Catherine had never truly felt loneliness before. Despite being completely surrounded by strangers, by new coworkers and potential friends for life, she returned from her Saturday and Sunday shifts at work to a mostly-empty dorm room, to a hallway where it seemed like everyone already knew someone and had somewhere to be.

Sunday afternoon, she lay on her bed, exhausted from trying to memorize a new menu for a new coffee shop she now worked at, the special training that came with working on a college campus, and trying to memorize even more peoples’ names. Thank goodness her coworkers had name tags. And, one she even recognized from orientation! So she sort of, technically, kind of had a friend. But Jeffrey lived off-campus and commuted to work, so there wasn’t much of a chance to grab a late lunch with him. Besides, she didn’t want to look desperate by asking in the first place.

The last thing she wanted to do was text her family. She was supposed to be out with people her own age, without any care in the world. But curled up with her only pillow and the sounds of laughter outside her door, nothing felt like it was supposed to. Not like the way people told her it would. It was hardly Day 3, classes hadn’t even started yet, and she already clutched her phone in her hand and debated crying to her mom. What was she, four?

The frustration only made her want to cry even more. To make matters worse, she finally let the building pressure in her chest release, and turned into her pillow to let out a sob.

But of course, her door had to open at that point.

“Hi, roomie!” came the familiar, excited voice. Henrietta! Or...was it Harrah? “Oh!” Cat did her best to cool her face down with one breath, to suck in enough air and plaster on a fake enough smile to look excited, but the gig was up before she even started. “Cat? Are you okay?”

“Yes! Fine!” Cat shot up from the bed and discarded her pillow to the wall faster than the last time she got caught dirty texting a boy in her room by her father.

“Sorry I’m late--I mean, not late, but…. My parents live just twenty minutes down the road, so I don’t have much to prepare.” Hannah. Her name was definitely Hannah.

“Oh, that’s great.” Cat’s friendly words were muffled by Hannah entering the room with three large bags, one on wheels. “Can I help you unpack, or…?”

“Sure! I don’t have much, but then we can grab dinner together after, if you’re free? I don’t want to impose if you have plans….”

“No plans! Dinner sounds great.” Fully taking advantage of Hannah’s momentary stress, Cat was careful to craft every question to be about her new roommate, her life, where she grew up. The next couple of hours went quickly, and didn’t entirely feel that forced. The questions came up naturally after a while, and she nearly forgot that she was upset earlier until Hannah brought it up on the way to the dining hall.

“So, now that that’s all done…. Were you upset before I came in?” Hannah was gentle. Everything about her was soft, from her round face, her doe-like eyes and her gentle curls. Her voice was no exception, and every bit of her words sounded genuine. Cat desperately hoped she stayed that way.

“I was just feeling a little overwhelmed,” she admitted with a shrug. Hannah seemed to have everything together. She was peppy, her parents were close by. Her siblings were grown and had families of their own, she had friends from last year she planned to meet for brunch tomorrow--which Cat couldn’t attend despite the invitation, due to work. Thinking to how she must have looked when Hannah opened the door was a little embarrassing. How was someone supposed to react to a little brown girl crying like a child in their dorm?

“Your family live far away?”

“Culosa.”

“Yikes, quite a drive.”

“Even further bus ride.”

“They couldn’t come to see you off?”

Cat frowned. “No, couldn’t get time off work.” Any of them. Too busy banking money for her education.

“Have you called them yet?”

“No, just texted.... They haven’t called me either.” Who was supposed to call first? Weren’t her parents supposed to be calling her every hour, checking on her? Or did they just assume she was perfectly fine?

Hannah opened the glass doors to the common dining area to let the overused AC air brush into them. It was a nice contrast to the heat that rose to her cheeks.

“You’re going to feel worse for a little bit, then you’ll call them, and remember why you’re here. You should call them after dinner. Trust me, if it’s as bad for me, and my family’s close, I can only imagine how much it will help when they’re far.” It was such genuine advice. Cat was taken aback, to the point of hesitation, before she finally nodded to join her friend in line for the Thai food they previously agreed to get together.

“There are quite some perks to being roomed with a sophomore,” Cat remembered her new roomie saying during orientation.

“That’s right!” Hannah lit up like a Christmas tree. “I’ll show you all the good places to study and nap, and where to not get food. First lesson--stay away from the chicken nuggets.” Oops.

“What?”

“Everyone gets stomach cramps from them. No idea why.” So maybe it wasn’t all just from anxiety. Maybe she was doing better than she thought. The idea, alone, softened the pangs in her stomach.

“That might explain some of the pain I’m in,” Cat said through a laugh.

“Everyone always gets them first day because they’re familiar everywhere you go, but they are literally the worst thing for you. Not even the line cooks know what’s in that batter.”

The final night of rest before classes was borderline blissful compared to the other days. Cat called her parents after dinner to say hello and catch them up, and her father only cried twice. Hannah was right about feeling better after. And she was right about knowing everything to do with the campus, too.

After talking with her parents, Hannah offered a brief tour of the place, pointing out which buildings Cat’s classes would be in so she had an idea of where to go tomorrow. The sunset was breathtaking, disappearing behind the trees. The orange and pink rays speckled the cobblestone walkways through the canopy of palm and oak trees, and from the gentle breeze, the shadows looked like they were dancing. At home, sunsets were hazy and angry red. Here, there was more pink, a hint more purple. Hannah said it was because the morning fog burned off a lot of the smog from the inner city.

They returned to their dorm building at the cusp of twilight, and Hannah was already deep into the explanations on how each floor had its own culture: “First floor is always the party floor. Even if a party starts on the second floor, it ends up on the first floor. The stairs are so killer. They’re the tallest stairs of any building, so lots of people just fall back down on them. Don’t ever use those bathrooms, if you can avoid it. My friend, Magenta, says she got a staph infection from one of the showers, just by being barefoot. Second floor, where we are, isn’t so bad, especially our side of the building. It’s quieter, since it’s by the pool. There’s also a duck pond by the football field, and you can kind of see it from our window. Anyway, third floor is usually reserved for the upper-classmen, if they still live on campus. They tend to be nicer, sometimes more expensive. Not many lower-classmen get to the third and four floors unless they are either very lucky, or know someone to room with.

“My friend, Cameron, who’s just a sophomore, managed to get a room on the third floor, though. He’s roomed with a junior. He was going to be roomed with a senior he knew, but that guy dropped out, and then this junior came in and didn’t request anything specific, Cam got to keep his room. Actually--Cameron is one of the people I’m meeting tomorrow. Him and Kelsey, my old roommate. Thick as thieves, probably not still sleeping together.” For the first time since Hannah arrived, there may have been a cause for concern.

Cat’s voice took a nervous edge. “Why aren’t you roomies with Kelsey anymore?” she dared to ask. Obsessive? Crazy? Boyfriend-stealing--

“She’s a slob and it caused a lot of fights. But she’s a good person. You’ll like her. She’s a lot of fun. Not as fun as I am, but still fun.” Oh, well. That was surprisingly tame. Cat silently scolded herself for assuming something more along the lines of a TV drama. She was smarter than that.

“Anyone to look out for?” Cat dared to ask, brows raised.

“Umm….” Hannah seemed deep in thought as they made their way to the elevator of the building. “Not really. Haven’t met any crazies. But I guess, like…. Cameron, he’s a bit of a slut. So if you like him, don’t expect anything serious. The guy doesn’t know what that word means.”

“Fair...so...you dated him, too?” As they exited the elevator, Hannah flashed a smile.

“For a bit. But it got boring too fast for both of us, so we agreed we’re much better wingmen.” As they passed the open doors down the hall, Hannah waved to a few people, but mostly kept speaking to Cat. It was an odd feeling. Was Hannah a sort of popular person that everyone knew?

“I could use a couple wingwomen,” Cat murmured, more to herself. She wasn’t exactly looking, but this was college, after all. This was what part of the experience was.

“Ooooh, you’ve got the right roommate! Guys or girls?” Well that wasn’t a question she’d ever considered.

“Um, I think guys. I’ve never been with a girl.” Upon admitting this, Hannah seemed to light up once again.

“You ever want to, you know where I live.” Huh? “So what’s your schedule for tomorrow look like?”

Ugh. Peter. First Monday of college, ever. She had been working since five in the morning, and three hours into her shift, he decided to walk right in and ruin her life. Her coworker, Jeffrey, looked up from the tea he was making, and groaned, “Christ. Here we go again.” She ignored his preemptive complaints and leaned forward onto the counter toward Mr. Overdressed Buttonup and put on her Customer Voice.

“Welcome to Jittery Joe’s, Peter. What can I get you? Blood leached from newborn orphans?” Upon seeing her, he looked just as pleased to see her as she was, him, and stared at her with irritation.

“Oh, I could never finish your leftovers, Catherine.” The contempt in his voice sent an excited jolt through her stomach, turning her fake smile genuine. “A plain, medium black coffee is fine.” With an empty cup and sharpie in hand, she looked up at him.

“Cold like your heart or hot as the Hell you run?”

Peter scoffed, “I’d say hot, but then with how good you are with following directions, it would still come out lukewarm.” He granted her a small, sardonic smile. His dimples teased the edge of his lips, but disappeared too quickly when his expression faded. She faltered at coming up with her next snide comment, took too long, and now he just stood there, waiting for the next bout.

Cat marked his order on the cup as she shook her head. “Loving the unnecessary judgement, Peter. Six bucks.”

He cocked a brow. “Is that including the sarcastic comment?”

“No, that’s free, just for you.”

“I thought I was feeling lucky today.” All smiles disappeared, real or fake.

“Now it’s seven bucks.”

“I forgot, I have a discount code. It’s called, Shut Up, and it’s supposed to take off any added remarks from a Terrible Barista?”

Cat narrowed her gaze as she leaned in. “Sorry, Snobby Rich Boys are excluded from said discount code. But I can give you a complementary Fuck You if you feel free to give me the damn cash and Fuck Off.”

He challenged her glare, and took one step closer to the counter and lowered his voice. “How much for your permanent silence?”

“Not even you could afford that with your trust fund, Peter.”

Finally, the next frazzled patron stepped up to the counter, eyes wide and hair bigger than a personal space bubble should allow. “Are you done, or can we move this along? I’ve got class.”

“Sorry,” Cat muttered. Caught off-guard, Peter jumped back a step and immediately began to fish into his slacks for his wallet, and she, with a sly smile, drew the most graphic, veiny penis she could instead of his name, and passed it onto her coworker to fill it up. Peter tossed the cash on the counter instead of into her outstretched hand and stepped aside for the person behind him to order.

“Just a scone and small green tea, please,” the girl asked before Catherine could fully greet her.

“Warmed?”

“Sure.” The grinding of the coffee machine nearly covered her answer, but she smiled and retreated to the display window to grab the scone and shove it in the microwave. She could have sworn she heard Jeffrey chuckle at her work of art on Peter’s cup.

Jeffrey set the coffee on the counter the minute Cat returned with a piping hot plate and pastry. Peter seemed too busy stifling laughter at his fancy phone to reach for it himself, so she couldn’t help but take the opportunity presented.

“I have a black-as-your-soul coffee for one gigantic dick?” she called with a smile. When he met her with a glare, she winked and offered him his cup. He squinted, furrowing his perfectly-shaped brows in her direction.

“Really? Real mature.” His sarcasm fed her smile.

“Have a miserable day, you sack of shit!”

“If seeing you first thing this morning is any indication, it’s a guarantee.” The dimples returned.

The next patron slapped her hand on the counter. “Can you just bone already?”

As Peter turned to leave, Cat jumped at the shout. Really, no reaction from him? She had to handle this all on her own?

“Excuse me?”

“Can I have my scone already?” Oh, scone. Right. Of course. No one would be that...right. She cleared her throat and offered the plate, shaking her head.

“Oh--right. Your...sorry. Yes. Here you are.”

“You thought she said bone, didn’t you?” Jeffrey mused once she left. Cat couldn’t seem to answer with any complete words. “I thought she did, too. That’s some intense energy you two’ve got.” Intense. That was the word. Instead of answering, she cleared her throat and turned her attention to the cash register to organize the bills left on the counter.

The rest of the day had to go better. She had her human sexuality class at four, and communications at six, and then her exhausting day could end.

And, if she was being honest and a little nerdy, she was kind of excited for communications. It was just introductory, but the method of speech was always fascinating to her. Maybe if she liked it enough, she could major in it.

But no. No, no, no, no. Life was too cruel. Peter was a junior! What was he doing in a beginner’s communication class? Everything was going so well today! Human sexuality was just a glorified Look At This Paper meeting, and she was actually looking forward to this class until she walked through the door and saw none other than Mr. Peter McFantsypants sitting at a desk in the front row, consumed in his phone as if it held the meaning of life. What a typical rich white boy. He wasn’t even original.

Before he could look up to see her, Cat scrambled into a seat in the middle and hid her face with a hand, as if she was suffering from a headache. Hopefully he wouldn’t recognize her. She changed from this morning, wore a bright dress and let her hair fall past her shoulders. Hopefully he wouldn’t think twice.

People of all shapes and sizes filled the seats, until the final stragglers were forced to stand in the back. The professor, a stout woman that reminded Cat of a dwarf from World of Warcraft, addressed the room with a smile.

“Welcome to Communications 101! I’m Professor Amber Harlem I’ll start off by taking roll. If there are any missing students, I’ll be accepting add codes. If not, I can only add the amount of students as there are chairs in the room.” Cat pretended to understand what any of that meant as she reached into her messenger bag for a notebook. Anxiety told her to rehearse how to say “present” or “here” a million times before her name was called. And, by the time the professor got to the “R”s of the alphabet, she’d perfected her tone in her head.

“Catherine Ramos?”

“Here!” she called clearly. Honestly, it was a little childish how much she practiced that. But no amount of reassurance ever made listening for her name in roll any easier. Maybe it was that B+ that ruined her perfect GPA in high school due to one missed class too many.

After Cat replied, however, her eyes shifted to Peter. As expected, he slowly twisted around in his chair to look back at her. He looked like someone keyed his expensive car when he rolled his eyes.

“What are the odds?” he whispered to her.

“That you would be in a freshman class? Quite high, based on what I know about you so far.”

Peter scowled. “It’s not a freshman class. And I meant that you would be in the section I picked?” As if he owned the section of this class!

“Thought I’d return the favor and try to make your life a living hell, I guess.”

The professor finished roll and immediately cleared her throat for everyone’s attention before she continued. “So this very first assignment is how I weed out the weaklings.” The professor’s eyes lit up as she said this. “Debates!” As some of the standing students in the back made their way out of a class they couldn’t add to, there were even a couple seated people who gathered their things and walked right out the door. Eventually, everyone in the classroom had a seat, and Professor Harlem looked pleased with herself.

“Now that’s settled. This side of the room--” She gestured to the side that Cat wasn’t sitting on as she continued, “is Against. The rest are Pro. I’ll point to you and say a number, and that will correspond to your topic on this sheet. Make sense?” She turned around to tape the paper on the whiteboard behind her. “Before I pair you off, let me give you the rubric. I’ll be nice for this presentation.” As she took stacks of paper to give to the front row, she continued her instructions. “We will study good arguments this week, so be sure to have read chapters one and two by Wednesday. Debates will start next week. I’ll assign your presentation days later.”

Cat swallowed thickly when she accepted her rubric, noting the tiny details and the acceptable scores beside them.

“Jesus, she’s picky,” the guy behind her muttered. He noticed all the little lines, too. The debate was out of 100 points, and she took a full point away for every “word-filler,” five for every point that wasn’t backed up by a reference.

“Alright,” Professor Harlem said as she stood off to the far side of the room. “I’ll number you, you find out your topic, and you’re dismissed. It may be a good idea to wait for your partner to exchange contact information to plan your debate better. Just a little advice.” Right as she pointed to the first person to start counting, someone blurted a question in the back: “How structured is this?”

The professor let out a small giggle, as if this was a hilarious question. “Very structured. You can script out a winner, if you’d like. We’re just going to be focusing on form and etiquette for this debate.” And, without asking to see if there were more questions, she began to number people off.

Looking about the room, Cat counted exactly thirty seated students. So there were probably fifteen topics. The professor stopped at the very middle seat, then began counting over again. Cat figured she would get topic number seven, confirmed it with the professor, then stood to join the ever-growing line of students confirming their topics with one another. They separated in pairs, phones and planners out, jotting down information and ideas while others awaited their debate partner.

Cat stepped up to the sheet and raised her brows. The topics weren’t without their baggage. Abortion rights, death penalty, media censorship. This wasn’t high school anymore. They were heavy topics, intimate. Some were literal in that sense, even going over age of consent in certain countries.

A tall figure loomed out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t have to turn and look. She didn’t have to ask. The day was just going this way, so it only made sense for Peter to also have number seven.

“Seven is the claim that violent video games cause aggression.” And a topic she had to argue for that she didn’t agree with. Cat grimaced as she stepped out of the way for the next student in line, then looked up to Peter.

“Okay,” she said tersely. “But studies show that video games don’t cause any additional violence in society.”

“Great, so we’re in agreement that we’ll set it up for me to win.” Over her dead body! Just because she didn’t agree with the assignment, didn’t mean she wouldn’t absolutely demolish him in every other aspect. Debates weren’t about who was right, they were about who was better at debating.

Cat scoffed. “Maybe we should meet about this after reading the chapters and learning the expectations the professor has.”

Peter shook his head and said, “It sounds straight-forward enough to me. Do you not understand the subject?” The way he squinted at her, the way his lower lip came out to just a tiny pout. Her hand literally curled into a fist.

“I understand it just fine, but she said we’re focusing on structure--”

“So follow the structure and you won’t fail.” He said it so simply, with a shrug that just oozed pretentiousness, and shoved passed her like some sort of high school bully passing a nerd in a locker room. Oooh, she could kill him. Would it be worth paying a year’s tuition to just go to jail? She’d have to think on that.

The rest of the week went smoothly. English and math were glorified syllabus reading days, and even on the second days of classes, people were pleasant and helpful. Professor Harlem was a bit strict, but she was fair, and was very clearly an expert. Classes were going well, and she generally liked her classmates. Except for one. But she could handle an hour of sitting in the same room as Peter three days a week.

Tomorrow was the second Friday of the semester, and she and Peter were scheduled to be first to debate at six PM, sharp. Cat prepared everything she could, but even when she approached him after class on Wednesday, he dismissed her. Fine. If he wanted to fail, he could fail. She just wanted to give him the option to be an adult and work through their animosity.

Throughout the week, though, Cat met Hannah’s friends, Cameron and Kelsey, and true to her roommate’s word, they got along great. Kelsey was a loud, skinny redhead that kept Cameron in line, which seemed to be something he needed. He was a tall blonde boy with stubble and a swimmer’s physique--and was unfortunately aware of the fact that he was conventionally attractive. But he was nice enough. Cat could see how he would become a serial dater, incapable of anything serious. She could also see why everyone would fall for him every time he smiled, too.

Hannah planned a party for Thursday night when she discovered her parents were going out of town and needed her to watch the house. So with the promise of meeting new people and smuggled alcohol, Cat enthusiastically agreed to be her wingwoman.

But now that Thursday classes were done, and the party was just in a few hours, Cat stood in their dorm room that afternoon with her stomach full of butterflies. She decided to funnel the energy into finding something to wear when the days were nearly ninety degrees hot and the nights were nearly half that. How did anyone plan for that kind of weather?

“Thanks for inviting me to your party,” Cat said, smiling nervously. Her side of the closet was so much less populated than Hannah’s. Her roomie turned around to beam at her as she continued digging through her drawers.

“Of course! There won’t be too many people, since it’s a Thursday and everything, but I had to take the opportunity.”

Cat finally settled with some black short-shorts and a loose, netted halter top she wore as a bathing suit cover-up. “I haven’t snuck alcohol someone else’s parents’ house since high school.”

“Right? It’s cool of them to say it’s alright. I wasn’t sure they’d be into it, but after I said how much safer it was to drink at home, my mom was all, ‘Oh, okay, fine!’” Hannah let out a laugh until she fished out the bikini she had been looking for. “Oh, you wearing that over your suit?” She gestured to the booty shorts and top she just put on.

“I think so. I don’t have many options. I packed lightly.” Though the netted top was supposed to be worn over a tank top, and showed a little more skin than she normally was comfortable with. This was her first party, and she wanted to look confident. And, with enough sunscreen, she wouldn’t get weird tan lines.

“I think it’s cute. I’m just going to wear regular clothes. It might get cold tonight.”

“I thought you said there’s a fire pit?”

“Yeah, but I always get cold easily, and I don’t have a guy’s sweatshirt to steal locked in yet.” Cat laughed at this. Her most recent ex-boyfriend, from before she moved here, got into a really lengthy rant about how he was so sick of Cat stealing his sweatshirts. She still had one, packed away somewhere. Softest thing she’d ever stolen. Not that she made it a habit to steal.

“So who’s all going?” she asked.

“Not sure yet. Still mentioning it to people, still hearing back from some. Cam and Kelsey, definitely, and Cam’s roomie is coming, too.”

“The junior? What’s his name?” Easy access to someone to flirt with would be nice, especially if he was friends with Cameron and Hannah. And if he was slightly older, there was a higher chance that he wouldn’t be obnoxious. Maybe he had soft sweatshirts.

“Peter, I think.” Good lord she hoped that was a coincidence. How many guys willingly went by that name? Not many, nowadays. Hannah noticed her reaction.

“Think you know him?” She sounded skeptical. Why would a freshman from a city six hundred miles away know a junior? It shocked her out of her pessimism, and Cat shook her head.

“I hope not. So this is sort of an open invite thing?”

“Yeah, whoever shows up, shows up.”

“It’ll be chill, then.” It was a little sarcastic. Things were bound to get out of hand one way or another. But, as long as the cops weren’t called, it didn’t entirely matter that much.

“Probably not, ha! But you’re still cool to stay the night. No need to get a ride or anything. We have lots of spare bedrooms.” Must be nice. “The offer is up to everyone. Rather be safe than sorry, y’know?”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” She didn’t plan on drinking that much, but it might be nice to have a small sleepover with a few new friends.

Maybe it wouldn’t get out of hand. Maybe it would be “chill.” Maybe Peter was a common name here.

Then again...maybe not.