Truth Be Told

eleven

E L E V E N

IN COLLEGE, EVERY week is hell week.

Each week is often every bit as stressful and unpleasant as the one before.

Midterms have just ended, but already the pile of work that needs to be done--whether it's preparing for that big ass final report or plowing through the week's reading assignment--is steadily growing bigger. It's really no wonder people are always stressed out.

But all the stress he'd accumulated over the past semesters has nothing on the stress he'd accumulated in the past three days alone. He'd spent every day like he'd spent his Monday: Skittering around the department to make sure Sadie isn't skipping, escaping Drew with as much creativity as he could muster ("I think I left something" or "There's something I have to check"), and narrowly dodging getting caught every time.

It was exhausting work.

Colin has been trying his best to talk himself out of it, but whenever the opportunity presented itself, his feet would betray him and the next thing he knows, he's casually walking by her classroom as though his own class was not in a completely different building two blocks away.

With all this pent-up, not to mention unexplained, frustration, Colin welcomes Thursday with a comically bad mood. He wakes up at seven, though his first class isn't scheduled until ten. He can't remember what his dream was, not even a little bit, but whatever it was had not been pleasant because he woke up feeling like he wanted to punch himself in the throat.

In his bad mood, his brain fails to realize the one thing he should have realized the moment he got out of bed: Sadie's also awake. Her makeshift futon is neatly folded and she's nowhere to be found in his room.

The obvious implications of this, however, are completely overlooked by his restlessness, and when he sees her in the common area, his heart jumps into his throat.

She's sitting on one of the beanbag chairs, a laptop balanced on her legs. Instead of working, though, she has her head in both hands, her shoulders slumped forward.

She looks up when he steps out, and for some reason, the movement makes him take a rather violent step back.

His shoulder hits the doorframe. He lets out a hiss, reaching over to rub the sore spot, perfectly aware of her wide-eyed stare.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"I'm fine," he snaps. The grimace on his face says he's anything but.

He wants to retreat back to his room.

No one else is awake yet, so it's just the two of them. He would have gone back to bed if he didn't have to pee.

If he didn't know how to be around Sadie before, it's even worse now. With Drew and Perry, it's easier. Alone, however, complicated feelings of anger, worry, confusion--and even guilt--immediately take over, turning him into a bumbling idiot who can't even exit a room properly.

Needless to say, it is not turning out to be a good day.

In the bathroom, he does his business, then spends a considerably long time shaving and washing his face. Once he's done, he runs his wet fingers through his hair, trying to get rid of his obvious bedhead.

He takes his time, not yet ready to be in the same room as Sadie again, but there's only so much a person can do inside the bathroom without causing much suspicion. Any longer and Sadie might think he's...

He doesn't even let himself finish the thought. His face warms, and he has to splash it with water all over again.

This realization forces him to move faster. Not that he cares about what Sadie might be thinking. Not that Sadie would be thinking about him doing that. Would she?