Page 1 of My Freshman Mate
Braiden
Okay, Item seven: Confirm my room location and unpack my stuff. Done.
I tap my pen against the laminated checklist, and the small, sharpthwickechoes in the silence of my dorm room. The sound bounces off the bare white walls, which are practically screaming for something—anything—to be put on them. Maybe a periodic table poster? No way. Too obvious. I'd be labeled asthatpre-med omega before I even made it to my first class.
God, I hate that term.Omega. Every time someone says it, I picture myself reduced to a checkbox on a form. Just another biological curiosity to be categorized and filed away. My parents, both betas, always tried to downplay it."Focus on your brain, Braiden,"Dad would say over dinner, pointing a fork at me for emphasis."That's what will get you somewhere in life. The rest is just biology."
Easy for him to say. He doesn't have to worry about a heat cycle derailing his five-year plan.
I glance at the small orange bottle sitting next to my perfectly aligned stack of textbooks.Take daily suppressant.I tip a tinywhite pill into my palm and swallow it dry, the familiar chalky taste coating my tongue. One less thing to worry about.
"You the new guy?"
A voice from the doorway makes me jump, sloshing the water in my bottle. A lanky guy with neat black hair and wire-rimmed glasses leans against the doorframe, a clipboard tucked under his arm. His polo shirt is so crisply ironed it looks like it could cut me.
"Yes. Braiden Kelly." I wipe my damp palm on my jeans and extend my hand, trying to channel the professional, controlled handshake my mother drilled into me. Firm grip. Eye contact. No sudden movements.
"Toby Song-Gi. I'm your RA." He gives my hand a firm, no-nonsense shake, then his eyes drift to my desk. They linger on the color-coded binder, the tabbed planner, and the laminated checklist. A corner of his mouth quirks up. "Wow. I think you might be the most prepared freshman I've ever seen."
A flush of pride warms my neck. "I like to have a plan."
"I can tell." Toby's smile is small but seems genuine. "Well, the welcome assembly starts in twenty minutes in the Hartwell Auditorium. It's mandatory, so don't be late."
I give a sharp nod, already reaching for my satchel. "It's next on my schedule. I've already figured out the quickest way there."
Toby blinks, then lets out a short, surprised laugh. "Right. Of course you have." He pushes off the doorframe, giving my room one last scan. "You'll do fine here." He taps his clipboard against his leg, a gesture that's both patient and a little tired. "Just… try to come up for air once in a while, okay? College isn't just about checking boxes."
I offer a polite smile that doesn't reach my eyes.That's exactly what college is about,I'm screaming inside. It's about checking the right boxes, in the right order, to get into a top-tier medical school. My Plan doesn't have a box for 'coming up for air.'
After Toby leaves, I do a final check of my satchel. Laptop, fully charged. Three black pens, one blue backup. Notebook. Water bottle. Protein bar. Laminated campus map. And The Plan itself, my masterpiece of scheduling and ambition. I take a deep breath, the sterile air of the dorm filling my lungs.
"Day One: Campus Survival Plan," I whisper to the empty room. "You've got this."
My stomach churns in disagreement.
***
The Hartwell Auditorium is a nightmare of noise and bodies. A thousand different conversations overlap into a dull roar, and the air is thick with a chaotic mix of scents—perfume, laundry detergent, nervous sweat—that makes my nose twitch, even with the suppressants working overtime. I find a seat near the front, a solitary island in a sea of chattering groups. Alone, but purposefully so. It's strategic. Less chance of getting drawn into a pointless conversation that isn't on my schedule.
A group of omegas drifts by my row, their sweet, floral scents a little too strong for the enclosed space. One of them, a pretty blonde with a silver nose ring, catches my eye. Her friendly smile is as bright as her voice when she speaks. "Hey. You saving these seats?"
"No," I blurt out. Crap, too eager. "I mean, they're available. If you want them."
Smooth, Braiden. Real smooth.
Her smile widens. "I'm Zoe. First year?"
"I'm Braiden. Yeah, first year." My brain feels like it's been replaced with rocks. Why is talking so hard?
"Cool. What's your major?"
"Biology. Pre-med track." I straighten my shoulders. This, I can talk about. This is safe territory.
"Wow, ambitious." She shrugs, a casual gesture that seems totally alien to me. "I'm undecided. Just trying not to fail anything my first semester." Her friends wave her over, and she glances back at them with a grin. "Well, nice to meet you. Maybe I'll see you around campus?"
"Statistically probable," I say, and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. A hot, mortifying blush crawls up my neck.Who says that? I sound like a robot.
To my surprise, she just laughs, a tinkling sound that makes something in my chest loosen a fraction. "I'll take that as a yes. Later, Statistics Guy."
