Page 3

NYLAH

The dining hall on the first floor of Buckley Hall is a cacophony of cutlery scraping on plates and indecipherable chatter.

I poke at my scrambled eggs, glancing across the table at my roommate, Jolie.

She’s doing the same, playing with her food rather than eating it, and I want to know what’s bothering her.

But it’s not like we’re that close yet. She’s shy…

almost hedgy. We’ve been living together for nearly two weeks, and even in that short space of time, I’ve seen a plethora of emotions.

The other night, she came home humming, fighting a grin and biting her lip. I asked her if she’d had a good night, and she just nodded at me, then took off for a shower.

Two days later, she walked in with a grumpy rain cloud over her head. Her mouth was set in a tight, scrunched line, but when I asked if she was okay, she just mumbled something I couldn’t hear and stormed back out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

And then the other night, I heard her crying after we’d turned the lights off. Now, this morning, she seems totally distracted.

“Hey, um…” I scoop up a forkful of eggs and smile at her. “What do you have going on today?”

She shrugs, tucking a lock of shoulder-length hair behind her ear and giving me a glum smile.

“Just class. Boring. You know how it is.” She shrugs.

“But I might have lunch with my cousin, Caroline, so… yeah…” Her eyebrows dip together, and now I can’t decide if lunch with Caroline is a good or a bad thing.

I smile, not sure what to say as I wonder if there’s a picture of her cousin on the wall in our room.

She’s got this collage of images that must have taken her hours to put up there.

I like it, though. It’s a fun pop of color in the room and tells me that Jolie comes from a happy, loving family the same way I do.

I should probably do something similar, but I’m trying to get a little distance from my family right now, and walking in to see their smiling faces every day might be a little too much.

Jolie drops her fork, giving up on breakfast and pushing the tray away from her.

Do I ask her what’s up or play it safe?

Play it safe. Ask her something generic!

“So… how’s it going with the school paper?

Your article on the basketball team was so good.

I love how you featured that player. What’s his name?

Ben something?” I grin, trying to be encouraging.

“Are you going to be doing a feature on any of the other players? Or has the editor given you something else to work on?”

Her shoulders ping straight, her skin blanching to a white so pale it makes her freckles glow.

“Oh.” My eyebrows shoot up. “Uh… did I miss something? Is it… not going well? Has he not given you something else?”

“It’s, um… yeah, it’s fine.” She swallows, and then her head starts bobbing.

“It’s totally… fine. Fine, fine, fine.” She puts on a laugh that is so obviously fake I end up frowning at her.

Her expression crumples for a second, and then she rises from her chair, grabbing her tray and muttering, “It’s gonna be fine. ”

And then she walks away without even saying goodbye.

I stare after her, more confused than ever as I drop my fork back onto the plate and rest my elbows on the table.

Well, this is just awesome. I begged my parents to let me move into a dorm because I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t get out of the house, and now I’m living with a girl I can’t figure out.

I don’t know where I stand with her at all.

And she obviously doesn’t want to let me in or be my friend.

Dammit. It makes me miss my brothers and sister, which I so don’t want to do, because I’m an independent woman who can make the most of college life!

With an irritated huff, I stand up and take my tray of half-eaten food with me, quickly dumping it.

I’m not that hungry anyway. Shuffling out of the dining hall, I step aside to let a group of girls pass.

They’re talking over one another, laughing and animated, and I think back to high school, when I would have been in the middle of a pack like that.

I had Hayley and Bex and Letitia. And then I had Nick—the hottest guy in school.

His best friend was dating Bex, and his other buddies would always hang out with us.

We ran track together, drank beers together, sang stupid songs during class to piss off the teachers.

We were fun and happy—the life of any party.

Until the night that changed everything.

Rubbing my aching leg, I ease out of the dining hall and head up to the second floor to collect my stuff.

My room is in between the elevator and stairwell, which is great when my leg is hurting this way but kind of sucky at night, because there’s constant noise as people come and go, walking right past my room all the time.

It’s going to take me more than just a couple weeks to adjust.

Before this school year, I’d spent the better part of twelve months trapped inside a quiet house as I recovered from my injuries and learned to walk again.

I eye up the cane resting at the end of my bed and shake my head.

No. I don’t care what my parents say. I’m sick of using it, and I’m not going to draw attention to myself.

Hitching my bag onto my shoulder, I close the door behind me and head to my first class of the day. It doesn’t start for another forty-five minutes, so I have plenty of time to get to the Humanities building for my Anthropology 101 class.

Thank God my classes are interesting. I didn’t want to contradict Jolie when she said school was boring, because out of everything in my life right now, the classes are the most enjoyable.

I’m studying psychology, along with a bunch of other stuff, and I’m loving it all.

I have no idea what I want to major in. I was thinking psych initially, but anthropology is turning out to be fun as well.

I snicker at myself as I walk out into the sunshine.

The air is a little cooler today, but I love these fall leaves.

I watch them float to the ground and think about how much I’ve changed.

Although I was always studious at school and did well enough to get accepted to Stanford, I was still a party girl.

I complained about studying but did it because I knew I had to.

Now I can’t remember the last time I went to a party, and I’m happily heading to class because that’s the highlight of my day.

Is that sad?

I grip my bag strap a little tighter, trying to convince myself that learning is cool and being a nearly twenty-year-old who never goes out for some fun isn’t a bad thing.

But it totally is! You need to get your life back, girl!

The wind catches my hair, and I smooth it back over my shoulder. It always takes forever to straighten it, and thank God I live in Colorado and not Florida. As long as it doesn’t rain, my hair will be easy enough to manage for a week or so before I have to wash it.

Turning the corner, I try to keep my limp to a minimum. The PT has spent hours working on my gait, and I do my best to walk the way I used to. I don’t want to need that fucking cane!

I don’t care what my parents say or that it causes a “discussion” (argument) every Wednesday night when I’m there for dinner. They can’t keep controlling me this way. I know they do it out of love, but?—

My phone dings and I pull it out of my pocket, my shoulders deflating when I check the screen.

Mom: Morning, sugar. How are you today? Just checking in to make sure my baby’s doing well.

Every day.

Every fucking day.

I should be grateful that I have a mother who cares so much, but I find it suffocating. I get that she nearly lost me. I get that I scared the hell out of her, which is why she couldn’t leave my bedside the entire time I was in the hospital.

But I’m fine now!

Poising my thumbs over the screen, I pull in a breath and dutifully respond. If I don’t, she’ll just worry.

Me: Morning. All good. Breakfast was yum, and I’m walking to class now.

Mom: That’s great! Hope you’re remembering your cane.

I grit my teeth and refuse to respond. It’s not my fault she’s so obviously deaf, because I’ve told her multiple times I won’t use it unless my leg actually stops working.

Mom: Remember to look after that precious body of yours.

Me: I am.

Clenching my jaw even tighter, I wait for whatever “helpful” suggestion she’s going to give me next, but thank God she decides to change the subject.

Mom: Denzel has his football game tonight. This is a big one. Think he’s feeling the pressure. He’ll really appreciate his big sister’s support.

Me: I’ll be there. And make sure Eli brings my iPad. He still hasn’t given it back. Is he coming to the game?

Mom: The whole family will be there. Amina’s not very happy about it, but I told her she can bring a book to read.

I snicker. A book? My mother seriously does not understand her kids.

Glancing at the time in the top corner of my screen, I figure I better get walking. My pace has become more snail-like since my accident, and I don’t want to be late to class. But I need to do a solid for my ten-year-old sister, so I send another text to Mom.

Me: Get her to bring that new polish she got and I’ll do her nails for her.

Mom: During the game?

I picture my mother’s face, all mystified. How a woman so practical could get two daughters who love makeup and fashion is beyond me. Amina’s even more into it than I am.

Me: Trust me. I’ll make it work. I gotta go to class now.

I still have a little time, but I’m not about to let my mother know that, although she probably has my schedule pinned to the fridge.

Rolling my eyes, I wait for those little gray dots to turn into words and don’t even see the tower coming toward me until it’s too late.

His bag clips my shoulder and I’m sent scuttling sideways, my foot catching on the concrete and my stupid leg doing me no favors. A painful jab runs up my thigh, my knee inevitably buckling, and I land with a thump on my ass.

And then someone’s yelling at me, “ Watch where the fuck you’re going!”