Page 11 of The Very First Night

I’m so glad we abandoned the idea of wearing heels out after freshman year. Was it cute? For sure. Did it hurt worse than period cramps? Pretty damn close.

Jenna pulls the sleek tube of pink out of her bag and stands behind me, applying the bright hue with precision. The color has always looked incredible on her, the vibrant shade causing the golden strands of color in her eyes to become more obvious.

“Do you want some?” She holds out the tube, gesturing for me to take it.

“No, I think I’m going to just wear a clear gloss tonight.”

“Planning on making out with someone, are we?” She smiles from ear to ear. I should be asking why she’s choosing to wear a bright pink lip that is only moderately transfer-proof, but I resist the question.

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared,” I say as I bite back a grin. Truth be told, I’m hopeful.

Everything from before is hazy. The longer I’m present, the harder it becomes to remember details. I remember that I meet Elijah tonight, but outside of that, everything is a blur.

Will I eventually forget the future completely? I hope not. I want that knowledge.

“Oh my god, you met a guy!” Jenna squeals.

How do I tell her I haven’t met a guy, but I will meet a guy? That today is the last day I’ll be this person?

Tonight I don’t just meet a guy. I meet the guy. The one that changes everything.

The kind of love that they write sonnets about; the kind of love that consumes you so much that you’d do anything to hold it in your fingers.

Elijah Hanas, my person.

“No…but I’m hoping to.”

She doesn’t appear convinced, but as she shrugs and turns around to grab shoes from her room, I know she accepts my answer.

We take the elevator down to the main floor of McDowell Hall, not wanting to walk any more than we already have to with the impending trek across campus. Deciding to live in the Twin Towers—which is just a shorthand way of referring to Beall and McDowell Halls—was a choice made based on one thing. It’s not the fanciest dorm on campus, nor the most conveniently placed—it’s not even the cheapest—but they are the only two dorm buildings on campus in which upperclassmen can have alcohol in their room.

We venture out into the still-humid late summer air and instantly pass a group of freshman girls, who are no doubt also walking to a party. The difference is, while Jenna and I are wearing more reasonable shoes, they’re all wearing heels. They’ll learn by second semester. We all have to do it; builds character.

“Cute dress!” Jenna says with a smile to a girl wearing a blue minidress with a cutout under the bust.

“Thanks!” The nameless girl looks down at her dress, her self-conscious slouch straightening with confidence.

Jenna has a way of doing that—making you feel confident with a few short words.

As we approach the Kent State fountain, the sound of splashing water grows louder. We see a young man, wearing an oversized T-shirt with Greek letters that are barely legible, stumbling through the knee-deep water.

Jenna calls out to him from a safe distance, her voice laced with amusement and concern. “It’s a bit early to be that drunk, don’t you think?”

The guy scoffs and attempts to climb out of the fountain, but his movements are unsteady and comical. His words come out slurred as he denies being drunk, only to be interrupted by a loud belch.

“All right, big guy, you’re not drunk.”

This seems to appease him, his bloodshot eyes squinting and crinkling at the corners. Pride radiates off him like heat from a fire as he believes he’s successfully deceived us.

Drunk guys are weird.

We continue walking.

“Do you plan on seeing Marcus tonight?” I ask.

Jenna tries to play it cool, but she’s never been great at playing anything cool. “Maybe,” she sighs before allowing herself to express what she’s really thinking. “He texted me twenty minutes ago. He’s going to be at the Lambda party!”

The squeal she expels would be irritating if I wasn’t so damn happy for her.

---