Page 9 of Lessons in Chemistry

I’m always tired. Twelve hours of swimming and four hours of conditioning every week is a lot on top of my university workload. Not that I’m going to drop pool hours or give up swimming. I’d rather give up my degree than swimming, but I won’t do that either. Swimming isn’t going to pay my bills. Even if it could, I won’t be able to swim forever. I need to make plans for my future, which means getting a qualification so I can get a good job. Maybe I should have picked a subject with a lower workload, but I chose this course, as it will help me work in sports. This degree will open doors for me, I know that. But I can’t focus on it at the expense of swimming. I can’t.

Em takes the notepad from me. “I’ll ask you some questions to check your understanding.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

That’s Em. He always wants to help. It’s one of the things I adore about him.

“Thanks.”

He spends the next forty-five minutes asking me questions. I get most of them right, which shows I took in more than I thought I had last night. Whenever I get a question wrong, he goes over the notes with me until he’s sure I understand. I hate going into a lecture unprepared. My lectures always rely on us doing the reading. If we don’t, we won’t be able to keep up. I learnt that the hard way.

“You’re good,” Em says. “I’ll walk you to your lecture.”

I’d tell him he doesn’t need to, but I want him to, so I keep my mouth shut. I love spending time with him. He’s been my best friend for years. I can’t imagine him not being around. I curl my fingers against my palm as we walk. It’ll happen eventually, probably when we graduate. We won’t be in each other’s pockets forever. We’ll get jobs in different cities. Even if we don’t, he’ll meet someone, and then they’ll become the centre of his universe.

“Are you okay?” Em asks.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been talking to you for five minutes, and you haven’t said a word.”

I wince. “You have? I’m sorry.”

“Still tired?”

I put my hand on my opposite shoulder and rotate my arm. “Tired and sore.”

“You work too hard.”

I glance at him. His eyes are especially bright this morning, the same blue as a tropical sea. The black frames of his glasses make the colour of his eyes pop.

“I have to,” I reply.

He pats my back. “I know. But if you need help, ask, okay? I can’t go swimming for you, but I can help you with uni work.”

I know he can. He’s the smartest person I know.

“Hold on a sec,” he says.

I stop.

“That’s August.” He points at a slim guy leaning against the wall, staring at his phone.

Em was right when he said August was scruffy. His almost black hair is long on top, unkempt, and flops into his eyes. He has a short, scruffy beard and moustache. I look between him and Em, frowning at the expression on my friend’s face. He seems part fascinated, part terrified.

“Are you going to give him the essay notes?” I ask.

Em nibbles his lower lip. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“He’s not going to tell you to fuck off.”

“He might.”

“He won’t. Come on.” I take his hand before he can argue, and lead him over to August. “Emory has something to give you.”

August looks up from his phone. His eyes are dark sapphire blue, exactly how Em described them.