Page 8 of Our Secret Moments

My mom was a storyteller, the best one I know. So why wouldn’t she want to talk about her past? With my grandma’s health deteriorating and my grandad passing before I was born, it feels like I’ve got nothing left of her. It feels like before she met my dad, before she fell in love, she didn’t exist. It’s not that her story hasn’t been completed – it feels like it never really started.

“Are you stressed?” I turn around to the soft voice that belongs to my favourite class friend, George, as he pulls me out of my daydream. I sigh when he looks at me with complete sympathy, his green eyes softening as he takes me in. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Cat. I read your final piece. It was perfect.”

“Thank you and I know I shouldn’t worry, but…” I try to think of an excuse, but I come up empty. There’s nothing major riding on the back of this assignment. I just like knowing where I stand in class. I like knowing that I’ll get a consistent grade. But when I submit a piece on something I had to do a ton of research for with very little prior knowledge, I question my work more than I need to.

“We both worked hard on our pieces. We’ll be fine,” George says, patting me on the shoulder as he nudges open the door to the classroom.

Drayton is what most people call the Hogwarts of Colorado. The deep stone walls are nothing short of beautiful and they make studying in the Grand Library feel like a fever dream. But the only problem is the heating facilities are pretty shitty. Which is why I feel a sharp breeze when I open the door to the classroom, hoping that that’s all it is. Just the wind and not a premonition.

Here goes nothing.

I blink at the paper in front of me again. I can’t tell how long it’s been. Maybe five minutes? Or maybe even an hour. All I know is that my face is covered in tears as I reread the comments and feedback in front of me.

This is surreal.

I’m not living real life right now.

I passed. I didn’t get the best mark in the class like I had hoped, but I got something even better.

Professor Rotford never leaves kind comments on reports.Ever. She’s prone to constructive criticism only. She even told us on our first day of classes that we should not expect a pat on the back for writing a sub-par essay and that tears are not allowed in her classroom. I was tough enough to take her criticism and I’ve been using it to improve my writing and it has finally paid off.

This is a lot better than your last, but not as good as one of your firsts. Your voice is coming along very well, Catherine. You should be grateful.

– A. Rotford.

I mean, she could have said ‘proud’ instead of ‘grateful,’ but a win is a win, right? I wipe my face with the sleeve of my sweater, knowing my makeup and my face in general is ruined. George elbows me, snickering a little as the rest of the class talk amongst themselves about their reports. I know he’s telling me to stop crying, but I can’t help it.

“Catherine.” Professor Rotford’s voice booms across the classroom. I snap my head up, my glassy eyes meeting her steel blue ones. “Do you need a second?”

“Oh, these are tears of relief! I promise,” I say through a sniffle, my voice betraying my words.

She sighs, looking back down at her desk as she murmurs, “The door is open.”

FOUR

CONNOR

“IS SHE FUCKING CRYING?”

Tryingto find my sister is probably the worst thing to do at the end of the week.

It shouldn’t be hard. She only takes one class, but for some reason she is never where she says she’ll be. We used to share each other's location with each other, but after I thought she was home alone when I went to her dorm, she was having sex with her boyfriend. So that has been ruled out for a while. So now, as it’s getting closer until we have to meet our parents for dinner, Wes and I are on the hunt for her.

“Are you still not going to apologise to me, Connie boy?” he asks.

“You know what, I was considering it until you just called me Connie boy,” I say to him, rolling my eyes. He’s expecting me to apologise to him because I called him an oaf for wanting to stay inside all day and do nothing instead of helping me find Nora.

“Okay. You’re right. It was a low blow. I totally understand. But I still deserve an apology.”

“You were the one who flashed me and Archer. I thinkIdeserved an apology,” I say with a shudder. I’ve seen Wes’s asstoo many times for it to be a coincidence. That boy just does not like clothes at all.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it, Connie boy,” he says, laughing as he wags his eyebrows at me. And for that, I hit him in the back of the head and he stumbles forward a little. I smirk to myself as he rubs his head. “It just slipped out of me. You’ve got to admit it has a nice ring to it, though.”

“No, it doesn’t have a nice ring to it, asshole,” I retort through gritted teeth as we walk through the Dover building where all of the Humanities classes are held. It’s cold as fuck here and I’m only in jeans and a green Drayton t-shirt.

“You’ve got to stop thinking about my ass, Bailey. I’ve told you time and time again that nothing is going to happen between us,” Wes says sweetly as if he’s talking to a child. The soft sound of sniffles distract me for a second before I shake my head, probably having heard something wrong. Wes continues talking, as always. “I mean, I was considering it that one time, but since then I’ve learned that—”

I hear another sniff. “Stop talking,” I say to him out of the corner of my mouth. There are a lot of turns in this corridor and it’s hard to figure out where the noise is coming from.

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