I like the classes, too, even though they’re hard for me. Since I didn’t go to high school, I had to take the GED tests before I could apply to Moo U. Those weren’t so bad. But college courses are definitely a level up.

Especially algebra. I need all the help I can get.

I swallow the pills and drink the water. When I set the empty glass down on my desk, I remember that Kaitlyn had said she’d left a note for me here. So where is it? My eyes rove the desk’s surface. I don’t see a note.

So it’s her fault that I sat alone for hours at the library?

Just when I’m ready to give up looking, I spot it. There’s a row of sticky notes on the wall just over my desk. Each note has a title and author of one of the books I’m supposed to read for my Small Business class. And on the bottom edge of one of them—in faint pencil—is scribbled: D can’t make it to lib.

You have got to be kidding me. And she thinks I ruined her night?

Upset now, I head to the bathroom and give my teeth an angry brushing. Then I stomp back to my room, get into my bed, and shut out the light.

When I stop moving around, I can hear Kaitlyn and Dylan speaking to one another in her room on the other side of the wall. I listen, waiting for Dylan to leave with her. They’ll go back to his giant bed and…

Honestly, I spend an embarrassing amount of time thinking about Dylan having sex. Does he tease her as they start to kiss? Is he smiley, laughing Dylan? Or is he just so hungry for it that he’s too busy stripping her clothes off to talk or smile?

That second image really appeals to me. If I were the one in the bed with him, I wouldn’t want him to joke around. I’d want it to be like a sudden storm on a summer’s day. Fast-moving and dangerous, blotting out the sun and beating down its wrath upon my bare body. No time to think.

There’s a reason I don’t tell many people all the things inside my head.

Last week, as I passed the coffee shop, I’d seen Dylan and Kaitlyn on the other side of the plate-glass window. The coffee shop is where Kaitlyn likes to do her homework. I can't afford to buy coffee that doesn’t come from the dining hall, so I never go inside that place. That day they’d been together on a purple velvet sofa by the window, Kaitlyn’s head on Dylan’s lap, Dylan’s hand on her sleek hair. His attention seemed focused on the paperback book in his other hand.

His long fingers idly stroked her hair, and I wanted to stop and watch, fascinated. Their pose said to the world: We’re definitely having sex with each other. But not right now. First, coffee and homework!