Page 13 of The Chemistry Test

Penny

Fridays are my day off, so after lying in until noon, I get ready for the day and head to the kitchen to make myself brunch.

Amy waves to me as I open the door and I try not to pay too much attention to the huge stack of notes she’s making.

Although, I think it’s too late. I really didn’t want to spend today studying, but now I feel like I should.

There’s no sign of Ro either, so I open my crockery cupboard and peer inside. The three of us stuck a copy of our timetables there a few days ago, but as far as I can tell, Ro should be free today too. I double-check I’m reading the right week.

‘He’s just had a meeting with his academic advisor,’ Amy says, lowering her laptop a little. ‘And now he’s about to go into another with the head of Engineering. I put most of his stuff on the floor for now and I can push mine over a bit if you need some workspace?’

‘Oh, no, you’re fine there!’ I smile, trying to play it cool. I gesture to the massive Technicolour Dreamcoat of notes in front of her. ‘What time did you both start all this?’

‘I didn’t start until nine-ish, and Ro had already left, so he must’ve gone just before that, I think.’

Nine a.m. On our day off? Absolutely not. Gosh. I try not to look bothered by it, but I can’t help feeling intimidated by how much effort they’re putting in, while all I’ve done is recover from the day before. Which, to be honest, didn’t involve a great deal of studying either.

So, once my pancakes are done, I set them up on my bed’s lap tray and click into my Biochemistry notes. I flick through the pages and after a minute or two, I close my eyes to check I still know the keywords off by heart.

As I expected, their meanings are all exactly where I left them and I almost feel silly for bothering to check. I mean, I wouldn’t have expected them to fall out after just one night, but you can never be too sure.

I open my eyes and take another bite of my ridiculously fluffy pancakes. And then another. And another. And by the time I’ve finished them, I’m no longer in the mood for studying at all.

So, I close the document and open my Closer Than Yesterday inbox instead.

Being the start of the semester, there’s a few common themes between people, like logistical problems with timetable clashes and technological problems that I fly through by copy-and-pasting some of the more generic parts of my advice.

I do the same thing for the homesickness ones too, the other biggie that’s been pretty much dominating my inbox since the end of week one.

I scroll back through them all after to check I haven’t missed any; I know exactly which messager I was most hoping to hear from, but as far as I can see, the guy who lost his gran hasn’t replied to me yet. I hope he’s alright.

When I go back to the kitchen two hours later, Amy is still going over her notes and Ro is at yet another meeting with his academic advisor, so I decide to go to a café to read my book and unwind. It used to be one of my favourite things to do, but I haven’t done it by myself in a while.

When I get to the main part of campus, I can’t remember which one CJ recommended, so I try the first one I come across.

It’s sat on a platform, just beyond a brightly lit American-style diner.

I gaze in at the red booths and the stainless-steel stools as I pass it, making a mental note to come back with Amy and Ro.

It’s clearly inspired by the fifties and both of them seem to have a thing for that era – Amy with her flouncy, swing dresses, and Ro, who likes to sketch them whenever he gets the chance.

I switch off the SmartDrive as I approach the door and slip my wrist supports out of my bag, ready to push myself completely unaided. There’s plenty of room here on the platform itself, but inside it looks like a bit of a squeeze.

The smell of fresh coffee hits me as soon as I press the button to let myself in, and straight away, I can tell I was right. The place is abuzz with students and lecturers, mingling at and around the tables in every direction.

The blazer-clad group closest to the door tuck their belongings under the table as I approach, repositioning their chairs as much as they can – which admittedly is not very much.

With their monochrome attire, they remind me of penguins huddling together as they make a united effort to give me a bit more room.

Once at the counter, I look up at the big brass lights hanging overhead while the barista turns her back to make my oat chai latte. From where I’m sitting, they look a bit like church bells.

‘Here you go,’ she says, turning back to face me. She slides the tray to the edge of the counter so I can reach it better.

‘Thank you so much,’ I say, reaching up to grab it, but she’s already started serving the next customer.

The glass is (and I don’t use this word lightly) precariously full and it wobbles as I carry the tray down as carefully as I can. And as I sit very still, with both hands steadying the glass on my lap, I realise I’ve made a huge mistake coming here by myself. And I’m not really sure what to do.

I try calling the barista back, but she can’t hear me over the milk-frothing machine (at least I think that’s what that is), and there’s no one else who’s close enough for me to ask for help without shouting above the music.

So, with one hand on the glass and one hand pushing my left wheel, I take a deep breath and hope for the best.

I try to edge forward gently, but I can’t get very far without the chair veering off in the wrong direction, and despite my best efforts, some of the latte has already spilt on to the tray.

‘Sorry, lovely,’ a girl says as she squeezes past my chair, making me spill even more of it.

She sits at the table I was heading to, completely oblivious, as I purse my lips, trying not to let my tears fall.

The next free table is over by the window and I know I won’t be able to get to it without covering myself, so I try to turn back but there’s a line forming behind me and a guy with AirPods gestures at me to move.

I don’t think he means to hurry me, but I don’t know what to do.

A thick tear finally falls as I feel the weight of firm hands resting down on the back of my chair.

‘Hold the glass with both hands,’ a familiar voice says. ‘I’ve got you.’

And as he starts pushing me towards one of the tables, I turn to see CJ.