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As soon as my biology class is over, I wait after everyone sprints out of the room before I can even dare to attempt to exit. There are way too many people in this class.
A spiral-bound notebook beneath a chair in front of me catches my eye. I crouch down and move the chair aside, plucking the book. I nudge the chair back in place with my hip and look over the cover.
There’s no name, but there’s a simple title written in Sharpie. ‘Bio’ .
Curiosity gets the best of me, and I begin to open it, but remember I’m still awkwardly hanging about in the classroom.
I exit the room, shifting my backpack on my shoulders to be more comfortable, and tuck the notebook under my arm. Scrolling on my phone, I select shuffle on my music and melt into the sound pouring through my earbuds.
The hot air hits me like a slap in the face. Sweat beads on my forehead and I already feel my clothes beginning to stick to my skin from the humidity. Why must school begin at the end of August when it is still so unbearably hot? It’s ridiculous. I instantly long for the crisp air-conditioned room I was just in. The plastic cover of the notebook begins to stick to my arm. I better hurry to my dorm, then.
Spotting my bike tied to the rack behind the science building, I awkwardly manage to unlock it, pausing for a moment to figure out how to ride with a notebook under my arm. I’m an idiot. Damn this heat for taking away my common sense. With a bit of effort, and panting from the heat and struggle, I attempt to squeeze the book into my bag. Shit, now it’s even heavier .
I finally kick the pedals into gear and ride past the groups of iced-coffee-sipping people. I instinctively slow down when I pass the patches of impressive oaks, but then I snap back to reality and feel the sweat on the back of my neck, and go faster in order to get home before I melt.
At last, I come into view of the tall brick building where my dorm is, and I bring my bike to a stop, hopping off, and wheel it to the rack, locking it in place. I quickly dart inside, pushing the heavy glass doors open.
The AC hits me like a refreshing sip of ice water, and my body relaxes. I duck my head to avoid any other students and move ahead to call the nearest elevator.
It’s empty, thank goodness , and I go inside, quickly pressing the ‘close doors’ button (even though it doesn’t really make a difference, but I like to believe it makes them close quicker), then press the button for the third floor.
Luckily, my dorm is right around the corner from the elevator, and, after a few awkward tries, manage to swipe my key-card through.
“Um, hey?” I call, opening the metal door, kicking off my shoes.
“Yo.” Jared’s face appears from his bed, the lower bunk, and he waves half-heartedly. He wrinkles his nose. “You smell, dude.”
Embarrassed, I try to covertly smell myself, and I realise that I do, indeed, smell. I hate being sweaty.
“I’ll, uh, t-take a shower, then,” I mumble, dropping my bag to the floor.
I hate the shower, too, and I try to avoid it, as gross as that sounds. It’s one of those super-public dorm showers, where it’s all these stalls and you have to use flip-flops to go into the icky showers and hope there’s nobody having sex or something. Jared says it’s kind of like summer camp, but I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been. Stupid separation anxiety.
I slide on my bathroom flip-flops and grab my towel and shower stuff, awkwardly padding down the hall in the noisy rubber shoes.
That’s the thing. I got lucky with having the elevator near my dorm, it’s good for hurrying home, or if you’re packing stuff for holidays or whatever, you don’t have to carry your belongings very far. Unfortunately, that comes with a price. The bathrooms are at the other end. I’ve only been here for a week, and I’ve showered once before here. The first time, the mortification of walking down a long hall with nothing but a towel and flip-flops to cover yourself was immense. I really hope Jared and I can find someplace affordable off-campus so I won’t suffer for the next four years.
The bathroom is mostly empty, save for someone in a shower. Whew .
I choose the least-filthy stall (which is not very clean), and step in, closing the door, and quickly undressing. The water comes out with a loud squeak, and it’s ice cold . I can’t help but yelp with surprise, then clamp my mouth shut, praying that nobody heard.
With a bit of effort, I coax the knob to turn on the hot water, which reluctantly comes out of the shower.
In record time, I have cleaned my body and my hair, wrapped myself tightly in a towel, and gathered my things. Now to get back to my room without being spotted.
As soon as I open the stall door of the shower to leave, I accidentally catch the eye of some six-foot-something, super-muscular, macho man, and turn away quickly, in case he decides to beat the hell out of me for some reason.
Thankfully, he just steps around me to go to another shower, and I can breathe easy. Time for the hall.
Walking as fast as I possibly can, I make it to my dorm, then realise… shit . I forgot my damn card.
“Jared?” I knock rapidly on the door. “J-Jare, I, uh, I forgot my card?”
A few awkward moments pass where I pray nobody comes out of their rooms to see me like this, then he finally opens up.
He just sighs and shakes his head as I come inside.
“Could you, uh, t-turn around, please?” I request. We’ve been friends (well, is friends even the right word?) for, like, a decade and a half or something, but I still feel weird being naked in front of him.
Jared nods and goes back to whatever the hell he was doing on his computer.
I hurriedly change into fresh clothes. Being at college really taught me how to be fast, I’ve noticed.
Picking up my bag, I haul it over to my desk. I open it up to take out what I need for my homework, even though it’s not due for another week. I, unlike Jared, like to get my assignments done as soon as possible.
An unfamiliar book catches my eye, and I remember it’s the notebook I picked up. It hits me that its owner probably went back for it, only to see that it was gone. Oh, that’s not good. Shit.
Absentmindedly, I begin to thumb through the pages. Nestled amongst the neatly written notes are little ballpoint pen doodles of what we’ve been studying in class, as well as various shapes, words (which seem like song lyrics, maybe?), and sketches of people. I assume they are our classmates, but I haven’t really noticed many of the other people around. Come to think of it, I can hardly recall the person who sits in front of me. Well, I do only see the back of their head. I think they have long hair? Maybe? Hm.
“Uh, whatcha doin’?”
Jared’s voice startles me, and I drop the notebook. “Huh?”
He blinks at me lazily from where he sits, relaxed, in his bed. “I said , ‘whatcha doin?’ You’re just sorta…” he waves his hand around. “Standing there. Staring at your notebook.”
“Oh!” I pick up the book and hold it up. “Th-this, this, this actually isn’t mine? Y-yeah, I, um, I found it, so…”
“So you stole a notebook?” Jared raises an eyebrow.
“No!” I reply a bit too quickly. “S-someone left it-”
He laughs, closing the computer. “You’re gonna return the notebook? How? Do you know whose it is?”
I shrug. “I thought, I thought I’d just… wait until we have class again.. on Thursday?”
Jared rolls his eyes. “Three days, Ev? What if they need it sooner?”
“I don’t know!” I exclaim, exasperated. “I was-wasn’t thinking! I just- I just took it, okay? So now I have a stranger’s notebook, and, odds are, I won’t have the g-guts to hand it to them and be l-like, ‘Hey, by the w-way, you left this, I p-picked it up, here you go. Sorry you c-c-couldn’t start your homework or an-anything because I have no idea who this belonged to.’”
“Good plan,” he says sarcastically.
“Shut up,” I mumble. “Now what?”
“See if their name is on it.”
“Oh, g-great idea, let me just check now,” I mutter. “I’m not that stupid, you know.”
He gets up, walking over to me. “You know what I meant, like, look on the back or something. Or the inside cover, y’know?”
He’s.. actually right. I’m truly an idiot .
A bit embarrassed that I didn’t think to look, I open the front cover.
His hand smacks the page. “And there it is. Let’s see, ‘Connor Murphy’, is it?” He furrows his eyebrows for a moment. “I think I know that name. Yeah, he’s in my calc class. Quiet, kinda looks like someone just shit on his bed or something, dresses like an MCR kid on Tumblr.”
“What’s an ‘MCR’?” I ask. “Wait, you kn-know him? Is he nice? Will he kill me if he f-found out I have his book?”
“Maybe,” Jared says casually. “He kinda has a ‘school shooter’ aesthetic. A sort of modern-day Jason Dean, if you will.”
I feel myself shudder. “Is-isn’t that the bad guy? He, l-like, kills people? And then tries to b-blow up the school?”
He nods. “I’m proud of you, knowing your ‘80s movies, by the way!”
I ignore him. “He p-put his number, too,” I murmur. “I guess I should, like, c-call him, right?”
“Good luck, dude.”
Sticking out my tongue at him, I shakily punch in the numbers into my phone.
After two rings, the other end speaks. “Uh, hello?”
“Um, h-hi? Is this, um, C-Connor?” I whisper.
“What?”
I clear my throat and repeat myself in a louder voice. “Is this Con-Connor?”
“Yeah? Who the hell are you? Where did you get my number?”
I gulp, a bit scared of the sudden harshness in the voice. “I’m E-Evan! Hansen? I, um, I s-sit behind you in bio, and, um, see, you l-left your notebook? S-so, I, uh, I picked it up, and I have it, so… I can bring it to you?
“Oh.” He coughs. “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell- sure. I’m not actually in my room, or, like, near the building? I’m at the Starbucks by the science building, so do you want to meet me there, or something?”
“Um, a-alright. Sounds good. Uh, b-bye.”
“See ya.”
I end the call, and look back with panic at Jared. “God, I f-fucking hate phone calls.”
“No shit, dude. You’re pale as hell,” he quips with a smirk.
“Could you, um, meet him f-for me? P-please? I’ll owe you one, j-just, please?”
Jared scoffs. “Yeah, no? You already gave your name, plus, he’s your classmate. Think of it as… a way to make a new friend.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I grumble.
He smiles smugly. “Sure thing, kiddo.”
Trying to mentally prepare myself, I put on my sneakers and grab the book.
---
Choosing to walk was a terrible idea, I soon realise. I really should have taken my bike. However, if I did, I wouldn’t be able to ride, because of the book. Anyway, walking gives me more time to calm myself for this. It also gives me more time to burn in the sun, but, whatever.
I finally make it to the Starbucks, and open the door, hoping I can find Connor. Wait. I have no fucking clue what he looks like. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. I feel my face and hands begin to sweat. Oh god .
And then, by some miracle, a hand appears, waving me over. It belongs to a boy in a black sweatshirt, skinny jeans, and black boots, long dark brown hair in a bun, with wisps of hair framing his face, sitting in the window, perched on the sill, the sunlight turning his hair golden, and- okay, what the hell? I most certainly am not taking in every little detail of this stranger.
I weave past people to get to him.
He moves his long legs and pats the space beside him.
Awkwardly, I take a seat. “So, um, n-nice to meet you? I’m Evan. Wait. Duh. O-of course. Who else would I be? Um…”
He’s quiet, then I realise he’s looking at his book, which I’m nervously tapping on with my fingers.
“Oh!” I hand the book to him, cringing at the weird sweat streaks I left on the plastic.
“Thanks.”
I get up to go, but he grabs the hem of my shirt.
I look back at him, and he releases it, looking away. “Uh, do you want me to order you something? It’s hot as fuck out there, and I made you come all this way.”
“It’s fine!” I squeak. “I-it was no trouble, really, it, it wasn’t really a long trip or anything.”
Connor stands up. “The dorms are a thirty-minute walk away from here. So, whatever you want, it’s on me, okay?”
“You really don’t h-have to-” I begin to protest, but he waves me off.
So, I follow him to the counter. Okay, Evan, you can order a damn drink for yourself, you’re eighteen, it’s really not a big deal . “Um, ex-excuse me? I’d like, a, um… small iced peach green tea, p-please?”
The woman at the counter doesn’t notice me.
I open my mouth to try again, mortified that this is happening to me, right in front of this stranger that I’m supposed to spend, like, the next semester or something with. “I-”
“Excuse me? Hey! Small iced peach green tea over here!” Connor announces loudly, slapping the counter with his hand.
I stare at him, wide-eyed.
He gives me a slight smile, and- was that a wink?! - in return.
“Jesus,” the barista grumbles. “Name?”
“Evan,” Connor replies before I can.
“Th-thanks,” I say quietly to him.
“Don’t thank me!” he laughs. “I just yelled at some girl to make you a drink!”
I let out a chuckle, too. “T-too bad, I’m thanking you an-anyway.”
---
Connor pays for my drink, and we walk together back to the dorm buildings.
We walk inside together, and we stop in front of my room.
“Thanks for picking up my notebook, by the way,” he says. “People would usually just leave it, but you didn’t. So, thanks.”
“Oh!” I feel myself blushing. “I- I just did what was right! You have, um, re-really nice handwriting, by the way. And, I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind, I may have flipped through a few pages, and you’re, like, a really good artist!”
“Pssh, am not ,” he protests. If I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure he just began to blush, too.
I playfully bump into him. “Y-you are! It’s impressive!”
“You’re exaggerating, but.. Thanks.”
I smile at him before finishing my drink. “Well, th-thanks again for this.”
“Sure. Oh, wait a sec.”
“Hm?”
He pulls out his phone. “You have my number, it’s only fair I have yours, right?”
I’m pretty sure I just turned twenty shades redder. “S-sure!”
I put in my number, then hand it back over. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!
Connor slips his phone away. “Hey, after class on Thursday, do you maybe want to get some food or something?
“Th-that sounds good!”
He grins, then quickly pecks my cheek. “Good.” Connor waves his notebook at me. “Thanks again, Evan. See you later!”
I lightly touch my cheek. “B-bye…”
Did I just get asked out on a date?