I got a message on Discord. Unsurprisingly.
Laptop still on my chest. Battery low. I must’ve fallen asleep coding again. A familiar wave of guilt and judgment hit me. I forgot to plug it in.
I glanced at my alarm clock. Beeping. Ineffective. Useless.
9:12 AM.
Class starts in eighteen minutes.
“OH FUCK, CLASS STARTS IN EIGHTEEN MINUTES.”
I fell out of bed. Scrambled. Grabbed a pair of cleanish jeans from the floor and threw on my red hoodie. Tripped out the door and slammed onto the old, stained dorm flooring.
Matt wasn’t there to wake me up.
Right. Early lab day. He’s probably dissecting a snake or analyzing its shedded skin like it holds the secrets of the universe.
I made it out the door by 9:20 AM.
Luckily, the door was still open.
It was nearly closed by the time I slipped in, not gracefully, more like a tumble through social purgatory. The classroom was packed, but there were a couple open seats in the middle. I took one. Breathed out like I didn’t have asthma. Tried not to die.
That’s when I saw her.
Caitlyn Sanders.Two rows ahead. Blonde hair in a tight ponytail. Posture perfect. Just like high school.
Apparently, she’s also taking this digital art class. Probably just checking off some elective on her way to 120 credits.
My brain, of course, didn’t care about that. It was too busy writing imaginary dialogue in a panic-induced fugue.
“Hey Caitlyn, how’s it going?”
No.
“Hey Caitlyn. Sup.”
Worse.
“Hey Cait… how you doin’?”
I physically winced.
God, why am I so cringe.
Then she dropped her pencil.
She bent down to grab it.
I looked away so hard I nearly pulled something in my neck. I don’t know why, but it felt illegal.
Class finally ended. I bolted out before I could embarrass myself with actual words. Physics was next, across campus in the Parnell STEM Building. I made my way there, headphones in, shame levels decreasing by the block.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
And then I saw her again.
Walking right in front of me.
Before I realized it, I was directly behind her.
Walking in sync.
Too close.
Mindlessly.
And then it happened.
Flat tire.
“Mother F—” she snapped as her messenger bag slipped and her papers went flying.
“Oh god, here, let me—”
I reached forward, stepped on a paper, and fully committed to the worst pratfall of my life.
Face-first.
Backpack broke my fall.
Whispers. Laughter.
People talking.
I could hear all of it, even with the blood rushing in my ears.
Then a hand.
Soft. Pink nails. Strong.
She pulled me up like she wasn’t holding a grudge. Like she hadn’t just watched me eat the floor.
“Are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Are you?”
I wiped dust and sidewalk shame off my hoodie and jeans.
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. Blue. Sharp. Curious.
“Do I… know you from somewhere?”
Her stare felt like a scalpel.
Cutting through every layer of self-preservation I had.
“I’m in your graphics class. You were just i—”
“No, no, no. I mean I’ve seen your hair before…”
My hai—wait a goddamn minute. She just cut me off.
“It’s just red. Kinda greasy. Nothing special…”
“Wait. I’ve definitely seen the hoodie. Did you go to JJ High?”
Why, of all instances, does it have to be this one where we finally talk?
“Oh, uh… yeah. I’m Harp—er, uh, Shawn. Shawn Harper.” I reached my hand out to shake hers. My arm was trembling violently. Or it at least felt that way.
“Wait. You’re that AP Comp Sci guy, right? The one who—”
She stopped herself. Like she was trying to hide something.
“The one who what? Failed every class sophomore year?”
“Yeah… I heard you were hospitalized. I never knew what you looked like. Here!”
She held out her new phone. The one with the fruit on the back.
“Wha—”
She grabbed my hand. The one holding my phone. Pressed the backs together.
A weird flash went across both our screens. A message popped up: Contact Shared.
“I want to know about high school. I just have to—”
She glanced at her watch and sprinted off, leaving a few papers behind.
I stared. Blinked. Picked up the pages, tucked them into my bag, and turned to head to class.
It’s almo—
WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE. DID SHE JUST GIVE ME HER NUMBER?!
I fumbled through my contacts. Right there, between Caleb and Caiden.
Caitlyn Sander.
With a photo already saved.
