When you’re near I desire
to be lit on fire
When you’re far it’s too cold,
it’s too cold…”
I sneak a glance at Mac, delight splashed across his face. He’s moving with the music, bopping his head a little. The movement creates a ripple effect, and his shoulders are moving too, just slightly, against mine. It causes me to sort of bop along with the music as well, and then I’m not thinking about Mac at all but the way the song strikes my soul, the way it feels like the notes originate from somewhere deep inside and they’re traveling through me, bursting out of every cell, sweeping through the dusty, long-neglected corners of myself. Eyes closed, waves of emotion swell up and out of me, stress and frustration, until my chest feels lighter. I’m not as heavy as I was three minutes ago.
I can tell the song is ending, and I open my eyes to find Mac looking at me with a wide, enthusiastic grin. I blush, self-conscious all of a sudden. I can get lost in music sometimes, especially if I’ve got a lot of feelings just floating around. Black Phantom has always helped me process those feelings, and having someone witness that makes me want to hide under the desk.
When the song is over, I hand back his earbud and quickly take a seat. I wiggle my mouse now that the monitor has gone black. When it illuminates, my essay displays on the screen. I click it closed like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t have.
“So?” he asks.
I panic for a second, darting a suspicious glance at him. Is he about to ask me about my scholarship essay again? Didn’t I make it clear the first time that we are competitors and I have no interest in discussing—?
“The song. What’d you think?” he clarifies, and instantly I relax.
Of course he’s asking about the song and nothing about the scholarship. He probably didn’t even see the computer screen.
“Um…” I think for a second, formulating that cellular-level reaction into words. “It reminded me a lot of their first album. Like it’s more ‘them’ than some of their more recent stuff. Which I love, but this feels like they went back to their roots.”
“Yes! I totally agree. Getting back their original guitarist—what’s his name? Gunnar.” He snaps and points at me. “Probably had something to do with it.”
Talking about Black Phantom this way with a fan gives me an appreciation for Mac that I don’t know I would have had otherwise. He knows the band’s history, he knows their names—he adores this band the same way I do, and if for no other reason than this, I decide I wouldn’t mind spending more time with Mackenzie Baldwin.
Someone walks in and tries to pass by the desk. Mac slips out from behind the desk but stays nearby.
“Excuse me,” I say and give them the same sign-in instructions I give everyone else.
When the student is gone, Mac slides back up to the desk, back on the other side, and leans across the top, hands clasped loosely in front of him.
“So you work here, huh?” he asks.
“It seems like maybe you already knew that.” I give him a suspicious smirk. “Howdidyou know I’d be here?”
“I’ve been here before while you were working,” he says without a joke in his tone.
“Really?”
“Really. It was freshman year, so I don’t expect you to remember, but I’ve always known you worked here. It’s a pretty sweet gig.”
I nod, trying to think of something to say while my brain short-circuits.Freshman year?I don’t remember anything Mac was doing freshman year except annoying the ever-living fuck out of me. I feel the tickle of annoyance but shove it away.
“It is a sweet gig. I get lots of homework done. And I also get to scold college students for not remembering the most basic rule of this building: Sign. In. Which is my favorite part.”
“I have a feeling that’s not sarcasm.”
“Absolutely not. The only job better than this is librarian. All that shushing? That’s my jam.”
Mac is full-out laughing now, head thrown back. His laugh is bold and big, exactly like him. That annoyance from moments before is gone.
Hanging out with Mac is like an internal roller coaster. I can’t decide in any given moment if I want to laugh or roll my eyes.
“Do you work anywhere on campus?” I probably know the answer to this, but I’m making an effort, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not quite ready for the conversation to end yet.
He shakes his head. “Nah. I played soccer my first two years here, and I quit because I wanted to devote more time to school. I wasn’t getting the time to study that I wanted. Soccer kind of consumed my life. I don’t think I could balance a job and school. I don’t know how you do it.”
