28

EMBER

Noor, who sits beside me on the couch, is just as uncomfortable as I am. Our shoulders are tense, mouths twisted, and hands over our ears. Through our make-shift earmuffs, we hear sounds of a bed squeaking, some animalistic chirping, and very loud verbal encouragements.

"I don't know how much longer I can take this," Noor says, lowering her hands in defeat. She grimaces, putting them back up after two seconds. "THERE'S NO SHAME!"

Part of me is morbidly curious, and that's the part keeping me on the couch. Nes and her friend sound like they're having the time of their lives. It's never been like that for me. Maybe I've always been doing it wrong. I mean, I've never...enjoyed myself.

Nes, and whoever is emitting those high-pitched bird noises, are definitely enjoying themselves.

I turn to Noor, who's acting like centipedes are crawling in her ears, and ask, "Who's with her?"

Noor shakes her head, frizzy black hair swinging around her shoulders. "I have no idea!" she shouts.

Then there are two screams, some laughing, and nothing. Both Noor and I drop our hands, scared it might be a premature action.

"Is it over?" she whispers, hope coating her words.

I crack my neck and reach down for my chemistry homework. "I need to buy new headphones," I murmur.

Vanessa's door pops open and she struts out in a barbie-pink bathrobe. Her golden hair is messed like a bomb exploded on her head. As she pads to the kitchen, she gives us two thumbs up and a few too many winks. She takes a box of uncooked pop tarts back to her room, and just before she closes the door, I see who's laying in her bed, staring at the ceiling like they just ran a marathon.

Noor chokes beside me. "Was that Cameron?!"

I sigh, nodding. "At least he doesn't play volleyball."

❀❀

"Peter, I've told you three times today alone—you have to use significant figures. That's not enough decimal places."

Amanpreet Singh, my chemistry lab partner with beige-brown skin, wearing a black turban and a bright orange tee-shirt, is annoying. When I sat down, he questioned me about the stitches by my temple, then the small scar on the bridge of my nose and the larger one on my forehead. It took one glare to shut him up.

Peter drops his head to the library desk. The clunk! sounds around us, pulling a few pairs of eyes.

"Do your work," I say.

"I hate the library," he grumbles, face smushed on the old mahogany desk. "It smells like fancy people and PhDs and Oxford University."

"You've never been to Oxford University," I say, scribbling down an equation for our lab.

"But this is what it would smell like. And fish and chips, probably. And clocks."

"Can you please get up, Peter?"

"Call me Charles," Peter replies.

I close my eyes and let out a loud breath. "Just sit up and use your second-year brain to help me finish this lab. It's due in four hours, Peter."

"Charles!"

"It's due in three hours and fifty-nine minutes, Charles."

"Remind me why we're not in the quiet comfort of my dorm room?" he whines.

My leg starts bouncing under the old-school table. "You know why."

Peter finally straightens up. "Yile Residence is the nicest one," he assures me. "It's cozy and warm and there are bean bags."

"I don't care and you know that. This is the fourth time we've met at the library and you've made it through the other three times. We're almost done. Just do number fifteen and twenty. I'll get the rest."

Peter frowns, but begins again, pencil in hand. We work for almost six minutes before Peter drops his head back down on the table. "I can't do it," he groans. "I'm never going to get into the organic chemistry program."

"Probably not," I say, flipping through my work pages.

"You're supposed to tell me I can do it!"

I send him a look as his head is flattened on his workbook. "And you're supposed to do it."

I finish the lab alone, to no one's surprise, and snap a picture of it and send it to my lab partner. Once I've packed up, I poke Peter to make sure he's not dead. He's not.

"I'm leaving," I say to his tired figure. "Just remember you have to slip your report under the door before five o'clock, okay? Five. Not six. Not seven."

Peter sits up and stares at the table. "Five," he repeats.

"Before five."

"Why does Cade hate you so much?" he asks suddenly. I freeze, lungs seized. "He was so mad that day he saw you but he wouldn't tell me why. I mean, he said he hated you, but you don't seem...hate-able? Is that even a word?"

Tensely, I choke out, "I am."

"You're what?"

"Hate-able. I am."

Peter's unruly dark brows pin together. "Did you guys date? Messy break-up? Family drama? Bad blood? Star-crossed lovers? A bet gone wrong? A swordsman vies for your hand?"

"Are you just naming movie plots?"

"I have a lot of down time!" he defends.

"Because you don't do your homework," I say, successfully evading the original question. "I'm leaving. Goodbye."

"Wait!" he calls as I go. I turn around, a brow raised. "I'm sorry," he says through a yawn. "I'm an idiot. I should be more helpful."

I clutch my books to my chest, staring down at him. "Why don't you study something else? You clearly hate this stuff." I gesture to his mass of chemistry notes and doodles of dogs. "You're a mess."

He throws me a bored look. "Are you about to tell me you're so passionate about engineering that you just had to get a degree in it? No way."

"At least I can do it," I retort, "so it doesn't matter. You can't do chemistry. Boo-hoo. Just pick something else."

"My family would disown me if I studied English History!" he whisper-shouts. "You don't understand what it's like! There's so much pressure! Both my parents are surgeons!"

"I understand pressure," I tell him, thinking about my fathers plaque, the gold star, the helicopter crash that changed my life. "Everyone has pressure."

He blows out a breath, crossing his arms. "Not pressure like this. I feel like I'm a fish in a sea of super smart sharks. I'm an idiot. They smell my blood, Ember, really they do."

I roll my eyes. "There's a difference between being idiotic, and being an idiot. Don't be an idiot." I turn and walk away.

I don't tell Peter that I completely understand how he feels; I'm a bird free falling through a flock organized in the perfect v. I don't belong here. Peter at least has a chance to change his mind, and something to change it to.

I leave the study area, taking deep breaths as I go. Peter might just be right. It smells like judgement and an old English university.

❀❀

I walk back to Arkwood, hugging myself in Greyson's blue hoodie. His scent is long gone and the fabric smells like nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was only a matter of time, I knew that, I just thought I'd have more of it.

My memories of Greyson are less frequent now, like he's leaving me again. Fading into mist or sinking into the ocean. He used to show up in lecture halls in boys with shaggy, mud-brown hair. In those who wore crosses around their necks. When I was at the drugstore and see painkillers over-the-counter. 

He was everywhere.

He was nowhere.

I take out my cell phone as I make out the large Arkwood building and dial my uncle as I walk. I just need to hear his voice as a reminder of why I'm still here, because right now, I can't remember.

I get his voicemail.

"Hey," I say, clearing my throat. "Uh, sorry if this work you up. I don't know about your schedule." That's when I remember he's not on night shifts. He not even a janitor anymore, but rather a manager. "You don't have to call me back, just wanted to tell you that I'll be home for Thanksgiving. Of course I will. I'm sorry for upsetting you before. I didn't mean to. I'll see you next weekend, okay?" I hang up as my eyes water. 

As I slink up the stairs to the dorm room, I throw on Grey's blue hood and bury myself into the fabric. 

I swipe my card and open the door. Both Noor's and Vanessa's shows are gone. I let out a huge breath of relief and drop my bag by the door, shutting it behind me.

"Hey, Ember, I—"

I let out a small shriek, spinning around. "WHO—" I stop, leaning over my knees. "Oh my god."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Vanessa let me in and told me you'd be back."

I lift my head up, panting. Michael stands in the living room with a baking tray in his hands wearing black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a small smile. 

I inwardly curse myself. That fucking baking tray.

A/N

VOTE please if you can!

Thoughts on the events between Nes and Cam? Ember and Amanpreet? 

Ever felt out of place? What did it feel like for you?

Thanks for reading,

Love Laurel ❤️