Chapter 3

209 2 0
                                    

November 2017

Two cinnamon sugar donuts improve my outlook dramatically after I've gotten through the first six chapters of my Business Essentials textbook. I am studying to re-educate myself on interpreting data to inform business decisions. Exploring the economic foundations of strategy and financial statements has proven more taxing than anticipated. I love learning about finance, almost more than I love cinnamon sugar donuts, but I can't stop feeling like I need to take a break from something other than late nights in the library learning business analytics. I need to eat something other than sugar, drink something other than coffee and deal with the mess in my bedroom. My clothes are everywhere. On the floor, on my desk chair, and haphazardly thrown into a tiny closet. I've had an IKEA dresser sitting in the box since September. Before midterms start next week, my goal is to finally get the dresser built and stop living like a hot mess. Will it happen? I'm not sure of anything lately.

On the surface, I appear to be a very self-motivated and high-achieving college student who enjoys chasing a new guy every other weekend. But deep down, I am just as insecure as any other girl. I am terrified of failure, which drives my need to perform academically, and I avoid commitment because I've been burned before. Even though I may appear to know exactly who I am and what I'm doing with my life, I do not have my shit together. I never want people to see my vulnerable side. That was until I met Zach.

Since the Graffitti Party he's been everywhere. I see him all the time, mostly because of Cece and Reggie, but mainly because I like his company. Our paths crossed constantly and just like he said the night we met, he quickly became the first platonic male friend I ever had. We partied together, studied together, ate together, and even jogged together. When we went out on the weekend, I played his wing-woman and he played my wingman. Everything between us was easy.

Within the few months I've know him, he's held my hair while I've puked into a toilet. I drank one too many vodka shots at a hockey party. He's seen me without makeup. I've never let a man see me without at least a sheer layer of foundation and mascara. And he's bailed me out of an awkward morning after with a guy who ended up being a stage five clinger. He showed up at my apartment, no questions asked, pretended to be my boyfriend, and tossed the guy out the front door. After I thanked him, he made me an omelet, and we watched an episode of Dateline NBC.

His presence hovers over me now: with chocolate milk in each hand. I glance up to see Zach and his shit-eating grin standing across the table from me, with his teammate Austin at his side. They are both dressed collegial in U of M hockey jackets and toques. I suspect they had hockey practice because they both appear freshly showered.

Austin is tall, blonde, and super smiley. He's originally from a small town in North Dakota, and his hardworking family owns a string of dry-cleaning businesses. He's a hardy, robust guy who likes to party and enjoys inviting our group of friends over weekly. He's also highly flirty with me and wishes I would add him to my list of one-night stands.

"Sup, kid," Zach says to me in a warm, cheerful voice. "It looks like you could use a break." He studies my face, smiles widely at me and gives me chocolate milk. "And possibly something other than donuts to eat."

"Aw, thank you. Chocolate milk. My favourite." I say, gratefully.

Zach knows I am obsessed with chocolate milk. The first time we had lunch together in the cafeteria, I ordered chocolate milk with my meal; he laughed and made fun of me and said that only kids drank chocolate milk, hence how he finally found a good nickname for me: kid. He felt triumphant securing a solid nickname for me after many failed attempts. But now he loves drinking chocolate milk as much as I do, so jokes on him.

"How's it going, Annie Boo?" Austin asks.

I sense him leaning in excitedly and then instinctively add, "You know I hate that pet name."

Everything in BetweenWhere stories live. Discover now