“Jere? I think you should go.”
“Why?”
A tear trickles out of my eye. I quickly brush it away. “This is too much.”
“I promise I’ll never do motocross again—”
“That’s not it!”
He cups my cheek with his hand, and my stupid cheek leans into him without my permission, and then our foreheads are pressed together. Our breathing races. He smells so good.
But the bandage on his leg kills the mood.
“I think you should go,” I mumble.
Jeremiah pats my thigh twice, then checks his phone. “I have to go anyway. My fraternity has its chapter meetings on Sunday nights, and I have to put on my good shirt and tie.”
He stands, stretches out a hand, and lifts me to my feet before walking to the door. “I’ll text you.”
I shake my head at the carpet. “Please don’t.”
His face crumples. “Annie, it was an accident. It won’t happen again—”
“You don’t understand. I don’t want to lose you—”
“You won’t—”
“How can you be so sure? I’ve already lost…” My voice trails off.
“Do you want to talk about him?” Jeremiah asks quietly, looking unsure.
“No, I don’t. How can you not understand how your doing motocross makes me feel?”
“How am I supposed to know how you feel? You never talk about him and what happened. I don’t even know how he die—”
“I’m not talking about him!”
“Friends tell each other how they feel. And we’re friends, Annie. You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” Jeremiah’s voice is soft.
“I don’t want to lose you—”
“So you’re pushing me away? Just like my mom?”
“I need to be alone. Please.”
He shuts his eyes and lets out a long breath. “Fine. I guess I’ll see you around.”
And then he’s gone.
•••
College is different.
At home, I went to my room when I needed alone time. Now I have a roommate with an addiction to online videos. Every five seconds, Vanessa wants to show me a cat riding a Roomba, a whale chasing a boat, or a goat bleating like Taylor Swift. When Vanessa’s not YouTube-ing, she’s Skyping with Rory. She stays up until 3:00 a.m. most nights, doing everything from fixing her hair to doing sit-ups and weird yoga poses, and I like to be in bed by 11:00 p.m. in order to go running in the mornings before class. Sometimes I just want complete silence so I can read my trashy medical thriller. (Why can’t the doctor and the rogue FBI agent just do it already?!)
On my fourth night in the dorms, I decide to buy earplugs. I love Vanessa because she’s so nice, but God, having a roommate can be annoying. It could be worse, I guess. I could have Iggy and her mandolin.
But even if Vanessa were silent, I’d still have the crazy screaming people in the hallways to contend with. Two guys got into an argument because one drank the other’s Snapple. A couple broke up in the common room because he cheated with the girl who runs the projector in his film class. Our neighbors live for blasting electroclash music. Kelsey and Iggy got into a fight because Kelsey didn’t clean her hair out of the shower drain.
“Do you think hair clumps are against the Baha’i faith or something?” I asked Vanessa, who sniggered.
Classes are different from high school too. Instead of having homework every single night, we have a few major tests and term papers per semester. Only five hundred kids went to Hundred Oaks, but here at MTSU, I’m in a psychology lecture with over three hundred. At least Colton is in the class with me. That makes it not so overwhelming.
The reading assignments for all classes are long and tough. Sometimes I have no idea what I’m reading. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll make it through four years of this crazy hard coursework. I make plans to go visit my teachers during office hours.
After classes on the first day, I went to the Professional Health Sciences office. I saw online they were hiring for a part-time office assistant. Vanessa suggested that instead of changing my major from undecided to physical therapy or nursing right away (apparently her brother changed his major, like, three times and warned her not to worry about it until later), I should try to get a work-study job at the school, so I can see what it’s like and start earning money. I’d been stressing about how to pay for books along with Matt’s training program dues for this October.
The physical therapy office itself reminded me a lot of the gym where Matt works. The place was full of mini trampolines, medicine balls, and nutrition posters. I met a nice guy, Michael, who rocks these red-rimmed rectangular glasses and has black studs in each ear.