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bsp; He sends a post-workout selfie, proving that he really did spend three hours at the gym. Not that I care about math when I have a picture of Kit dripping with sweat on my phone.
I send a post-yoga selfie, proving that I am incredibly coherent after ninety minutes in a nearly 100 degree room.
He sends pictures of Joel making a fool of himself. I send the A I get on my literature term paper.
It becomes a part of our routine. We share our days with words and pictures. It makes it easier to come home to an empty house, to get through on-campus lunch or coffee alone—Rory is still in boyfriend land and most of my other friends ask about my brothers by minute five of our conversations.
I'm not as lonely as I was before I started talking to Kit.
He really is my friend, a good friend.
He really does brighten my days.
Tomorrow night is the last Dangerous Noise show before the break.
I should be thinking about how I'm finally going to see Kit in the flesh, about the delicious things he could do to me.
But I'm not.
I'm trying to study for this stupid bio test.
I'm barely pulling a C and this unit on cellular reproduction is giving me tension headaches. I can't remember any of the names of anything. I had an easier time learning every one of Juliet's lines.
I read over my notes five times. I copy them all by hand. I copy them onto flash cards. I quiz myself with the flashcards until I've got paper cuts on all eight fingers and both thumbs.
My brain is mush.
This test is tomorrow. I need to know this backwards and forwards.
I lean back in my chair and take a deep breath. The last hint of orange fades from the sky as the sun recedes into the Pacific Ocean. The nights here are beautiful. The dark blue ocean runs into the dark blue sky. The moon highlights the sand.
Nineteen years and I'm still not sick of staring at the ocean. As much as I want to live in a house that isn't owned by my asshole parents, I really like this house. Even all big and empty and lonely.
My stomach rumbles. I go downstairs and get to work fixing dinner.
I put on a pot of water. Once it's boiling, I crack spaghetti. In another pot, I heat up a cup of marinara sauce and a handful of frozen broccoli.
It takes about ten minutes until I have dinner on a plate. I eat quickly, savoring the firmness of the pasta and the tangy tomato of the sauce. It's nothing fancy, but it's something I made. It's my dinner. That makes it delicious.
When I'm finished, I leave the dish in the sink and head back to my room.
I try to pour myself into my flash cards but my brain is mush. I don't think twice. I immediately text Kit.
Piper: Please tell me I never need to do biology again after this semester.
Kit: That pick up line ever work before?
Piper: Don't tease. I'm freaking out.
Kit: Test tomorrow?
Piper: Yeah.
Kit: Call me. I'll quiz you.
Piper: Don't you have a show now?
