Ceta was awakened by the sound of feverish knocking on her door, and Mikey shaking her foot repeatedly, calling her name with nervousness in his voice. She sat up slowly and cleared her eyes, trying desperately to reorient herself to the fact that a small child was in her apartment, standing over her with trepidation in his eyes. Quickly realizing her state, Ceta tried her best to appear just slightly tired, but collected. 
​
            “Good morning. Are you hungry? What’s wrong?”  

            ​“Can you unlock the door? Que’s trying to get in. I can’t reach the chain. He told me to go get you, but you keep not waking up,” he said nearly falling apart with worry despite Ceta being fully awake. 
 
            “I’m so sorry, I should’ve set my alarm,” Ceta said hopping up from the couch, checking her silenced phone lying on the floor --- 8:23 a.m. it read. Ceta shuffled towards the door. She stopped short of unlocking it to check her face in the varying sized mirrors on the wall adjacent to her front door. The pounding on the door returned more rapidly this time, loudly. 
 
            “Coming! I’m coming, one second,” she called out before running behind the kitchen bar to grab a half-drank bottle of water. She dumped some in her hand and frantically rubbed it over the corners of her eyes and the sides of her mouth. Ceta then took a swig, swishing it around her mouth before setting it back down and running back to the door. As she finally unlocked the top latch, the force of the door caught her by surprise as Que pushed it open weightily, looking at her with bulging eyes. 
 
            “Fuck wrong with you? You don’t answer your phone no more?” 
 
            “I am so sorry, I fell asleep with my phone on silent, I never heard it ring.”
 
            “You ain’t hear Mikey calling you? I heard him outside the door, so how’s that?”
 
            “I was really tired. I’ve been tired lately, I slept hard. I said I’m sorry.”
 
           “I gotta drive back home to get him ready and now we don’t have enough time. He’s ‘bout to be so late for football practice, might as well not even show up,” Que mumbled. “I been knocking for thirty minutes, and that’s the best you got? You’re ‘tired?’” he asked Ceta, shaking his head.
 
            Que brushed past Ceta and walked towards Mikey, hugging him and rubbing the top of his head before signaling him to gather his things from Ceta’s bedroom. 
 
            “Speaking of not answering phones, what happened to you? You never told me he was spending the night. You could’ve been in a ditch for all I know,” Ceta said in a hushed tone with her hands on her hips more for stability than a display of indignation.
 
            “Chris called off last minute, and Maggie left early for a family emergency. I was the only one closing.” Que said crossing his arms looking back towards her bedroom with furrowed brows.
 
            “And you didn’t think to call or text me that? You thought popping up in the morning was good enough?” Ceta said starting to gain her nerve back after recalling the uncertainty of the night before. 
 
            Que’s face softened slightly as he turned towards Ceta. 
 
          “I thought y’all prob’ly fell asleep. I Didn’t wanna wake y’all up. Plus, you know we get busy on Friday nights; I don’t always get a break.”
 
            Ceta’s stomach churned as she tried to discretely breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth. She desperately needed to lie back down, and interrogating Que about his frequent need for smoke breaks didn’t seem like a risk worth the reward. 

 © All rights reserved

              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. ​

​     Que barged through the front door which Ceta had unlocked moments earlier and immediately made his way to her galley kitchen, intent on rummaging through her refrigerator. 
 
            “They don’t feed you at culinary school?” Ceta asked from her sofa, laptop resting atop her desk pillow.
 
            “I didn’t have time to eat there and get Mikey,” Que replied. 
 
            “Where is he anyway?” Ceta asked.
 
            Mikey? Mike? Stop actin’ weird. Get in here and act like you know somebody,” Que called out to the entry way. A little boy sheepishly shuffled into the living room of Ceta’s apartment, a Batman backpack larger than him trailed behind. 
 
          “Hey, Mikey! What’s up, man?” Ceta asked, placing her laptop down on the coffee table and walking toward him grinning. 
 
      “How was school, kid?” she asked crouching to his level. Mikey stared clenching a muscle-bound, speedo clad action figure in his right hand. 
 
       “Is that a WWE dude? Cool, what’s his name?” She said still smiling at the silent child. 
 
      “Speak up, Mikey. Don’t be rude,” Que called out between bites, growing irritated with the one-sided conversation. 
 
        “He’s fine, Que,” Ceta said waiving off Que’s admonishment. Ceta joined Que in the kitchen, walking past him towards the cabinet to grab cheese crackers. She returned to the still silent child in her living room, and handed the bag of crackers to the boy. He looked up at her with a partially toothless smile before running off to watch cartoons from the beloved fluffy chair in Ceta’s bedroom. 
 
        “What time do you think you’ll be back this time?” Ceta asked.
 
        “A couple hours. They’re short-staffed, so I’m helping close. Thanks again for watching him. My mom knew I had to work all week, and still made plans on the same day,” Que said shaking his head. 
 
       “As long as you’re back by ten, we’re good. I gotta be in bed on time tonight, I have a day-long, professor led review tomorrow, and it’s for my worst class. It starts at 8:30 a.m.”
 
          “I gotchu,” Que said walking into the living room and leaning over the couch to kiss Ceta, a half-eaten sandwich in hand. Ceta watched Que leave before turning her attention back to her laptop, where the words were beginning to blur.
 
            By 10:44 p.m., Ceta knew that Mikey would be spending the night for the second time that week. By 11:38 p.m., Ceta stopped trying to reach Que altogether, and instead readied her couch to accommodate her for the evening. She forfeited her room to Mikey, hoping it’d give him the assuredness that she couldn’t. The boy had been asking about his brother in what seemed like five-minute intervals. Ceta eventually lied, telling Mikey that Que said he’d be back in the morning before youth football practice. She figured it was better for her to be proven a liar than to let him think the worst had happened. 
 
           When the muffled snores from the other room started, Ceta got up from the sofa, pushing her fleece blanket on top of the stack of books on her left. In the kitchen, she reached into the cabinet under her sink, digging through bundles of plastic bags and cleaning products until she reached the back of the small compartment. At the same time, she wondered about Que, about the exams she was surely on track to fail in a week or so, about the conversation that would ensue between her and her parents about the wasted semester, and what that meant for her summer and maybe even her future. 
 
         Ceta unscrewed the bottle top, wafting the contents under her nose before grabbing a glass from the top cabinets. Standing on her toes to reach her favorite crystal tumblers --- a housewarming gift from her aunt Marietta in Richmond from when Ceta first moved into her one-bedroom. Ceta kept them on the top shelf of her cabinet for special occasions, but she found use for them more frequently than before. 
 
          She took a sip, ignoring the bite preceding the immediate relief following closely behind. The clock on her kitchen microwave showed 12:53 a.m., and Ceta returned the remaining two-thirds of the bottle back to its original spot beneath the sink before returning to her makeshift bedding on the couch. She searched for the T.V. remote, praying that she’d left it on a respectable volume. She wrapped herself back up in her blanket, lying her head on the decorative shaggy pillow next to her while watching reruns of one of her favorite procedurals until she fell asleep. 

© All rights reserved

          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. ​

           That night, Ceta tried resurrecting one of her college group chats with Adrianna and Leigh, her two roommates from college. They’d been close all throughout undergrad, but after graduation, Adrianna moved back to Arkansas to teach elementary school, and Leigh moved in with her boyfriend of one year, against Ceta and Adrianna’s advisement. The group’s interactions were few and far between after that. 
 
             Ceta: Hey! It’s been a while. What’s going on?
 
            Adrianna: Heeey! not much. You?
 
            Ceta: Taking a break from studying this weekend. What y’all up to?
 
            Leigh: Same old, same old. Christian and me might go see this superhero movie he’s been talking a    
                        lot about.
 
            Adrianna: Nice. Btw, Ceta, I’ll be in town this weekend for a teaching conference. We should all meet  
                               up Saturday night.
 
            Ceta’s heart lifted at the thought of spending time with people outside of the confines of the law school or Que. She couldn’t wait to give her pre-rehearsed “busy, but good,” response for the dreaded “how’s law school?” question. She knew them better than to bother following up on her cursory answer.
 
            Ceta wasn’t sure why she was nervous to see people she used to borrow toothpaste from, but she’d never known them as real adults, with jobs, and adult relationships, a life she couldn’t fully understand. In many ways, she admired them. They’d made something of themselves in a way that she hadn’t yet. She wasn’t ready to let go of the freedom that ambiguity afforded.
 
******
 
            On the weekend that Leigh came back to visit, it was damp outside. Ceta regretted her decision to wear suede boots as she traversed the glistening pavement leading up to Davison’s Cove. Once inside, Ceta wasted no time ordering her usual concoction and finding a free space next to the bar. The pulse of the music beat through Ceta’s chest as she quickly downed her colorful mixed drink. She shifted her weight from one foot to another, trying not to make eye contact with two ungainly blonde women conversing loudly and uncomfortably close to her. Ceta inched away from them, frowning into her glass instead of directly at the lush pair infringing on her personal space.     
 
            “Retail therapy?”

               Adrianna asked, as she approached from the bathrooms, pointing to Ceta’s boots while holding a beer in her right hand. She had arrived a while before Ceta and had made every minute count at the bar. Her right knee suffered collateral damage. Ceta was slightly impressed at her friend’s ability to throw them back like in their undergrad days. Although, at times, she found it slightly unbecoming for a woman working in early childhood education.  
 
            “I wish,” Ceta laughed. “How you feeling? You hit the ground pretty hard,” Ceta said scanning Adrianna for signs of injury.
 
            “A week with fifth graders is way worse than that little tumble. Thanks for asking though.”
 
               Ceta adjusted herself on the barstool, hooking her feet on the rungs below. Adrianna squinted at Ceta intently.  
 
            “What?” Ceta asked smiling uncomfortably.
 
            “What made you invite us out this weekend? You pregnant?” 
 
            “No!” Ceta laughed lifting her drink higher. And what do you mean, why would I not ask my friends to visit me every now and then?” 
 
         “I guess I wasn’t aware that we still were friends, the way you’ve been carrying on,” Adrianna said with a smirk. 
 
            “Woow, I don’t text you guys for a few days and suddenly we’re not friends?” Ceta asked nodding dramatically. 
 
           “You know that’s not what I meant. Ever since you started school, you stopped responding to the chat, so me and Leigh figured we’d stop bothering you and text each other direct. We talk all the time. We figured you might be phasing us out or something, I don’t know.”
 
            “Never... I know you guys are busy with your own lives and stuff. I try not to be a nuisance with all my issues. Nobody wants to hear me complaining all the time.” Ceta said.
 
            “Try me,” Adrianna said, taking a swig of her beer and sitting on the adjacent stool. 
 
            “I’ve just been struggling a bit with school that’s all. It’s more stressful than I thought it’d be. I mean, I’m glad to be here, it’s just… I wish it wasn’t all happening so fast. And Que…”
 
            “I can’t believe you’re still fucking with Que’s shifty ass,” Adrianna said taking another sip of beer, shaking her head. 
 
            “What’s shifty about him?” Ceta asked smiling incredulously.  
 
            “Let’s see. He disappears at random, got fifty-‘leven jobs but no money. Need I go on?”
 
Ceta tilted her head and squinted her eyes in annoyance.
 
            “Your personalities just clash, that’s all. He can’t stand you either,” said Ceta.
 
            “Because I know men like him, that’s why. I’m related to them.” Adrianna grimaced.
 
            “Anyways, he’s not the best person to talk to about this. He can’t relate, so I’ve just been keeping my head down. But I’ll do better, I promise. I do miss you guys,” urged Ceta.
 
            “Do you think it’d help to take a break for a semester? You could take some time to work, travel…recharge a bit. Maybe figure out if this is really what you wanna do?”
 
            Ceta turned looking directly into Adrianna’s glassy eyes, 
 
           “I know what I want to do. Everybody else is struggling too. I’m still adjusting, that’s it. First year is supposed to be the hardest. Once this year’s over, summer’s all the break I’ll need. I can focus on work and actually have a life for a little while.”
 
             Adrianna looked at Ceta out of the corner of her eye as she finished her last bit of beer. She nodded slowly making Ceta wonder if she’d left something out. 
 
            “Speaking of your real friend, where the heck is Leigh?” Ceta said checking the time on her cubic zirconia, pavé wristwatch. 
 
               “She didn’t text you? She said Christian wasn’t feeling well. She’s staying back to check on him,” said Adrianna placing her empty bottle on the bar, and rising from her stool. “She’ll be around tomorrow,” she shouted back to Ceta before throwing her hands up and heading in the direction of the music.
 
            Ceta took another gulp from her third tumbler of the night.
 
“Shocker,” she muttered.

​© All rights reserved

             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. ​

          Occasionally, the elevator hummed in the background and dinged upon arrival. Whenever she heard it, Ceta stopped reading, welcoming the short distraction. Throughout the evening, she broke focus several times to see strangers lugging heavy backpacks, filtering into the back of the library. But eventually, noises faded into the background and she stopped checking.    
 
            “Yooo!” a voice called out.
 
           Ceta looked up to see Que approaching wearing loose fitting shorts and a neon, Nike t-shirt he refused to get rid of. 
 
            “Shh!” whispered Ceta, putting her finger to her lips with a smirk. Que hunched his shoulders and placed his hand over his mouth as if to hide his otherwise ostentatious presence. 
 
            “How was class?” asked Ceta putting down her highlighter and crossing her arms. 
 
            “It was straight,” said Que, eyebrows raised. “uh huh, you thought, I wasn’t gonna make it tonight, but I told you, I’m getting it together,” he said placing his hand over his heart.
 
            “What you working on, counselor?” he asked with his hands rested under his chin, elbows on the two-toned, wooden table. 
 
            “Same stuff every time, outlining my life away,” said Ceta checking her wristwatch. Actually, you’re just in time for my break,” she said.
 
            “Good, ‘cause I need a cigarette.” responded Que. Ceta gathered a small pocketbook and a lanyard, leaving the rest of her items sprawled across the table. 
 
            Once outside, they sat on large grey cement blocks behind the somewhat gothic building, the only area on campus with any greenery in an otherwise barren landscape. Together they watched neighborhood teens skateboarding through campus. Moths colonized underneath the lamp posts. Que lit his cigarette, breaking their silence with the gentle flick of his lighter.
 
            Doesn’t that ruin your palette?” Ceta asked swatting her hand frantically in front of her face. 
 
            “If it’s ruined, I’m in good company.” He swung his feet back and forth, taking a drag, careful to blow it away from where they sat. 
 
            “So, can I retain you as counsel yet?” he asked roughly massaging her shoulders. 
 
            “Not even close, but it’s fine,” she said with a tired smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 
 
            “That’s it? Thought you’d have more to say than that. Sounded way more exciting a couple months ago. You barely talk about it at all anymore…it’s kinda weird.” he said. 
 
            “It’s just… a lot of work, and I’m trying to catch up. Doesn’t feel possible, but…” Ceta’s voice trailed off as she shrugged her shoulders unsure of whether to continue. 
 
            “You got this, you’re smart,” he said as he grabbed her tightly for a hug and kissed her forehead. Ceta nuzzled into his chest smiling and nodded. 
 
            “I gotta ask you for a favor,” said Que, arms still wrapping Ceta in captivity. “I need you to watch Mikey this Friday. I took over Jennifer’s shift, so I’ll be closing, and my mom got plans.”
 
            “Oh? What’s she up to?” asked Ceta. Que gave her an irritated stare with his mouth twisted. Ceta decided not to press further. 
 
            “I didn’t mean to spring this on you; I know you’re busy. But Ms. Sandra hasn’t been feeling well, and I don’t trust anybody else,” he said.
 
            Ceta contemplated all the readings she had yet to start and breathed heavily, closing her eyes. 
 
            “Fine…I’ll watch him. That is, if he doesn’t mind being totally ignored for a few hours while I study.”
 
            “Make him work on his vocabulary list, that’s good enough for me. Thank you,” he said elongating his last word. “I promise this is a one-time thing,” he finished before taking another drag of his cigarette.  
 
            In the distance, Ceta heard her name being called. She squinted to see Xandria waiving Ceta down with Gregg trailing behind. 
 
            “Ceta! We didn’t know you were here. You should join us, we got a study room, 288C,” Xandria shouted as she approached, Gregg nodded in agreement. They both appeared strangely congenial considering that they’d given her a mere tight-lipped smile and a head nod just hours earlier in the café. Ceta hesitated and looked to Que who shooed her on in approval. 
 
            “Nah, it’s fine. I really gotta focus. I’m behind ----”
 
            “We all are,” Gregg interrupted. “Come on, we got some 2L outlines,” he motioned for her. “Your friend is welcome too, what’s your name?” he asked smiling at Que widely. Que introduced himself between puffs. 
 
            “I’ll be up in a minute,” said Ceta smiling sweetly. 
 
            Satisfied with their persuasiveness, Xandria and Gregg crossed through the other side of the courtyard murmuring amongst themselves in the direction of the library. 
 
            “Here I am thinking you’re working hard, and look at you ---- a social butterfly,” Que said standing to rub his cigarette on the pavement before tucking it behind his ear. 
 
            “Yeah, right,” said Ceta, shortening the distance between their bodies. “Those are not my friends. They barely like each other. They must think you’re cute or something,” she said smiling. Que laughed and shook his head, wrapping his slender arms around her waist. 
 
            “why bother with 'em then?” he asked.
 
            “You heard them ---- outlines.” 
​
© All rights reserved

       ​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. 

​       “Hey, everybody, this is my contracts buddy…”
 
        “Ceta,” she said finishing his sentence. 
 
     “Ceta, this is every Black person in section B and a few other sprinkled in,” said Fred waiving his hand across the tightly packed table of people. 
 
         Ceta greeted the group while she pulled her wooden chair out, troubled by the tackiness of the pub floor. Most responded to Ceta nearly in unison, others were too far down the table to hear her. They seemed deep in conversation. 
 
       Ceta grabbed a menu and started searching for something she wouldn’t hate, but her focus was immediately interrupted.
 
         “I heard you got called out in contracts.” 
 
       Ceta looked up to meet the voice coming from her right. A woman in thick, crimson plastic glasses with a mound of sloppily gathered puffy hair met her gaze while sipping her drink. 
 
       “Called out how?” Ceta asked. 
 
       “It’s not a bad thing!” she said shaking her palms in defense. “Somebody has to be the one to get chewed out first during cold calls. At least you got your embarrassing moment over with on day one. Don’t feel bad, no one will remember that,” the woman said crossing her fleshy arms over her sprawling chest and placing her elbows on the table. 
 
       “I volunteered. Wasn’t really a cold call. And I don’t think he was ‘chewing me out’. I did have a partial right answer,” Ceta said. 
 
         “Aww, it’s okay,” the woman said gesturing as though petting Ceta. The surrounding three students closest to them snickered at the exchange. 
 
        Ceta, shifted her focus back to the menu, rolling her eyes behind the cover of the sticky laminated paper. 
 
          “Why can’t you leave people alone?” A male voice called out in the woman’s direction. 
 
         “What? I’m trying to help! I want her to win,” the glasses wearing woman responded in a high-pitched tone. 
 
         “Excuse her, please. She means well, she’s just an asshole. What’s your name, again?” the man asked Ceta. Ceta introduced herself, this time with less enthusiasm. 
 
         “That’s Xandria,” he said as he pointed at the spectacled girl. “I’m Greggory, or Gregg with two g’s. It’s nice to meet you. Fred told us someone else was joining us, but he failed to say how pretty you are,” the man said sweetly. 
 
        “Aww, thanks” Ceta said dryly. Gregg’s countenance hardened slightly at Ceta’s unmoved response to his flattery. 
 
         “Seems like you guys already know each other. How’d you meet?” Ceta asked. 
 
        “The online group section,” he said matter of factly. Ceta’s eyes squinted as she tried to recall such a group. 
 
         “You’re not in the group?!” he asked gasping histrionically. “Oh, girl. We gotta get you up to speed, you’re missing out on some important intel,” he said smirking, looking over at Xandria.
 
          “So, it’s a gossip page,” Ceta said resolutely.
 
         “No, of course not,” he said, his face growing serious. “But we do discuss more than just readings. Join it. If nothing else, you’ll at least know to read the materials before class.” Gregg took a sip of his drink. Ceta’s face grew flush with embarrassment.

​© All rights reserved

              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. ​

         ​Around the room, she noticed fledgling cliques forming. She searched the crowd for familiar faces, but Clark was one of the best schools in the state, and she knew it was unlikely that they’d accepted many 1Ls from her undergrad. After some seconds, she finally set eyes on two of her old undergrad-mates, two clean cut blondes with pastel colored button-downs and cargo shorts with their toes exposed in their sandals. They’d never met, but she remembered them well. They were in Phi Delta Mu fraternity, and had gotten kicked off campus for a hazing incident resulting in battery charges against several frat members. Of all of the possible undergrads who she might run into at Clark, she was only slightly surprised to see them guffawing amongst themselves across the room. 
 
            Ceta fiddled with her short necklace, adjusting and readjusting its position over and under her collared blouse until she decided on its final position. She straightened her books and laptop neatly in front of her before opening her computer. Its loud fans roared in unison before resting to a hum. The cursor flashed on her empty Microsoft Word page. 
 
               The chair to the left clanked as someone drew its footed claws backward against the rug below, brown paper bags and plastics shuffled raucously. A brunette in her mid-twenties with long brown hair pulled into a neat ponytail, and loudly colored tennis shoes took the seat next to Ceta. The girl greeted Ceta in a crackling, raspy tone causing Ceta to scan the room for more available seating, but she stayed lest she offend. 
 
            “You ready?” the girl asked. 
            
            “I think it’ll be fine. It can only be so hard, right?” Ceta responded with a half-smile. 
 
            “Maybe,” the girl responded, cracking open a cloudy container housing a soggy roast beef sandwich. 
 
           “What type of practice do you want to go into?” Ceta asked casting her gaze to the girl’s colorful footwear and large earrings.   
 
             “I don’t know. I’m open to everything, I just want to be a lawyer,” the girl said taking a big bite of her greasy sandwich without breaking eye contact.
 
          “Good to stay open-minded, right?” Ceta asked, turning her body away from the girl hoping to signal the end of her interest. She took another moment to reconsider sitting closer to the podium.
 
            Unlike her classmate, Ceta knew exactly why she was at Clark, to become a white-collar defense attorney at one of the largest law firms in the city. Since her mock trial days in ninth grade, Ceta knew she’d be on the fast track to law school one day, an epiphany which her parents welcomed over her previous teaching ambitions. From that point, everything in her plans centered around getting into Clark, even if that meant attending the rather unremarkable state university nearby over one of the more prestigious universities closer to her hometown. It was better to be a big fish in a small pond, she thought, and they gave her nearly a full ride, something that the others failed to do. As planned, she graduated summa cum laude affording her a moderately sized scholarship from Clark. It wasn’t as much as she’d expected, but her stellar G.P.A. offset her somewhat mediocre LSAT score.  
 
           “Open your books to Simmons v. Arizona & Co., LLP on page 83, please. I am Professor Sutton, my info is on the board. Since you’re here, I trust that you can read, and you’ve reviewed the syllabus on your own time. Who can tell me what a contract is?”
 
            Ceta’s hand shot up. 
 
            “It’s an agreement between parties for goods or services,” she said proudly once called to speak.
 
          “Not quite,” he responded, moving on to the next three students who would also get the answer wrong, one of which being her former seat-mate. 
 
         The professor moved on to his fourth choice who finally gave him a partially correct answer, enough for him to move on with the lesson. His marker squeaked as he wrote sloppily on the whiteboard to diagram the student’s answer. 
 
         “To anyone who didn’t parse this from today’s reading, add rereading this section to tonight’s reading. This is foundational stuff, guys” he said addressing the room behind him. 
 
            Ceta spent the remainder of class frantically taking notes, finding herself a sentence or three behind the professor at all times. As class ended, she slowly gathered her belongings while the room cleared out. Before long, she was approached by one of the few other Black students she’d seen in her lecture hall. 
 
          “Hey, you should come,” he said smiling as he handed her a flyer that she barely skimmed. Ceta looked up at the man in front of her who seemed bursting at the seams with first-day enthusiasm, making him appear more youthful than his slight crow’s feet implied. Ceta finished filling her bag, leaving the flyer out of it, scanning it once more. 
 
           “We only meet once a month, there’s free pizza, and you get access to a ton of the 2L and 3L outlines,” he said with his voice dragging out his last word.
 
            Ceta paused briefly, “I’ll check it out, thanks,” she said beginning to turn her back to him, but perking up at the bit about outlines. 
 
            “Some of us are actually headed to grab a bite now if you wanna join,” he said placing his hands in his oversized, faded jeans leaning forward on his toes.
 
            “Sure,” Ceta said more enthusiastically, trying to more closely mirror his energy. 
 
          “Nice, we’re just going to McQuinn’s up the block.” Ceta nodded and smiled politely, hiding her disgust at the destination. She hadn’t planned on buying lunch, especially at a pseudo-Irish pub, but she knew that she needed to socialize. Networking was everything for the next few years, a simple truth she hated, but acknowledged. She followed her classmate into the hallway as he called out behind him, 
 
            “I’m Fred, by the way.”
 
            “Good to meet you, Fred,” Ceta responded absent any introduction of her own. 

​© All rights reserved

Every weekend, we struggled to make the most of our nearly all-female college by attending rowdy parties meant for the neighboring city university’s students. 
            Our mission remained unchanged — dorm, club, food, and back to the dorms, a routine we’d all grown to love in our short time as close friends. On nights like those, we hopped on noisy yellow school buses we thought we’d left behind, now praying not to miss the last one as we hadn’t the budget for a jitney. 
            The bus brakes shrieked, announcing its final destination. We unloaded and followed the co-ed herd to McDonald’s on the lower campus of the nearby city university for a medium fry we’d split five ways. 
            The city university had everything we didn’t. It was the real college experience we desperately chased on weekends as underaged liberal arts students from an afterthought of higher learning down the way.
            The buzz of elation faded as the let-out crowd shrank and the rush died down, all signs to start heading back towards the dorms. Silence grew around us as we neared our own campus. Occasionally, we broke the emptiness with chortles of laughter shrouded in boozy breaths visible in the frigid air. 
            The few cars we’d seen earlier in the evening tapered off, as if people knew there was nothing worthwhile beyond the edge of lower campus. Lost in our recaps of the night, we heard the hum of a vehicle approaching, its bright lights competing with the muted street lamps and neon signs from the awkwardly placed motel by the intersection. We continued on making nothing of its arrival until the car missed the turn to the local women’s hospital and met us at our side. As the wheels slowed on the dark BMW, a thin, olive-skinned man with dark hair, dressed for the office, grinned at us before asking for directions to the airport. 
            My friend replied first, politely letting him know how far he was from his destination. I looked on in silence, somehow hoping to draw the dormitories closer by envisioning the building with intention. 
            “Not a clue, sorry,” another one of my friends replied tersely, showing complete disinterest in his troubles. A few looks were exchanged between us before we silently came to the same conclusion about the wanderer and chose to continue walking while the interaction was interrupted. 
            Several minutes later, we turned the final corner arriving at our dorms, now silent and slightly more sobered — a good end to a long night.

​Nic pulled the door handle and waited a moment for Fred to unlock it before sliding onto the crackling leather seats. Fred’s car was almost antique-like in appearance, but without the maintenance— Nic wondered how reliable it was. 
 
The gravel displaced itself under the tires as he started back on the path to the gas station. As they started down the road, it seemed as though all of Fred’s affability had been spent convincing Nic to join him, and while not brash like Aman had been, Nic felt just as uneasy. 
 
“So how do you and Aman know each other? You don’t seem to run in the same circles,” Nic inquired.
 
“Small town. There’s only so many people to know.”
 
“Makes sense,’ Nic responded, desperately trying to fill the space that Fred's missing radio had left. “You paint, right? How’d you get into that, are you in art school or something?” Nic asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the few street lights in the distance. Fred turned and looked at Nic, briefly acknowledging the question and ignoring it none the less. In a matter of minutes, Nic had become a novice reporter questioning  an unwilling participant. As Nic grew more uneasy with Fred’s failure to engage, they continued on in silence for the duration of the ride. 
 
“Here you are,” he said as he unlocked the doors and pulled into the driveway of the gas station. Nic had to admit to herself, she felt more relieved than she believed she should upon getting to the gas station safely. 
 
“Thanks again for the ride. Want anything while I’m here?”
 
“No, you’re fine, I’m gonna head back to Aman’s. I just wanted to make sure you were okay after that whole blow up. I’ll see you around.”
 
“Well, probably not. I’m headed pretty far away, but again, thanks for your help,” Nic clarified.  
 
Fred looked at Nic for a moment, just one second longer than what she was comfortable with, and the awkwardness she’d felt while in his car returned, “…See you around, Nic.” Fred pulled off swiftly before Nic could respond correcting him with her alias. 
 
Standing underneath the convenience store threshold, Nic’s eyes followed the tail lights on Fred’s long, rusted pickup as they disappeared into the evening.  
 
©

​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. 

“Hey, why’d you leave without telling anyone?”
 
It was one of the guys from Aman’s party.
 
“I know Aman can be a lot, but it’s way too dark out here for you to be walking alone. Let me give you a ride,” he said in an elevated voice from his car as he maintained Nic’s pace. 
 
“Oh, it’s no problem. I’m just going to the gas station right up the street, I’m pretty much as good as there,” Nic replied smiling, slightly perturbed that he had been following her.
 
“Come on, dude. Anything can happen out here at any moment. It wouldn’t take any time to snatch you off the streets in a place this dark in half a mile. Please, let me help you out. My name is Fred by the way.”
 
Nic didn’t know a lot about Fred, but from what she learned at Aman’s party, he was an artist  — albeit an unsuccessful one. He’d been bartending at a nearby family restaurant and selling his art on the weekends with very few takers — maybe getting one fruitless inquiry twice a year. He seemed to be a nice enough guy, and although unremarkable in his appearance, there was something very inviting about his countenance. Maybe it was how quiet he’d been in comparison to Aman’s more ostentatious personality. Nic figured maybe taking a ride with him the rest of the way wasn’t such a bad idea. After all, it was dark, and she managed to survive her Aman encounter, Fred couldn’t be any worse than that. 

©

The gathering was just like Aman had described, a few co-ed friends at a rundown old farm property hanging out over a wild bonfire behind the house. Aman’s liveliness was night and day compared to their initial encounter. He seemed lighter with his friends, maybe he was just one of those people who gives a weird first impression, she thought. Regardless, his warmer demeanor helped Nic feel a lot more relaxed. 
 
She felt so grateful for this outcome with such a big risk taken, she couldn’t express her gratitude enough, so when Aman asked for some help in the kitchen, Nic leapt at the opportunity to lend a hand. 
 
Aman guided Nic through a surprisingly narrow yet modern kitchen considering the large beaten-up farm house it was attached to.
 
“Grab those popsicles for me please,” he instructed while lifting a cooler.
 
Nic grabbed the bag from the freezer, only to find that most of them had begun melting. As the lemon pops spilled all over the counter through their soft white packaging. Nic alerted Aman to their liquified state.
 
“Really? You had one job! Clean it up and put ‘em back in the freezer!” He yelled, startling her in the process.
 
“Whoa, calm down, I’m not the reason they melted, I guess the freezer was just overstuffed. It’s not a big deal, I can clean it up and make some room in there.”
 
“Figure it out,” he said curtly while leaving Nic to tend to the mess. In the short time that she’d known him, Nic had already seen Aman in three different moods, and she decided not to stick around for a fourth. Nic realized that she’d have to find a polite way to excuse herself from the gathering and take her chances back at the gas station. Perhaps the clerk was a better option than she’d initially thought. 
 
The smell of the fruity sticky popsicle filled the room as Nic tried frantically to clean up Aman’s mistake. She finished hastily and made her way out the front door, quietly to avoid another Aman confrontation. With just one mile back to the gas station, and desolate land in between, Nic convinced herself that getting back on foot was a reasonable option. 
 
The screen door hissed behind her as she tiptoed down the steps of the front porch to the main road looking out for anyone from the bonfire who may have strayed. Once her feet hit the pavement, she felt an urgency that she hadn’t felt before to get back to the gas station as soon as possible--Nic obliged. Her pace hastened despite being somewhat unsure of her footing in the dark, rural October evening.  
 
Nic glanced down at her watch--7:45 p.m. She had been walking for twenty minutes, becoming more confident with each uninterrupted step until she heard gravel being disturbed a ways behind her. As she shifted her focus to the disturbance, Nic recognized the sound of a car slowly approaching.  

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