Page 124 of Wanted You More

FALL 2024

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

The big, fat,failing grade in permanent marker stares at me at the top of the paper as I walk out of the classroom. Gripping it until the thin material crumples in my fingers, I shove it into my bag and blow out a frustrated breath.

I was supposed to study with Noah at our usual spot, but work called him about some new case they were taking on and wanted him to be part of. It was hisLegally Blondemoment, so I wanted to support him in any way I could. We met up at his apartment instead of the library, but he was too distracted reading over thick packets of papers and taking notes to help me like he usually did.

Failing isn’t his fault though. Despite taking Dad’s advice to see if something was wrong, Noah’s lackluster “no, why would you ask that” did little to reassure me. In hindsight, I hadn’t askedthe rightquestion. That’s why I haven’t been putting my attention where it needs to be: school.

I don’t know why, but the threat of angry tears burns the back of my eyes as I walk toward the dining hall where I’m supposed to meet Kennedy, Lincoln, and some guy that my roommate is fixated on this semester for lunch.

Veering toward one of the buildings, I push open the bathroom door and take a few deep breaths as soon as I’m safely inside.

Not wanting Kennedy to look for me, I shoot her a quick text, letting her know I’m running late before sliding my phone in my back pocket. It hurts to swallow, and my lungs constrict, making my chest ache.

I stare at myself in the mirror, willing the tears to come—praying they ease some of the pressure building, even if only a few fall.

Like always, nothing happens.

Digging through my bag, I grab my pill bottle and frown when I see the few tablets left at the bottom. “Shit,” I curse, popping one of them into my mouth. I was told I’d need another consultation with my doctor to check in on how I was doing in order to get a refill on the prescription.

Obviously, I’m not doing well.

Noah has been too busy for me, and my friends are making their own friends—although I’m happy for them. The weight of classes has piled back on and reminds me why I wasn’t sure I wanted to return for another year. The people at the paper aren’t quite welcoming and only seem to want to put me on whatever topic they don’t want to do, and it feels like I was given the job out of pity. Not talent.

Everything has been too much, and I’ve consistently told myself I could handle it.

Yet, here I am, having a minor breakdown in a public bathroom that anybody could walk into, all because of another D.

Shaking it off, I stand a little straighter and bury the bottle so it’s out of sight. I cringe at the weight of the bag as I drape it over my bad arm, rubbing the scarred spot that still gives me aches and pains more times than not. I’ve been trying to ease off the painkillers that I was taking for them, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to take them again.

They numbed me in the best way, which is why I need to dump them out before temptation takes over to forget all the hurt.

I take my time to let the meds kick in before making my way to the dining hall. As soon as I see my friends, I force a smile on my face and wave at the group of people waiting on me.

“Perfect timing!” Lincoln says, pulling a chair out from beside him. “She can be our deciding factor.”

Uh-oh. “Deciding factor for what?”

Simon, the boy from a few of Kennedy’s classes that she has a major crush on, is the one who answers. “On whether or not to go to the Labor Day party that the sigma chi lattes are hosting.”

Snorting at the nickname, I say, “Labor Day was weeks ago. Why are they having it now?”

Kennedy pushes her tray of food toward me, where a pile of fries is. While I pick one up and dip it in the sauce she got for me, I listen to her explain that the sorority was on probation for the first month of school and just got cleared. I guess this was their way of giving the middle finger to the school.

“So,” Lincoln presses, turning to me and stealing one of Kennedy’s fries too. “What do you say? You skipped out on the welcome back parties, so I think you should come with us to this one. I promise, I won’t hit on you this time.” He delivers the last line with a wink. At least we can joke about it now. Simon helps with that.

I’d bailed on the ones at the beginning of the semester because I was too busy having pity parties for myself. Being sad about Noah, the heaviness in my stomach and chest, and the anxiety building, building, building.

There’s no real reason for me to say no. I could use friends to lift my spirits.

So, I say yes.

Which is a huge mistake.

***

It started witha drink. The usual room temperature, bitter beer that tasted awful. You wash down one with another, then another after that, until you stop tasting how bad it is. Then your friends convince you to play beer pong against them, and suddenly it’s déjà vu to every other party I’ve been to.

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