Chapter Text
New Haven, Connecticut, Yale University | September 14th, 1998 | Fall Semester
You were running late – again. No matter how early you left; whether you took a short cut, or woke up in advance – it was always the same, and today was no exception.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered under your breath as you sprinted across William James Hall, a coffee in one hand, which was sloshing rather violently against the rim (no doubt dripping everywhere) and your other hand juggling keeping your satchel in place as you held your textbooks. You glanced down at your watch briefly - 3 more minutes till the lecture started. Maybe you’d actually make it this time? Your battered converse hit the tiled floor as you sharply took each corner.
That was until you collided with something, or rather someone.
“Jesus Christ!”
Your body slammed firmly into a broad chest, books scattering across the floor, and with it, your coffee splashed all over a pair of what looked to be very expensive khaki pants. You slowly glanced up at the figure, only to be met with no one other than the campus golden boy – Lewis Nixon.
He blinked, surprise flashing across his face before his jaw tightened. “You cannot be serious,” he said with a heavy layer of annoyance, as he shook his hands off. The coffee was all over him. The smell of his cologne washed over your senses – expensive, of course, with a hint of citrus. God, he even smelled insufferable. You opened your mouth to speak, a futile attempt at mustering some string of an apology, but was beaten to the punch. “Why don’t you watch where the hell you’re going?” Lewis said with such disdain, it sucked whatever apology you had on the tip of your tongue back.
Lewis Nixon was everything you despised of what Yale represented. Here he was before you, dressed in his neatly pressed khaki pants paired with his knit sweater over a collared shirt. His hair was tousled in a naturally effortless way, almost a gleaming shine to it. It made you want to scream. Of course, everyone knew who Lewis Nixon was, his family had recently donated a building to the school for crying out loud. Everyone apparently loved him – professors loved him, he had that effortless charm that made people listen to him, and he was quite the social butterfly –being a member of the Delta Kappa-whatever-you-call- it fraternity.
He was the same year as you, you knew that – they actually shared quite a few general classes together. And yet, despite all the ways you bore witness to the “charming” personality of Lewis Nixon, you still didn’t get what there was to like about him. To you, he was just another arrogant face you had to avoid before you graduated.
And you tried – really tried to hold your tongue back from pressing the matter further, but every instance of dislike you held for him, came tumbling out of your mouth instead, “You know what?” by this point you were fuming. “I was about to say sorry, but clearly you don’t deserve one.”
He let out a small scoff, looking you once over, “Right, and someone dressed like they raided a thrift store would know something about manners.” You looked down at your clothes; they certainly were a stark contrast from his own. And so what if they were from the thrift store? You loved your oversized flannels. “Who are you supposed to be, Kurt Cobain? Hate to break it to you, but grunge died with him.”
“Well, at least I don’t look like I have a stick up my ass,” you spoke, already beginning her task of retrieving your fallen books. Lewis’ eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, “This shirt cost more than your entire outfit combined.” What the hell were you doing? You were basically fighting with “Yale Royalty” – he could have you kicked out with a phone call.
Screw it.
You laughed, “Well congratulations,” you looked up for a brief moment to see a ticked off look on his face, “Your trust find must be proud. Some of us work for our money instead of relying on our families' war profiteering.”
The insult certainly hit its mark, as Lewis’ face flushed, and for a moment, you may have seen something else swimming below the surface of his carefully constructed facade, but it was gone before you could fully process it. “I saw you in the dining hall last week,” he began, almost pausing to think on whether or not he wanted to bring it up. “Tell me, does the hairnet come with the job or is it just a natural look for you?”
Your breath caught in your throat at this. And although you knew there was nothing to be ashamed of, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassment flooding over your features at the mention of it. He knew where you stood here, and that made you terrified.
“You’re an asshole,” you said with gritted teeth, as you already began to push past him. “Stay out of my way.” Lewis watched as you continued to walk down the hall, “Gladly, next time invest in some glasses, you clearly need them,”
Although you managed to get a few biting remarks back at him, you couldn’t help but admit to yourself that it stung to hear the words he simply threw at you without a care in the world, it reaffirmed everything you thought nobody would notice. You felt completely humiliated. And just as you thought the conversation (if you could call it that) was finally over, not even more than 5 steps in, his voice cut through the air of the silent hall.
“You forgot something.”
You sighed, taking a deep breath before turning around once more, and there – in his outstretched hand, was your book. You stalked over, ready to grab the book forcefully from his hand -
He held the book over his head, “Ah, ah, ah,” he said in a mocking sing-song voice, “If you want the book you have to ask for it like a civilized person. Maybe even say please?” he had a stupid smug expression on as he spoke in a matter-of-factly voice. You stared blankly at him for a moment. You couldn’t believe you had made such a stupid mistake of leaving it behind, of all the books, of course it had to be that one.
The Interpretation of Cultures by Clifford Geertz, the book you had spent weeks saving enough money to buy – and that had your carefully meticulous annotations and bookmarkings between each page. You couldn’t afford to buy another one right now, not when it was only the beginning of the semester, no. He was basically holding your entire civilization in the palm of his hand. You knew you should have swallowed your pride, admitted defeat when it stood in front of you – but you couldn’t. He looked at you, obviously expecting you to beg for his forgiveness, but your reaction shocked him as much as it shocked you.
“Go to hell, Nixon,” you said flatly, making sure to look him directly in the eyes as you spoke. You swiftly turned around, your hands clutched around your books rather tightly as you walked to your next class. You could feel the genuine heat radiating off your body..
Unbeknownst to you, Lewis watched with his mouth slightly agape as you walked away – he wondered if he took it too far. The book felt heavy in his hands now, maybe it was a tinge of guilt from the interaction. It didn’t matter, because the feeling lingered only for a brief second, forgotten by the appearance of his friends, who slapped him on the back and made jokes about his coffee-stained pants.
He wasn’t bothered by you at all, not in the slightest.
But he knew he’d be lying to himself.