Having limited resources and tools helped hard-sell my skills and passion on my college applications. Raw, focused, and heavy in the story, which fits my style anyway. I may avoid the realities of my life as much as possible, but I expose it on film every chance I get.

I leave the lights off and settle in my usual corner by a window. The ledge has enough space to perch on, and I rest my temple against the cold glass. My breath fogs over a patch, and I go all gooey, watching it dissipate. Like the mirror on Halloween.

By now, most everything ties to Foster in one way or another. Even worse, I miss him during the in-betweens. I worry the fountain sealed my fate.

I check the message he sent earlier while I was in class. Raindrops cover a windowpane in the picture, the gray sky, the iron railing of his balcony, and everything else beyond out of focus.

He hasn’t signed into Wanderer today, so taking a chance he’s staying at his flat because of the weather, I pause the song playing through my earbuds. Foster apologized for not educating me sooner and started sending me playlists after Halloween. He mixes genres in some; others stick to a theme. I’ve never used music outside of a way to check out, but the songs he’s been selecting are like a creative hit. Now I hear them when I film or they inspire me to seek out a shot to fit.

My video chat goes unanswered, but I haven’t even restarted my music when he returns the call.

“No tours in the rain?” I say, camera on the school emblem on my uniform sweatshirt. I flip it, giving him a view of the empty media lab while his stays on what looks like a jersey. “Not what I expected out of my favorite guide.”

“Oh, I’ll guide the fuck out for a voice like yours,” a guy drawls, catching me off guard. “Tell me what you wanna see, and I’ll provide in the absence of Daddy Foster.”

After pushing past the shock of not-Foster talking, I quickly identify the owner of the Texan accent. “Are you claiming Foster’s my daddy or yours, Chase?”

Foster’s best friend hums for a second, tipping the phone back and forth as one would their head. “If I say yours, will you start calling him daddy?”

I laugh. “I’ll consider it.”

“Wait. Why the fuck am I hiding my face?” He brings the camera up and purses his lips before perfecting his dark hair in the picture-in-picture. Square jaw, deep espresso eyes with a promise of the unexpected behind them. Chase is a wildcard, and I’m willing to admit I like him. “Now, I’m sure you’re wondering, where is the sexy beast with a voice like honey who charms my panties off daily?”