“For…for what?” My mouth is working faster than my brain, which now feels like maybe something got thrown into the cogs of the operating system. I’m rooted completely to the sidewalk. A hurricane couldn’t pick me up, so frozen are my limbs and feet.
“We needed it to pay for the knee surgery and physical therapy. You know my insurance isn’t very good, and we were still paying for the physical therapy and the bill from when he twisted his ankle. We had to— We couldn’t—” Her voice is tight and strained. She sounds small, and I register the remorse in her tone even if she hasn’t said any apologetic words. “We used the money from your great-aunt. All of it.”
The initial shock wears off quickly and I’m left with the void of disappointment that comes after a sliver of hope. It’s short-lived, though. I can’t be mad over something I barely knew existed. I didn’t even know how much it was. It couldn’t have been much, seeing as my parents still carry their burden of debt.
“I’m sorry, Jessica,” my mom says, but there’s more to her words than just an apology. There’s pain laced in her tone and a question:Why did you ask for something you know I can’t give?
Tears well in my eyes. The shame of asking for money burns on my cheeks, on my chest, and in my belly. I feel dizzy and a little weak. I don’t mind crying out here in the dark beside the science building where anyone could walk up and see me, but letting my mom hear me cry? No. I won’t make her feel bad for what she can’t give.
“That’s okay, Mom. I’ll figure it out.”
We say our goodbyes and I hold my phone in my hand, staring at the cracked screen until the light goes off. It’s hard to be mad at my mom about this. I’d forgotten about the money until now, so my expectations for secret family money were low, but they were there. And when it comes to family finances, for being twenty-one, I know a lot more than the average kid because my parents have always emphasized the importance of Clear is Kind.
But none of this makes my financial situation any less stressful, and the knot in my stomach feels like a thousand knots all tangled together.
“Hi.”
I whip my head toward the voice approaching me. A tall figure and the vague scent of oranges and laundry detergent solve the mystery: Mac.
The memory of how I behaved the last time I saw him burns on my cheeks. It’s dark out, so he can’t see, and I’d stay out here and keep it that way, but I’m freezing.
“Hey. I’m just heading back in.” I turn and walk into the building, composing myself as Mac follows me.
I’d only had one drink at our dorm before the game last Friday, knowing I’d need something to get through it, but I didn’t eat much that day—I was too busy—so the beer went straight to my head. I was overly friendly with him, maybe even flirty. And the worst part is, I enjoyed every minute of it. I learned two things on Friday night. One, I need to eat more before I drink. Two, Mac is really fun to be around.
“You can just sign in here.” I tap on the clipboard with the sign-in sheet as I round the desk. “Name, student ID number, and what room and equipment you’re using. If there’s not enough room, you can continue on the next page—just lift that one.” I gesture to the stray pens lying nearby.
I avoid eye contact as I’m not sure how to act around him now that I feel like we have this tentative friendship. Something about sharing a favorite band and being a little drunk can really create a bond, but I’m not ready to say that to him, nor do I know what to do with it.
“I’m…not here for the labs,” Mac says.
“Oh. Why are you…?”
“Black Phantom released a song from their new album.” A knowing grin appears on his face, and a smile cracks open my own. All the tension leaves my shoulders, all the worry about my financial situation temporarily gone with that one sentence.
“I thought we could listen together,” Mac says tentatively, holding up his headphones.
Two weeks ago I might have thought he was crazy, but right now nothing sounds better than listening to a new song by my favorite band. Music has that unique ability to transport me out of all the things I’m feeling into a more peaceful place. I could use some of that right now, even if it is with Mac.
“Yes! Absolutely. How did I miss this? When did it drop?”
“This morning. Can I…?” He gestures to where I’m standing, asking if he can come to my side of the desk. I wave him over, and he steps around and leans against the desk. I lean on the desk next to him, peering over his shoulder at his phone. He’s got the song pulled up and holds out one of his Bluetooth earbuds.
I hesitate just a beat before taking it. It’s kind of intimate to share headphones, isn’t it? Beyond the hygiene factor, this tiny technology will tether us. As I place the earbud in my ear, I can’t help but feel there’s some invisible string connecting us now. His citrusy laundry smell is much stronger here, but not in a bad way. It smells nice, actually. Clean. Have I never noticed how nice Mac smells before?
A dizzy familiarity washes over me, and I’m not here anymore; I’m at the ATZ Halloween party, but it’s just a flash, and then I’m back. I shiver, trying to shake it off.
“Ready?” he asks, and I check over my shoulder to make sure no one has walked in. I give him a thumbs-up.
He presses play, and piano, guitar, and synth all hit my ears in a familiar Black Phantom style, upbeat and relaxed all at once.
“What’s the name of the song?” I try to lean in more without touching him. I’m not successful. His shoulder is warm against mine, but to my surprise the touch isn’t entirely unwelcome. It’s oddly comfortable, like we’ve done this a million times. Like we always listen to Black Phantom together, practically cuddling at my work-study desk.
He tilts the phone so I can see the name of the song: “Fire.” The lyrics play on the screen, highlighted in white as they’re sung. Ingrid Jorgenson’s voice, clear as glass, croons in my ear.
“You light me on fire
from inside I burn
