Keyframe

Just the Two of Us

"Good things might come to those who wait, not for those who wait too late.

We gotta go for all we know."

- "Just the Two of Us," Grover Washington Jr. & Bill Withers (1980)

Alejandro

"I can't believe we don't have classes together anymore. We've had the exact same schedule since kindergarten—who the hell am I supposed to talk to now?"

"Jordo, you're almost a grown-ass man." I scoff, rolling my eyes as I walk through the hallway because he can't see me over the phone. "So suck up your elitism and engage with the peasantry like the rest of us."

Jordan gags audibly at me from his end, uncharacteristically childish, and I can't help but laugh.

"Look, I gotta go; I'm almost there. Good luck in your literal first class alone, ever."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles. "You too. Au revoir."

"Chao."

I exhale through my nose as I hang up, knowing that his uncharacteristically good mood is just him hiding his nerves.

The first day of classes might mark a difficult transition right now, but at least it's something to finally set us apart. We don't have any of the same classes this year—phase one of our slow and steady separation. Hopefully, today marks the start of a drift between two people who have been attached at the hip for years.

God knows we need it.

I slow my walk, taking out my earbuds when I finally locate my first class of today: Integral Calculus of Multiple Variables with Dr. Montoya. Her ratings say that both she and her course will be far from a cakewalk, but that doesn't bother me. Nothing I can't handle.

When I enter, the class is already half-full with fellow early birds even though I'm here fifteen minutes ahead of time. I scan the auditorium-style seating, aiming to sit somewhere inconspicuous like the back or the middle, before something catches my eye in the middle of the front row.

Or, rather, someone.

For a moment, I think my eyes deceive me. They're deceivingly androgynous, short-haired and wearing a casual button-up opened to reveal a black undershirt. But, as I draw closer, there's no mistaking the petite frame, the warm brown skin, and the freckles peeking out from underneath the rims of black shades.

Clearing my throat, I lean over to tap the unsuspecting Lillian three times on her shoulder.

She shouldn't be outside of her room after knocking herself out on Saturday—much less in a loud, bright classroom full of people and information. Yesterday, she promised that she wouldn't go to class after much heated debate. Yet here she is now: back to regularly scheduled programming by Monday morning.

Lillian takes out one of her earbuds and lifts her shades, completely calm until her eyes fall on me standing over her. She cocks back in abject terror, then dropping her shades back over her eyes and putting a hand over her face like it'll make me go away.

I exhale, tossing my eyes as I sit in the seat conjoined to hers and take out my laptop. Silence falls for a moment before I smirk at her and finally decide to say something.

"Do mommy and daddy know that you're in class two days after a concussion?"

Slowly, she whines a little and removes her hand from her face to look upward.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Lillian," I half-sing, demanding for her to answer my question, and she obeys with a groan.