alumni ➢ luke hemmings [DISCONTINUED]

0.5 ➢ Mia.

Alumni ➢ 0.5
Mia is a twenty-year-old Music major, who graduated from her high school a little earlier than the rest of her peers and has a boyfriend who- at one point- crashed Calum's Dad's yellow hummer into an oak tree. She tells me this story as she applies a thin layer of strawberry lipgloss on her lips, her voice light and soft.

She tells me she's Puerto Rican, and that she switches between Spanish and English from time to time because her head is a daze and she can never keep her mind in the same place for too long. I tell her I'm full Filipino but am rubbish at speaking Tagalog and she giggles, says that she finds it interesting and would love to get to know more about me; we end up exchanging numbers. And I leave the girls toilets with an even bigger smile on my face than before, happy that I've finally made my first friend here without Michael's help.

He smiles as I sit down next to him and Calum on the grass, Mia's phone number in my back pocket and my hand already itching to pull out my phone to text her. "You good, Hayes?" he asks me.

I just nod, pulling my knees up to my chest and watching the world in front of us go by.

There's always something going on in New York, whether it be the grouchy businessmen or the traffic that seems to be never-ending. Yellow cabs and half-assed Uber drivers line a majority of the city lanes; all honking, all beeping, filled with impatient people just trying to make a deadline. I'm suddenly thankful that wherever I need to go in this place isn't too dire of a walk away.

The sky above us is bright and sunny, the weather it provides feeling unfamiliar, albeit lovely. But back in England, a sky like this would mean one of two things; trickle rain, or hurricane drizzle.

I think about this as I lean my head on Michael's shoulder, my head in a completely different place. If I shut my eyes, I can envision everything back at home; feel the familiarity, re-live the place I grew up. I'm still not so sure whether or not I regret leaving.

I guess I'll find out.

My mother says It's easy for me to get lost in my memories. She says it's the best part about me, that I can push my problems away by thinking of a simpler time. She calls it interesting- I, however, deem it dangerous.

There's an act in losing yourself, my mother used to tell me. People lose themselves in things all the time. But not in a physical aspect; that would make too much sense. She used to say that people detach from reality in a variety of different ways; an artist with his sketchbook, a rockstar with her guitar. Even a video game programmer in the midst of blocky, green text; they lose themselves, too.

I remember when I was thirteen, and I asked her what I lost myself in. She pulled me onto the couch and brushed a hair out of my face, told me something along the lines of writing; from what my mother could see, I ripped my mind away from reality through words on a page, and the statement's stuck in my head ever since.

By the time it's 4pm, I'm back in my dorm and my feet are killing me. Not a lot was done today, but a lot of walking was surely involved; thanks to Calum, and his restless mind that unfortunately mirrors mine.

We toured the entire half of the campus, toured the second half, and then went back to see if I could name all of the buildings just based on memory. I got a little under half, but they both said it was okay; after all, I wasn't from around here.

It's cosy in the oversized jumper that I'm wearing, and as I tuck my knees up to my chest on the small couch opposite my bed, I hear Calum start to speak.

"You guys," he says, his tone ripping through the comfortable silence as Michael flicks absentmindedly through the channels on the TV. I'm not so sure they're even allowed to be in here, but it's not like anyone's going to check; and besides, I could use the company. I hate being alone. "Guess who's having a party. Tonight,"