Friday afternoon, Cat sat at her desk in her dorm, alone, when her phone buzzed. It was Cam, starting a group chat.

Reunite tonight? Been too long since we’ve all hung out! She wasn’t entirely certain who was in the chat yet, but she sort of figured when she saw his text that she’d avoided him for too long.

I’m down, was her quick reply. Only then did she let herself look at who was included in the chat, even though she was fairly certain who was in it.

Kelsey was next. Only if it’s after 8. Got a paper to finish.

Hannah said, Craving for pizza, anyone? Lmao

And the unknown number, whose Cat fluttering chest realized must have been Peter, replied, Sure, after class.

Well. At least this time she was with Peter, others would be around. No repeats of...whatever weird thing she would do next. Maybe after they interacted together in front of people, things would go back to normal. Besides, whether she liked it or not, her friends were friends with him. It wasn’t fair to them if she insisted they be separated like kindergartners.

She had all through her communications class to prepare herself for this. But her heart rate wouldn’t slow down, her palms got all clammy, and she absorbed almost nothing from the lecture. She switched between making theories about the photo Peter drank to, to revisiting the moments where she either got too close to him or yelled at him. Was she giving too much power to these weird points in time? That must have been it. It was what she decided must have been the case, anyway, by the time the professor dismissed everyone.

But Professor Harlem called her name. “Catherine and Peter, quick word about your makeup project.” Oh, great. Was she going to reject her preliminary argument? Was she going to tear apart her sources, call her an idiot? She’d gone through almost every awful outcome by the time she’d approached the professor’s lectern, and stood, steeled and ready for battle.

Peter’s presence simultaneously warmed her back from his proximity and rose the hairs on the back of her neck on end. This wasn’t that bad. This wasn’t intense. She could handle this. That’s what people generally felt when someone stood behind them silently.

“Your day to present…,” Professor Harlem started absent-mindedly as she searched for a pad of paper, a planner of some sort, “...is December...what’s that first Friday in December?”

“Do you mean November 30th or December 7th?” Peter asked. Cat forced herself not to jump from his sudden voice. She knew he was there. Why did she nearly jump out of her skin?

“She said December,” Cat muttered under her breath. Did he know those dates without looking them up, or did he sit there and go through the math? She didn’t turn around to see if he had his phone calendar out or not.

“December 7th,” Professor Harlem confirmed, nodding at her notebook. “Start of the class.” Cat nodded, pursing her lips. “Any questions?”

“No,” Peter answered. Cat wanted to turn around and slap him.

“Yes,” she corrected through gritted teeth. “Did you get a chance to look at the preliminary arguments?” Peter finally stepped so that he was beside her, and she watched him out of the corner of her eye. He looked at her, but she didn’t acknowledge his existence.

Professor Harlem sighed, and offered a wry smile. “I did,” she answered. “But the part you are making up is the debate, itself. Not any work leading up to it. You aren’t getting graded for that part.” Maybe it should have been a relief, but Cat still stared at the woman, frowning.

“Any...critiques?” she prompted as she shifted her weight from one foot to another. Peter’s presence beside her felt heavier than his gaze.

“Nope,” the professor said with a shrug. Cat’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t help it. The professor raised a brow.

“I mean, are we going the right direction? Is this okay…?” Her hands picked at each other in front of her, and Professor Harlem glanced at them fleetingly.

“They’re fine. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got another class to teach.” And, as if it was as simple as that, as if this one assignment didn’t hold Cat’s whole future, Harlem picked up her stack of papers and her purse to leave.

“Professor,” she called, “I--this is an important class to me.” But she didn’t even hesitate; she just grabbed a few papers, shoved them into her purse, and started toward the door.

“I’d hope so, Catherine,” was her answer. She didn’t even glance back.

“No--I mean….” But even as she went to follow her out the door, Professor Harlem didn’t look back, and instead headed down the line of buildings. The icy breeze of the night stung as Cat caught the door from swinging in her face. The metal thudded against her fist with a thunk, prompting her to scoff.

“That was rude,” Peter muttered beside her. Cat’s heart hovered high in her chest. This was it: the professor didn’t like her, and she wasn’t going to help. Not even a word of encouragement? What kind of teacher was she?

Cat shoved the door open; its handle hit the outer wall and she started her angry storm toward the food court, arms crossed and feet stomping.

“I’m going to lose my scholarship because Professor Harlem is a bitch. From one assignment.” It meant to be more of a complaint to herself, but Peter kept pace with her. Was this happening right now? The reason she might be a laughing stock to her whole family was just walking with her to dinner? Did he even know this was all his fault?

“Fragile scholarship,” was his constructive comment. Cat glared at him. “Too soon?”

“You’re about as well-timed as a holocaust joke,” she spat.

“Jesus, sorry.” His insincere words fueled her angry silence until they’d reached the food court. Thankfully, Cam was there already, claiming a large table with his feet propped up on the table.

“Were you born in a barn?” Cat asked, swatting his feet away.

“I was, actually, but I get what you mean.” Resigning to her criticism, Cameron pulled his feet down and gestured for Cat and Peter to sit. Peter, thankfully, took his place on Cam’s other side, and offered no comment. “Bad day?”

Cat kept her arms crossed and opted not to answer, instead folding in on herself as she slumped in her chair.

When Hannah joined them a few minutes later, she also commented on Cat’s mood, but she didn’t say anything yet. Was it a bad day or a bad week? Month? Year?

It wasn’t until Kelsey came by and took a seat between her and Hannah that Cat finally decided to say something.

“I’m going to fail communications because Professor Harlem is a bitch.” Her mood didn’t improve when she said this, so she sighed and continued, “But more importantly, Jeffrey’s a dick and now I can’t go home for Thanksgiving because of him.” Her friends offered the correct expressions to prompt her to continue. “He’s going to Bora Bora so now I have to run Jittery Joe’s by myself for that Thursday and Friday, and work the whole weekend. I can’t go back at all.”

“What!” cried Hannah. “That’s not fair!”

Kelsey fed off her anger. “They’re not giving you any time off?”

“Do you get overtime?” came Cam’s stupid question. Cat sighed and leaned back against the chair.

“No time off at all?” Kelsey repeated. “What did your parents say?” Now that that word was out--parents--Cat flinched. She had both of them right now, aching to see her. The guilt of not being able to see them was one thing, but on the other side of the coin was the guilt for complaining at all. There was at least one other person at that table that had one less biological parent. And, from what it sounded like, the father that raised him was in the process of disowning him. She kept her eyes on the floor while the shame rose to her cheeks. She shouldn’t have been complaining.

“They claim to understand,” she said quietly, “since this job is the whole reason why I can afford to even live here.” Her tongue turned to jelly. “Anyway, that’s why I’m in a bad mood. It’s whatever, now you know.” They seemed to sense that she didn’t want to say anything more about it, offered a few generic words of support before they changed the subject to what sort of dinner everyone should get.

Once they’d all sat down with their various different foods, Cat with a teriyaki bowl, Kelsey and Hannah with sad-looking burritos, Cam with Chinese and Peter with some sort of fried fish, the conversation trickled to a halt. There was only so many times people could ask, “What’d you get?” and “Oh, is it good?”

Kelsey seemed tense, too, like she had a bad day. She couldn’t seem to look up from the table unless someone else was talking, and even then, she didn’t maintain eye contact. Hannah was overtly extroverted to try and make up for the weird tension that floated around the group; Cat tried not to be so quiet, but sitting next to Cam made her feel like she had to seem more interested than usual.

Then, of course, Peter had to get some super important phone call and excused himself part way through. When he left, Kelsey tried to engage more, but Cat didn’t pay much attention. She could see Peter in the distance, talking wildly to his cell phone, but she couldn’t hear anything through the chatter of the food court. He seemed angry, sort of. Desperate.

“Wonder what that’s about?” Cam finally asked, destroying any facade that the group wasn’t collectively wondering what all his ill-timed phone calls were about.

“I think he’s trying to see his little brother,” Kelsey answered. “He’s still a minor, and I guess Peter’s fighting with his parents.” Cat opened her mouth to correct her, but thought better of it by the time Peter returned to the table. He slumped in his chair, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

The table held a collective breath as they awaited a cue from Peter on how to reply. Finally, he asked. “Any parties tonight?” What a healthy coping mechanism.

“Tons,” Cam replied, shrugging. “There’s a few in the dorms, but there’s one down the street I wanted to check out. Wanna come?” The guys made their plans, but the girls declined. Work. Group meeting. Essay due Monday. How Cam and Peter weren’t a little burnt out from alcohol was surprising.

Bedtime was glorious. After a warm shower, a face mask, complements of Hannah, and a fresh pair of flannel pajamas, Cat fell asleep faster than she’d ever before. This was what she needed. But she was naive to think that a dreamless sleep like this could last.

Harsh harsh vibrations beside her head made Cat groan out loud. Instinctively, she reached up and pressed the side button to make it shut up, but it didn’t snooze. Cat sighed and peeled an eye open to try and see what was up.

Oh. Not an alarm. A phone call. She blinked at the light, struggling to get her vision in focus. Cam? Why was Cam calling her at...three in the morning? She sat up in bed and answered, heart hammering hard against her chest.

“Hello?” she whispered into her phone. Hannah mumbled something on the other side of the room, peeved to be woken up in the middle of the night. But Cat’s first instinct was to panic; was he okay? Why was he--but then the sounds on the other line reminded her why this could be happening.

“Y’boy’s drunk,” came an unfamiliar voice on the line. “Come get him.” It was difficult to make out the voice from all the background noise. Shouts, whoops and hollers. The party he and Peter went to.

“My boy?” she whispered with a furrowed brow.

Cat could finally understand her roommate’s mumbles: “Can you take that outside?” Cat mouthed an apology and began to throw her sheets off of herself.

“Sorry, you’re the first on the most recent texts. Can you come pick him up?”

“I don’t have a car,” she answered, sliding out of bed. She found her flip-flops and sweatshirt by her bed, grabbed her lanyard of keys and stepped out of the room, more for respect for Hannah’s beauty sleep than intending to keep a conversation with the stranger that had Cam’s phone.

“Shit,” the guy sounded. “You go to Bay City U?”

Cat began to shove her arms in the sweatshirt, unable to stop herself from shivering. “Yeah, Cam lives in my building.” Was this place allergic to using a heater or something?

“Oh! You’re just down the street. Can you just come get him?”

“What do you mean, ‘come get him?’” The hallway looked almost creepy when it was this early and deserted. A few doors still leaked light from the bottom seam, but no one made noise.

The guy on the other line continued, “I mean he can’t walk. He’s literally flirting with a succulent right now.” Well, that unfortunately sounded like Cam. Cat shivered in her pajamas and struggled to rub her arm fast enough to produce some heat.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to--”

From the other line, she could hear Cam start to yell: ”Is that Cat? Heeeeyy, Cat! You should--should come hang out!"

“You should go home, Cam!” the other guy yelled. More laughter overtook the receiver. Cat rubbed her eyes and sighed. Well. She was awake now.

“What about his roommate?” Cat realized at least. “Peter. Tall, blond, he should be there.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” There was no arguing based on that tone. Was Peter already passed out? Cat sighed.

“I’ll...come try and get him to come home. Text me the address,” she mumbled into the phone.

“Thanks. Incoming.” And, with that, the line went dead, and “Cam” text her. It was the house beside the one that hosted the Halloween party last week. Cat stared at the address and sighed. Well. So what if she had work in a few hours?

Irritation burned at the edges of her stomach as started walking where she was directed. Cam owed her for this. Why couldn’t that guy have picked a different name in the group chat? And, as she stalked her way out the building and onto the mostly well-lit pathway off of campus, she focused on her anger to keep away any unnecessary paranoia. It wasn’t a good idea to just walk out in the middle of the night. But, well, no one was around. The campus was well-lit. She could hear pretty well. She knew a few moves to protect herself, and it wasn’t like she wasn’t returning with someone that wouldn’t try to protect her if an axe murderer came out.

Good lord, she was stupid. Why did she feel obligated to do this? Why couldn’t she have just sent Hannah?

The silence of the night didn’t last for very long. She’d walked maybe half a mile to the edge of campus, and pressed the button on the stoplight to gain permission to cross the street. Frat Row was loud, bright, and densely-populated. And here she was, in her nighttime braid and flannel pajamas, shivering and flip-flopping on her way to a party that should have ended an hour ago to fetch a guy that may or may not have too many feelings for her. Peachy.