Chapter Text
Ava Silva was not a planner.
This was a fact universally acknowledged by everyone who had spent more than approximately seven minutes in her presence. Her academic advisor had actually written "chronically spontaneous" on her file after Ava changed her major three times in two semesters. (Computer Science to Philosophy to Communications, if anyone was keeping track—which her advisor definitely was, with increasing concern.)
But even by Ava's admittedly chaotic standards, this situation was...well...
"Fuck, fuck, fuck! I cannot believe you just did that," she whispered to herself, pacing the length of a bathroom stall in the University Center. "I cannot believe you just did that."
Let's back up.
Forty-eight hours earlier, Ava had been living her normal, disaster-free college sophomore life. She'd only been late to Organic Chemistry twice that week (a personal record), had successfully convinced the dining hall lady to give her an extra chicken strip at lunch (major win), and was on the verge of finally mastering the perfect winged eyeliner (a lifelong pursuit).
Then Dr. Monroe had assigned lab partners for the semester.
"JC and Ava," Dr. Monroe had announced in his monotone voice, barely looking up from his clipboard.
JC—tall, perpetually smiling, with a cute accent and the kind of unthreatening handsomeness that reminded Ava of a Disney Channel actor—had turned around and given her a friendly nod.
Ava had nodded back, mentally calculating whether this partnership would be a disaster or a blessing. JC seemed smart enough. He always had his laptop open during lectures, which could mean he was taking notes, but more likely meant he was playing Minecraft. Still, he'd aced the last quiz, so he couldn't be completely hopeless.
What Ava hadn't calculated was that accepting JC's invitation to "come over to my dorm and get started on the lab report" would fundamentally alter the trajectory of her entire semester.
Because that's when she'd met her.
"Hey, I've got to finish this paper, but make yourself comfortable," JC had said, gesturing vaguely to his cluttered dorm room. "My roommate might be back soon, but she's cool."
Ava had nodded, settling onto the floor with her textbook while JC typed away at his desk. She'd been highlighting an incomprehensible paragraph about titration when the door had swung open.
And there she was.
Later, when telling this story to her roommate Chanel, Ava would swear that actual time dilation occurred. That the laws of physics temporarily suspended themselves. That the universe literally slowed down.
Because the woman who walked through that door was—and Ava did not use this term lightly—perfect.
Slightly taller, with delicate features and the kind of posture that screamed "I did ballet for fifteen years but I'm humble about it." Dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail that somehow still looked elegant. And when she'd spoken—"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize JC had company"—the British accent had hit Ava like a truck.
"No worries!" Ava had squeaked, her voice approximately three octaves higher than normal. "We're just doing lab stuff. Chemistry lab. With chemicals. I'm Ava."
Smooth. Real smooth.
"Beatrice," the roommate had replied with a small smile before gracefully collecting some books and disappearing again.
And that, friends, was the moment Ava Silva's life had spiraled completely out of control.
Because over the next two weeks, Ava had:
- Found fourteen increasingly flimsy reasons to study in JC's room
- Memorized Beatrice's schedule (Monday/Wednesday/Friday: library from 3-5 PM; Tuesday/Thursday: fencing practice at 4)
- Switched her laundry day to coincide with when Beatrice did hers
- Developed a sudden and passionate interest in British literature, asking Beatrice for "recommendations" when they happened to be doing laundry at the same time
Which brings us to today. To now. To the bathroom stall where Ava was having a complete meltdown.
Because today, when Ava had shown up at JC's dorm with the world's most unnecessary question about their lab report (she'd literally asked if water was a liquid or a gas, which—God, even for her that was bad), she'd run into a group of guys heading out.
"Hey! You must be JC's girlfriend!" one of them had said with a grin.
And instead of saying the normal human response of "No, I'm his lab partner," Ava's brain had short-circuited at the prospect of having a legitimate reason to hang around JC and Beatrice's dorm room.
"Yep! That's me! Girlfriend. Of JC. JC's girlfriend. That's who I am."
The words had tumbled out before she could stop them.
And JC—who had been right there—had given her the most confused look humanly possible, opened his mouth to correct her, and then...
"We're still heading to Noah's party tonight, right?" another guy had asked JC, completely steamrolling the moment.
"Yeah, for sure," JC had mumbled, still staring at Ava like she'd grown a second head.
And now here she was. Hiding in a bathroom stall, contemplating whether it was too late to transfer to a college on the opposite coast.
Ava groaned, leaning her forehead against the cool metal of the stall door. "I just lied about dating someone to their face. Their actual face. While they were standing right there. What is wrong with me?"
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Unknown Number: This is JC. What the actual hell was that?
Ava winced. Right. She hadn't thought about the fact that JC would probably want an explanation for why she'd suddenly declared herself his girlfriend to all his friends.
Ava: meet me at the coffee shop in 10
Ava: i can explain
Ava: kinda
She couldn't explain. Not really. Not without admitting she had been essentially stalking his roommate for weeks. But maybe she could come up with something that sounded less...criminally weird.
Ten minutes later, sliding into a chair across from an understandably confused JC, Ava took a deep breath.
"So here's the thing," she began, the skeleton of a truly terrible plan forming in her mind. "I have a proposal that might sound crazy, but hear me out..."