“Your sincerity is overwhelming,” I deadpan.
“Well how’s this for sincere. I’m proud of you, Zach.”
I appreciate the sentiment, but it reminds me of why I chose CU for my grad program in the first place. “Thank you.” The door clicks open. “Talk soon.”
“Anytime.”
Once inside, I make my way to the elevator and head straight up to my dorm. The bare private room is … well, okay, it’s tiny, but it’s a welcome sight and even more exciting is the small attached bathroom. My own bathroom. No more timing my day around the schedules of the other people occupying my floor. No more rushed, two-minute showers.
My head drops back at the sweet relief that floods through me.
I take a shower to wash plane and baby vomit off me, then dress in fresh clothes and comb down my black hair so it doesn’t dry at weird angles. I make my bed, set up my laptop on the desk, and hang my clothes one by one. When I’m finally done, the room feels a little more comfortable. Still bare and small and missing Seth’s presence, but it’s mine. The first time I’ve ever been completely self-sufficient.
Dear God, what have I done?
No. Nope. This is good. This is … fine.
After checking my maps—twice—I walk down to the closest coffee shop. The earlier stress of the day is trying to take hold, but I won’t let it better me. No. I am a master of emotion, and even if I’m here, alone, metaphorically lost, I can do this.
The barista at the cafe is far too friendly and chatty, filling every pause with useless small talk. I’ll never understand people’s discomfort with silence. Silence is my happy place. As soon as my order is up, I send her a quick smile of thanks and leave. Fast.
I like people well enough, I just don’t like talking to them.
The path I follow leads around the corner to what looks like a main thoroughfare onto campus. There are large trees lining either side of the wide path and cute benches set periodically along the way. It’s unexpectedly cozy considering everything else I’ve seen of CU.
I think I’ve found my new people watching spot. Or “creepy lookout point” as Seth calls it.
I like the way people interact, and it’s even better when their expressions and reactions aren’t what I’m expecting. It’s fascinating to watch.
As I take a seat and sip my drink, contentment settles over me. This was a good choice. Social psychology is my comfort zone, even if it meant leaving my physical comfort zone to pursue it. There are so many positives to being here, and even if the rest of campus is a bit of an eyesore, I’m sure I’ll grow to love it. Yes, my positive mindset has completely turned the day around. Emotions are only a transient state, and I’ve tricked myself back into being hap—
Splat.
I jerk. What the …
A white streak hits my glasses before I flinch as something wet lands on my head. I stare at the offending mark for a moment, trying to work out … oh. My gut sinks as I snatch my glasses off and jump from the bench, looking for the guilty bird. Which is ridiculous because without my glasses on I’m practically blind. Well, to anything farther than a few feet away.
What are the damn chances?
I try to calm myself, but my insides quake with injustice. All I wanted was a coffee and a quiet moment where people ignored me and I sat and watched, absorbed in them.
Instead … my cheeks heat as I quickly check no one is watching. My main goal for Colchester was to go as unnoticed as possible, so of course a bird would choose me—me!—to land a projectile on within hours of arriving on campus.
I’ve changed my mind. This is the icing on my day.
No. No, this isn’t going to get to me. I’m going to shower, again, and forget this. I will not take this as a sign that Colchester University hates me.
Because that would be irrational. Bird poop is supposed to be good luck, after all. And even if I don’t believe in that nonsense, there’s no reason why I can’t look at the positivity in that belief. This was a random, statistically possible event.
I will not cry.
“Please tell me that’s bird shit on your face and not something else white and creamy.”
But that voice, most definitely, is not possible. No. Not now. I struggle through my inhale as I turn to see the twin brother of my best friend watching me and clearly trying to hold back a laugh. What’s that saying?
Fuck my life.
Yes, quite sincerely, fuck this version of my life.
Foster Grant is possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, and so, based on the trajectory my life has taken this morning, it makes total sense he’d find me like this.