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“So you couldn’t get a single.”
Her cheery tone falters. “I’d been thinking about rushing anyway. I’m a legacy—my mom is a Gamma Tau. And… I couldn’t get a single.”
I roll over so I’m not crushing my phone. I pull it out of my pocket, but no one’s texting me. No one’s calling me.
“Anyway,” Lucie says, winding a section of red hair around her curling iron, “rush is this week, and I’m meeting up with some girls to go to a party on Greek Row. But I think there’s a movie playing in the quad tonight, if you’re still looking for something to do. Groundhog Day, I think?”
“Assuming I don’t already have a wild Wednesday night planned?”
“We both know your idea of fun involves watching Veronica Mars with your mother.”
My mom shared all her favorite TV shows with me, and during our brief fragment of friendship, Lucie even came over to watch with us. We’d only just bridged the gap between school acquaintances and rest-of-the-time friends. Her bringing it up now makes me wonder if she remembers too.
“Don’t drag Veronica Mars. It’s a mid-2000s classic.” I gesture to Lucie’s oversize bell-sleeved shirt, which she’s paired with expensive-looking black leggings that might be made of leather. “It’s a themed party, yeah? Dress like your favorite founding father? Or the least-racist founding father?”
“I’m pretty sure all of them were racist. And the theme is go fuck yourself,” she says sweetly, but she does roll up her sleeves and untuck the shirt to knot it at her navel.
“I might. It’s a wild Wednesday night, after all.”
It might be wishful thinking on my part, but I think she muffles a laugh.
There’s this moment where I’m almost disappointed that she’s going to be rushing, though I know her minute of decency was sparked only by the knowledge that she won’t be living with me. For a second, I even want to ask if Lucie interviewed for the Washingtonian too, but I’m afraid to learn she won a coveted spot.
It’s also possible that the day has simply been too much, and my emotions are manifesting in strange ways. That sounds far more realistic.
“The party’s at Zeta Kappa,” she’s saying. “It’s that big frat on Fiftieth Street, the one with the massive husky statues outside?” The husky is UW’s mascot, and they parade around a puppy named Dubs at sporting events. It’s the kind of thing that could inspire me to attend a sporting event.
I’ve driven by that frat plenty of times—it’s the gaudiest one. “Why are you telling me?”
“I… don’t know.” Lucie unplugs her curling iron. Her hair is so pin-straight, it’s already struggling to hold a wave. “We’re roommates. For now, at least. If one of us is going off campus at night, it just makes sense.”
“Okay.” I root around in my bag for my pepper spray. “Do you want to take this?”
She unzips a metallic clutch and holds up her own canister. “Already covered.” After tidying up the room, she assesses herself in the mirror again, fluffing her hair in a final attempt to give it volume. “Well. Night.”
I grunt at her in response, and it’s only once she leaves that I get the idea—a way to salvage if not my entire college experience, then at the very least this disaster first day.
It’s a good thing I didn’t lend Lucie my pepper spray, because I have one hand on it as I trek north through campus. Do I know how to use it if someone leaps out of the bushes and demands all seven dollars in my wallet? No. Do I trust my brain to adequately react to the situation and hit the red button instead of screaming, running away, and inevitably tripping over something? Also no.
The walk is uphill, and a minute in, I’m already panting. College is either going to kill me or turn me into a division-one power walker. I will carry UW to our first championship. Shoe companies everywhere will beg to sponsor me. How did you do it? they’ll want to know. Perseverance, I’ll say. Perseverance, and grit, and the right pair of sneakers.
“Barrett?” calls a male voice.
I whirl around to spot a shadowy figure approaching. I don’t know where he came from or who he is or how he knows my name, but the guy has his hands in front of his face and my finger is on the trigger thingy and I squeeze my eyes shut and I probably should have read the instructions and—
“Wait—I’m not—”
I’m so startled I drop the can of pepper spray. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
“You almost pepper-sprayed me.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, my hands still shaking, and then he comes into view and maybe I’m not actually that sorry. Miles, Mr. PHYSICS MATTERS. Who better to run into on a darkened path at… well, it’s only a quarter past nine, but still. The only ideal time to run into someone who publicly humiliated you is never o’clock.
“Campus can be dangerous at night,” he says. “You shouldn’t be walking alone.”
He’s changed into a plain navy T-shirt and his dark hair is mussed, like he’s been scraping his hands through it. The way his ears stick out isn’t so dramatic that it was the first thing I noticed about him, but it’s enough to make me wonder whether bullies made life hell for him at some point. And while he’s tall, much taller than my five-three frame, he doesn’t carry it in an imposing way. Maybe it’s the way the streetlight catches the angles of his face, but there’s a weariness to him I didn’t notice in class. A resignation.
“Maybe strange guys shouldn’t yell out my name and scare me half to death?”
