T H R E E

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M A D I E

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M A D I E

September fourteenth.

Two

Everything feels a little dimmer at college.

You think it's okay.

But you're not really sure.

My 3.9 high school GPA teased me. My ridiculously high SAT and ACT scores mocked me. The status I had as a high achieving student—completely gone.

Chemistry was out to get me. Actually, college in general was out to get me. Not understanding a single word that came out of a professor's mustache-covered mouth seemed like the norm.

After one week at Oakland State, it was obvious that I would fail. I'd have to move back to South Lake Tahoe and live with my parents forever. And in some ways, it didn't sound so bad. But I knew they wouldn't be happy; good ole Rick and Patricia had high hopes for me. High hopes that involved not failing out my freshman year of college.

That was why I'd ended up at the tutoring center on campus, finishing up my session with a spunky senior tutor, Beth. My current state of being was somewhere between wallowing and despairing at all the things I had to memorize before the first Chem quiz next week.

The center was pretty dead. Empty tables with uncomfortable but chic chairs filled the space. There was a lab on the far end, and some kind of office tucked in the back. Beth told me that most people didn't start showing up for help until midterms, when they were already on the verge of flunking all their classes.

Thinking about that gave me a mini panic attack.

Anxiety. I've always thought I had anxiety, but my parents just tell me I'm overdramatic. Same thing they told my doctor.

Maybe I didn't want to move back in with them.

Hearing a door swing open, I glanced up from my Chem notes to see a guy walk in—a guy with messy brown hair and a sharp jawline.

"Bren!"

His name flew out of my mouth before I could stop it.

He looked around, clearly surprised that there was even anyone in here. But then he saw me and smiled, calling over the empty tables. "Hey, Madie."

He remembered my name. That's nice that he remembered my name.

After taking one step in my direction, Bren hesitated. It was like his feet had moved without his permission, and the poor guy was annoyed that his legs had betrayed him like that. I understood; it was kind of like my mouth and the things I couldn't keep in. A moment later, his brain and limbs came to an agreement, and he made his way toward me.

"What's up?" His voice was a little breathless as he came and leaned on the table I was working at. After running a hand through his mop of wavy hair, he glanced up at me.

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