of the room and claps his hands for our attention.
“I know you’re all curious to know what project you will be working on this semester, and I’m glad to announce that this one could significantly impact your future careers. ”
I lift my head, my fingers pausing on the keyboard as everyone else in the room quiets down.
“This semester, we’re going to be looking at fashion venture development in three phases,” he explains, and some murmurs scatter across the room.
“For the first phase, you will be paired up with another classmate to create a comprehensive business plan for a start-up in the fashion industry. For the second phase, you will all attend a networking event for a weekend, where you’ll meet people in the industry, talk about your project and, if you’re lucky, get the interest of a sponsor. ”
That starts another round of excited chatter, and I smile to myself. Networking is a piece of cake when you’ve done it enough. Lawrence raises his voice a little to get everyone’s attention again.
“And for the final phase, I will be expecting each pair to do a presentation about the progress of the project, the engagement with this module and any challenges you’ve faced along the way.
This project will be great for those of you who want to boost your grades if you wish to be considered for the SEI next spring. ”
Excitement buzzes through the room, and Scarlett sits up straighter beside me.
I’ve been interested in the SEI since I joined NU, and this semester is finally my chance to apply for it.
I’m not going to take a second of this project for granted.
Opportunities like this don’t come often, and gaining this experience now before I go into senior year is perfect timing.
Getting a summer internship is just what I need to focus on right now and it fits into the plan I’ve been working on for years. Get the SEI, prove to my dad I can do the work and have a social life, graduate in a year’s time and work for B&Co.
It’s going to be hard, sure, but I’ve never been afraid of hard work. Following a plan like this is the kind of stability I need, and I’m good at this. It’s what I’m supposed to do. And maybe my dad will see that this is exactly where I need to be.
“I’ve saved you all the work of choosing your partners and paired up those I believe will challenge each other’s ideas and produce the best results,” Lawrence continues.
His eyes land on me and Scarlett. She clutches her tea flask like it might save her from what we both know is coming.
“Evan, Scarlett, you’ll be working together.
I trust you can put whatever playground feud you have aside and produce a good project. ”
Scarlett groans audibly, throwing her head back against her chair, and I have to stifle my laugh.
She’s being dramatic. We’ve worked together a few times before.
Our professors always think our bickering is a good way to keep us both on our toes.
I would even go as far as to admit they are right.
Scarlett might not like listening to me, but she has to when we work together, and it usually makes our projects that much better.
As Lawrence continues reading out the list of pairs, I start to pack away my stuff so we can move to the library to start discussing our project. Scarlett follows suit, but she doesn’t look happy about it, angrily shoving her textbooks into her bag.