Page 47 of Lords of the Campus

As soon as I’m done with the tree lights, I join Levi as we set up the rest of the lawn ornaments. It feels good to focus on something productive and fun instead of dwelling on the stuff that haunts me.

We finish up just as the sun starts to go down and pack up the boxes to carry down to the frat basement, where they’ll stay until the end of the holiday season.

“Looks good,” Archer says as he comes up the walk. He had a study session at the library, so he had to skip the festivities, but he wanted to be back in time to decorate the tree with us.

“Thanks,” I say, stepping back to look at our work. Levi stands with me, admiring what we’ve done. The lights are on a timer and they start lighting up as the sun gets further past the horizon, giving everything around us a warm, twinkling glow.

If only it were this easy to give our lives a shiny new look. As we walk into the house, I wonder once again if I can bring myself to let go of the past. Maybe that’s the key. If I could let go, I could have the life I’ve been craving for so long.

I don’t know if it’s possible, but I have to at least try, right?

27

LEVI

The library is unusually quiet today, the usual hum of whispers and rustling pages replaced by a serene stillness. As I push through the heavy wooden doors, my thoughts are focused on the upcoming exams and the mountain of reading I need to catch up on. It's been weeks since we cut ties with Lyric and though I try to stay focused, her absence lingers at the back of my mind like a dull ache.

I walk down the aisles, scanning for a quiet corner, when I spot her. Lyric is hunched over a table, her face etched with concentration and exhaustion. Next to her, a small child—her son—fusses quietly, his little face still flushed with the remnants of his bout with croup. She’s trying to juggle him on her lap while scribbling notes and I can see the strain in her eyes.

A pang of something—regret, maybe—hits me as I watch her struggle. This isn't the Lyric who once stood defiant and strong against our taunts. This is just a person doing their best in an impossible situation. I take a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before I walk over to her table.

“Hey,” I say softly, trying not to startle her. She looks up, surprise flashing in her eyes before it’s replaced by wariness.

“Levi,” she acknowledges, her voice tired. “What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I reply, glancing at her son. “Shouldn’t he be at daycare?”

“He’s still a little sick,” she explains, shifting him in her arms. “They wouldn’t take him, but I have to finish this paper.”

I nod, feeling an unexpected swell of sympathy. “Let me help,” I offer, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “I can watch him while you work.”

She blinks at me, clearly taken aback by the offer. “Why?” she asks, suspicion lacing her tone.

“Because you need it,” I say simply. “And just because I might be upset at you, it doesn’t mean I’m going to take it out on an innocent kid.”

She studies me for a moment, then nods, too exhausted to argue. She hands me the little boy, who looks up at me with curious eyes. I smile at him, hoping to put him at ease and he babbles in response, his tiny hands reaching for the keychain on my backpack.

As Lyric turns back to her work, I settle in, keeping the little guy entertained. Sitting here like this feels strange with a kid I don’t even know, but somehow, oddly… right at the same time.

This corner is quiet, except for the steady tap of keys on the keyboard as Lyric works on a paper. I take a good look at Eli, struck by how adorable he is. He’s so tiny, so innocent.

He hasn’t experienced any of the crap that most people go through yet. I feel a fierce longing rise inside me, the urge to protect him from harm and shelter him from the horrors of the world around us.

“Hey, little guy,” I say, bouncing him on my knee. He plays with the strings of my black hoodie, giggling as he’s bounced around.

“Hi,” he says, beaming at me. “Mama school?”

“That’s right,” I say, grinning back at him. “Mama’s doing school work. You’re smart for your age.”

Lyric smiles and glances at us from the corner of her eyes. Eli taps his hands on my face, squishing my cheeks. “Dada?” he asks. Immediately, Lyric’s head whips up.

“Oh, no, baby,” she says quickly. “That’s not Dada.”

“Nah, you can call me Levi,” I tell him.

“Wee-vi?” he asks, scrunching his nose in confusion. My heart melts at the way he pronounces my name and I chuckle.

“Close enough,” I tell him. He puts one string in his mouth and chews on it experimentally.

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