By early December, Que had broken his promise --- often. Ceta had become Que’s default babysitter. The reasons changed, but Que’s assurances of it being “the last time” continued. Two weeks before final exams, Ceta had had enough. She couldn’t afford any more sporadic late nights waiting for Que to get back from wherever he said he’d be. Not if she planned to get any real studying done for her exams. Ceta decided that this time would really be her last time. ​

          The first week back after Thanksgiving, Ceta realized Que was right --- she’d lost all excitement for law school. She promised herself for the rest of the semester, she’d spend all of her energy renewing her excitement for her studies and catching up. But late into the evenings when Ceta watched the digital clock on her microwave change, she doubted it possible to maintain her goal in solitude. ​

             Two months into her first semester, Ceta found herself more lost than she’d been on her first day of class. In the library that evening, she switched back and forth between more than 200 pages of reading assignments, trying to regain her rapidly declining attention. Letters blurred together. She blinked repeatedly trying to clear them. ​

       ​Ceta entered the pub only to be welcomed by the faint smell of stale beer and partially cleaned up vomit. Fred had arrived minutes before and eagerly waived her down from the back of the dimly lit room. He made his way down the line of high fives and awkwardly angled hugs to a table of twelve or so people. A more disjointed group, Ceta’d never seen. She couldn’t imagine that most of them would actually be seen together in other circumstances. 

              Ceta sat at the top of the tiered classroom, overlooking the podium down below. Halfway through her first day of classes as a 1L, her nerves remained frazzled as she picked at her shirt buttons and ran her flats on the scratchy carpet beneath her. ​

​As she drew closer to her destination, the car once audible from several yards behind, pulled up alongside her. Nic avoided eye contact until she heard the voice of a young man. 

Nic decided her only option was to entice him. Bryant was gone, and her funds were next in line for departure. The man in the gas station seemed skittish, but not dangerous. Almost anxious as if he was anticipating some unlikely event. ​