I’ve cycled through these thoughts every time I see Leila on campus in my classes, making art with my medium, trying to befriend my friends like Chloe and Sofía. Now it’s blending into what happened between Jack and me, because I let Jack in, too, and he ghosted me, but this one is probably my fault. Did I misinterpret his intentions? Did I ruin everything with him? My brain is a constant maelstrom, and it’s becoming hard to separate my stories and anxieties.

I miss him, and it tugs at my chest.

The long days without him stretch into one week, then two.

Classes drone on, and I feel bad when I zone out, gazing out windows and hoping beyond hope that I’ll see Jack walking across campus. Today is no different.

But what would I even do if I spotted him? Grab my shit, run outside after him, and force him to talk to me?

“Gray, any thoughts?” Professor McPherson interrupts, arms folded, glaring at me as someone flicks on the lights.

“What?” My eyes focus on Leila in the center of the room.

“Any feedback for Leila about her short?” Professor McPherson asks sternly, annoyed. She’s always like this on days when the juniors aren’t here. Probably because they balance our freshman greenness.

Leila huffs. “Chase wasn’t paying attention.” She folds her arms to mirror our professor’s. “You know, I, for one, am paying for an education at this fine, upstanding institution, and I believe I’m owed the baseline respect of my fellow peers. Chase clearly doesn’t value the feedback process.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes as I remember long nights in the “art studio” (her parent’s two-car garage) where I pored over her work. Leila somehow managed to capture the feminine form in clay, the bodies of her subjects expressing such fluid movements that it felt like they were flying through the air, ballerinas in mid-pirouettes. Her hands were always caked in brownish gray, and her hair was tied into messy buns. I spent hours with my sketch pads, drawing her, studying her motions.

Back then, her art had a purpose, a fervor, an energy that felt like a lyrical dance, and I told her that as often as I could. I told her when I thought her work was too restrained or not truthful, when it lacked power, and we would talk about why. We always spoke about her work. But she never did the same for my art.

“I just think Chase believes they’re too good for this class,” Leila continues. “We’ve all seen ‘Drag the Knight,’ amiright? Just because two animations went viral last year, by the way, doesn’t mean Chase is above participating.”