Jack is silent.

“What? You would?” I ask, knowing I’m pushing boundaries for 8:00 a.m.

He shrugs. “I got nothing to hide.”

My mouth goes dry. I’m weak. I stare straight ahead, afraid that if I turn to look at him, the entire campus will explode.

“So tell me more about this Linda McPherson person,” he adds.

“Oh!” Relief washes over me. “She’s only the baddest of badasses in animation. She directed the film Crumbs, which came out last December.”

He nods slowly. “Cool?”

“Yes, very cool,” I continue. “We have to watch it. It’s so good.”

“Not a big movie guy,” he says.

Well, I guess not even Jack can be perfect.

“I can’t believe you missed it. It was the first fully hand-drawn animated feature film from a major animation studio since, like, 2011.”

As we walk, I give him the rundown. “Crumbs is a retelling of ‘Hansel and Gretel’ from the point of view of the witch. My favorite part is the ‘I Want’ song, where the witch sings about wanting a family and to be accepted as an eccentric candy maker. I can relate to that. McPherson is a CIA alumna, too. She’s like, a visionary. And she’s here as a guest lecturer for the year. That’s like if Hemingway popped out of his grave and taught your creative writing class.”

“Damn.” He sighs. “That’s awesome. I like the way your eyes go bonkers when you talk about this stuff. I’m the same way.”

The way he says that makes me feel like he understands me in a way not many others do. Even Rae looks at me like I’ve lost every single one of my marbles when I vomit about animated films.

We reach a fork in the path.

“I’m this way,” I say, nodding toward the art building on the left.

“Yeah, I’m that way,” Jack gestures to the lit building on the right. “Dinner tonight?”

“Sounds good!” I say, practically skipping away.

I get all the way to the main entrance when I realize we didn’t solidify a time. Or a meeting place. And I still don’t have his number. I glance back, but he’s gone.

Syllabus day is, well, syllabus day.

We don’t do much but go over course expectations in all my classes, which is not entirely different from the first day of high school, with two exceptions: (1) every professor assigns more homework than high school teachers, and (2) every single student in my program has the same hunger to be the best artist ever. Which, great. Who doesn’t love some healthy competition? But also, (3) Leila is in every single one of my classes, including the advanced animation seminar. So, like, there’s competition, but then there’s Leila, a whole additional layer of bullshit I do not pay tuition to endure.

Leila and I met in high school art classes, and our bond over different mediums grew. But even back then, she knew she wanted to be “a high-powered executive at a film studio who will make enough money to one day quit and open up her own studio and art gallery.” She wanted to make art but was unwilling to sacrifice her bank account.