by Nicole Bea
“I will.”
“That’s my girl.” We break from our hug and Mom nods toward the doors. “Now, go. I’ll see you at Thanksgiving and I’d appreciate a call every once in a while so I know you’re still alive.”
My cracked laughter echoes over the sound of the breeze. “Love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, Chelsea. Have a good time.”
I grasp the handle of my red suitcase, giving my mother a little smile before I click-clack my way across the cobblestones, pulling the door open and heading inside toward the pedway, just as Lux directed me. The area is relatively empty, probably because everyone has already gotten their keys and are out participating in Frosh Week activities. The girl at the desk smiles at me as I come around the corner.
“First year, huh?”
How does everyone I run into automatically know this? I thought I was doing a good job at blending in, but apparently, I’m more obvious than I thought.
“Yeah, first year.”
“I’m Mandy. Senior, Anthropology major.”
I repeat what I said to Lux. This must be the normal way of introducing yourself to someone on campus. “Chelsea. Freshman, hopeful double major in Criminology and French.”
“Oooh, two majors. That’s impressive. What’s your last name, Chelsea?”
“DesRosiers.” I pause. “Is having two majors really that uncommon?”
Mandy shrugs, typing something into the computer on the desk before reaching underneath. “Most people come in with really good intentions in their first year. Big goals. Things can change once you hit the second semester.” She sets a white key card attached to a lanyard on the desk and pushes it across to me. “You’re in Harris. Second floor, room 2C.”
“Thanks.” I sling the lanyard on my arm, adjusting my load of luggage.
“No worries. Happy first year.”
Walking down the pedway, I try not to make myself obvious despite the fact that I’m carrying three bags. I walk a little more slowly, like I’m in less of a rush, heading with a bit less purpose toward Harris Hall’s elevator. As I walk past the occasional student and the even more occasional parent, I realize that I’m really here at Bedford University, and I’m alone.
Alone as in I don’t have Amy or Brandon to hang out with. Alone as in I don’t have Mom to talk to. Alone as in just me and my anxious thoughts and nothing else.
Maybe I should have gotten Lux’s phone number.
I find the elevator easily, pushing the button to head up just one floor, heaving in a deep breath. The air is fresh from the open windows, like grass, a hint of autumn, and a touch of lemon-scented cleaning products. It’s not the same as home, but it’s going to have to be, at least for now.
The elevator dings and I get in and poke the button with the big 2 on it, wiping away a nervous tear from my eye as my phone dings with an email. I pull it from my pocket, thinking maybe Mom sat out in the parking lot to post the picture of me on her social media. Instead, it’s a message from the online Bedford University bulletin board.
‘Re: Introductory French Textbook Wanted - FRE100
Hey @DesRosiersC2-
I have a gently used copy of this book if you’d like to meet to pick it up. I’m free any time this evening after seven. Just let me know when and where.
@ColfordL’
The elevator doors open just as I finish reading the note and I shove the phone back in my pocket. I’ll respond in a minute once I get rid of these bags and get myself together. I’m glad to have at least one expensive textbook marked down.
There are no signs pointing me where to go, so I turn left toward the side of the building with the grove of trees. I might as well take my chances that my room might be located over here, and only a moment later as I’m walking down the tiled floor, I see room 2A, 2B, and then mine—2C. I flash my white card on the lanyard at the lock and it makes a mechanical whir, letting me in.
So, this is my new bedroom.
The space isn’t what I expected but is at the same time. Small, stark, and empty—a little room in a big city to remind me that I’m just one tiny person in this vast expanse of the school. There is a saving grace: a gorgeous long window that’s open and faces a tall section of evergreens. The unmade bed is underneath the glass, comfortably nestled between the narrow walls, a desk along one side, and a dresser and closet along the other with a bathroom by the closet doors. It’s not much, but it’s not meant to be. I drop my things and collapse on the mattress as the door slowly clicks shut, and then I’m surrounded by the noise of the breeze and the sound of passing cars.
It’s louder than Patrick’s Cove, but it’s my chance to reinvent myself, and it’s home for now.
Chapter 2
The clouds float like little cotton puffs outside the window and over the evergreens, easing my anxious mind as I watch for recognizable shapes. It’s a coping mechanism I came up with at home this summer, staring out the salty glass of my bedroom window and trying to make out animals in the clouds. I think I did that because nothing else would keep my brain from thinking about Amy and Brandon.
I roll over on the bare mattress and hoist myself up to a seated position, staring over at my bags on the floor. I don’t think I can tackle unpacking quite yet, so I pull my phone out and read over the email from @ColfordL about the textbook I was looking for on the online bulletin board. I only know so many places on campus for us to meet, but if I pick the combination restaurant and bar over the student center, at least it will force me to get out of this room and go for that walk I told Mom I was going to take.
‘Re: Introductory French Textbook Wanted - FRE100
Hi @ColfordL-
That sounds great. I can meet you at seven. Did you want to meet at the Oakwood Lounge?
@DesRosiersC2
If nothing else, I can grab something to eat at the Oakwood after meeting up with this person. I remember my orientation pack said that my student ID also acts as my meal card, so I hop up from the bed and dig through the side pocket of my duffle bag for the little plastic rectangle with my picture on it and clip it to the lanyard as well. As I stare around the room, I figure I might as well unpack my things. I don’t particularly want to go to the Frosh Week events that are happening today—a Physical Day with activities on the football field, a karaoke night in the student center, and a campus tour o. The first one isn’t my area of expertise at all, I can’t sing to save my own life, and the last thing I want is to take a tour of the campus and make it even more obvious I’m new.
Even though everyone seems to be aware of it already.
It takes me about an hour until I have my room set up the way I like it, placing the few decorations I brought with me, along with a faux-fur rug I purchased online to cover part of the tiled floor that’s going to be cold on my feet in the wintertime.
As I’m throwing the Paris comforter over my new single bed, my phone dings with an email message.
‘Re: Introductory French Textbook Wanted - FRE100
Hey @DesRosiersC2-
Oakwood Lounge sounds good. I’m actually free now if you are too. I have to stop by the student center, so I’ll be around in case you don’t get this right away.
@ColfordL’
My stomach does a little flip at not having any time to prepare to meet someone new, but maybe this is a good chance for the new Chelsea to make an appearance. A confident version of myself who is good at meeting people and making friends. I only hesitate for a second before I type back a message and tap send.
‘Re: Introductory French Textbook Wanted - FRE100
Hi @ColfordL-
That sounds great. I’ll be there in five.
@DesRosiersC2’
With the message whooshing off into the void of space, I grab my wallet and lanyard from the top of the desk where I’d left them before shoving my discarded shoes back on my feet. I take and hold in a deep breath for a count of five before I leave the room, the door clicking shut behind me. The counting is an exerc
ise Mom taught me to manage the immediate effects of my anxiety and the aftermath of this summer, and if today’s any indication of what this year’s going to be like, I’m going to be counting to five a lot.
I make it to Oakwood Lounge’s entryway in the student center in four minutes, and I don’t see anyone standing outside with a French textbook. In fact, there isn’t anyone standing outside at all, just a few people milling about in the lobby setting things up for karaoke night, or so I presume. I watch them for a second, wheeling around speakers and hooking cords into the televisions on the ceiling in the far corner of the cafeteria-like area. I’m not paying attention when a voice comes from inside the lounge’s open door and says my name.
“Chelsea, right?”
I whip around, panic starting to rise in my chest. Someone from Patrick’s Cove must be here who recognized me. I didn’t think anyone I knew was coming here, most people in the Cove choosing schools that are either trades or across the country. But standing on the other side of the threshold is Lux, who laughs.
“I should have known,” he says, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “When you said earlier that you were majoring in French, I wondered if you were the one who posted on the bulletin board about the book.”
I swallow my heart back down into its proper place in my chest, as it seems to have risen and tried to escape out my mouth the second it heard Lux’s voice. “That’s me. Figured I might as well scoop up as many used books as possible since the new ones are so expensive. I tried shopping online but the prices weren’t much better.” I shrug, trying to keep the conversation casual and look less like I’m drowning in his stunning blue eyes.
“The bulletin board is the way to go if you can find what you’re looking for, but things tend to go pretty quickly.” Lux holds the textbook out toward me, and I take the heavy hardcover from him, tucking it under my arm.
“How much do I owe you again?”
“Sixty.”
My fingers are shaky on my wallet’s zipper as I dig out three twenties and hand them over. Lux’s fingers brush mine as he closes his hand on the bills, and there’s a little jolt of electricity that shocks me through my fingers and up my arm. It feels like there are little fireworks going off in my hand, but they quickly dissolve as I release the money and pull my hand away.
“Thanks, I appreciate you taking it off my hands. I’m graduating in May and trying to clear out the extra, you know?”
I nod, not really sure of what to say next, so I just let myself start talking. Remember, Chelsea, you’re supposed to be cool and confident. “What are you hoping to do after graduation?”
“I worked for the summer doing translation for the government. They said they’d hire me back after I graduate, but who knows? It’s not like they’re contracted into it so the offer might not even be there in May.” He offers up a little shrug and a smile, but the smile has some apprehension behind it from what I can tell. Maybe there’s something more going on with his offer than I know about, but it’s not my place to ask. “What about you? I mean, in four years when you’re done here? You seem like someone with a plan.”
The question is easy enough to answer because I have been planning the answer for years. “You know the show Crime Scene Mysteries?”
Lux nods and moves out of the way for a small group of girls to pass us and head into the lounge.
“I want to do that. The crime scene stuff,” I clarify. “Not the making television shows part. Plus, if I double major in French then I can work anywhere in the country.” I don’t know why I tag that on at the end, because I immediately feel like an idiot.
“Really?”
I nod. Maybe if I move fast enough I’ll be able to dig myself a hole and disappear into the ground away from my embarrassment. “Really, really.”
“Huh. That’s pretty cool. I used to watch that show a lot when it first came on. It always seemed like an interesting job, even though I’d be the absolute worst at looking at things like that.”
Lux smiles at me and I smile back, only meeting his gaze for a second before I look away out the window toward the football field. There are hundreds of people out there participating in Physical Day. I have no idea what they’re doing but there are clothes lined up all along the field and shirtless boys running around and a lot of yelling. I must make a weird face because Lux chuckles.
“That’s a favorite every year. Clothesline, they call it. Whoever makes the longest line of clothes in the least amount of time wins some kind of prize.”
“Are all the activities this week that…” I trail off, not really sure what I’m trying to say.
Lux shakes his head. “They try to keep things a little more low-key after today. But the hype is real on day one. It can make things pretty funny though. Speaking of Frosh Week, why aren’t you out there making friends instead of looking for textbooks?”
“I tend to try to stay away from football fields.”
“How about dinner?”
I literally take a step back because I’m so surprised by his question. “Dinner?”
He shifts his weight from one shoe to the other, his tight jeans rippling along his hips and thighs. “Yeah, well, we’re at Oakwood so we might as well have something to eat and talk sitting down instead of standing in the doorway. Unless you have friends you’re hoping to meet later or you’ve already eaten or something?”
“No, no.” I shake my head, then hold up my lanyard. “I’ve got my meal card with me, conveniently.”
“Perfect. The tortellini here is a favorite, though I don’t know why because the cook always prepares it wrong.”
A little half-snort escapes me, and it puts my guard down a tiny bit as we turn to walk through the lounge area of the Oakwood into the restaurant section. “You’re a specialist in pasta preparation, are you?”
“I take pride in my ability to cook basic foods. I make a mean slice of toast.” Lux raises his hand to wave at the bartender, who waves back from across the open space before I slide into the corner booth with my lanyard, wallet, and the textbook. “You getting a drink? I’ll order us something from Laury. It’s not covered under the meal plan but consider it my treat to welcome you to campus.”
My stomach does the cartwheel thing again, and I debate holding my breath and counting to five, but this doesn’t seem like the right moment. I mean, Lux might think… well, I don’t know. But whatever it is that he might think about me not breathing at this table isn’t something that I want to consider.
“I’ll just have root beer. I’m not old enough to drink here, not for another month.”
“No worries, one root beer and one regular beer coming up.”
Lux turns and heads toward the bar where the man, Laury, is cleaning glasses. They exchange a laugh and he pulls a bottle of Pilson’s Root Beer from a small fridge underneath the back counter and takes one of the clean glasses to fill with Lux’s beer. I can’t help myself from staring, toying with the edge of my lanyard. There’s something intriguing about the way that Lux moves, like he walks with some kind of casual allure that I can never hope to achieve because I’m too busy trying not to be noticed.
Lux slides the glass bottle of Pilson’s across the tabletop before slipping into the booth seat across from me with his own drink and two menus. He flips one over to my side before he quickly browses through and then sets his off to the side. I scan the page quickly, looking for the meal options. The tortellini doesn’t have a picture next to it—probably for a good reason—but Lux recommended it so I decide that’s what I’m going to get.
“So, first year and a double major. That’s all I know about you, so now that we’re sitting here, why don’t tell me about yourself? You from around here?”
I set my menu down near the edge of the table. “Sort of. I’m an hour away in Patrick’s Cove.” Lux’s blank expression as he sips at his beer tells me that he has no idea where my tiny town is located, and probably with good reason since there aren’t that many people who
live there. “Toward the ocean, right on the shoreline. What about you?”
“Mom and Dad live in Florida half the year, Newfoundland the other half of the year.”
“Those are two pretty opposite places. You’re from Newfoundland then? I always expect people from there to have an accent, which is probably small-minded of me.”
Lux smiles as he takes another drink of his beer, and it reminds me that I haven’t even uncapped my root beer. I twist off the metal cap and pull the bottle to my lips, swigging down a mouthful of the cool, amber liquid. It feels cold on my parched throat; a side effect of being nervous.
“No accent here,” he clarifies, setting his glass back on the table. “Not unless you count the way I say bagel, which is more like someone from Boston than anywhere else.”
Just then, a curly-haired twenty-something comes over to our table with her notepad out, ready to write down our orders. Her name tag says Jenn, but she doesn’t look like a Jenn, at least not to me. Her sharp eyeliner, tattoo sleeve, and bright red lips remind me of someone who would be seen at a rock concert downtown, not here in a campus restaurant after regular supper time.
“Hey, Lux.” She nods, a smile breaking across her face to show a small gap between her front teeth. “Made a new friend already?”
“Jenn, this is Chelsea. Chelsea, meet Jenn. Chelsea’s a freshman. Figured it would only be right to have a chat about classes and what profs to avoid. It’s my civic duty to warn everyone about Professor Patterson and his pop quizzes.”
Jenn lets out a loud laugh. “You’re right, probably for the best. Anyway, you two know what you want to order?”
Lux tips his head toward me to go first.
“I’ll have the tortellini,” I say, trying not to let my voice crack in the middle like it always does when I order at a restaurant. I don’t know why I get so nervous because it’s stupid, it’s just food, and that’s what the server is there for.