Page 68 of Breathing Under Water

“Yeah, I’m up, I’m up,” I say. “What is it?”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you, but it’s almost eight and I thought you might, that you might...” She’s got light brown hair, straight, shoulder-length, basically unremarkable, but I’mstruck by how clean it looks, the shine on it making me realize what a mess I’m becoming.

I’m busy thinking about her hair instead of processing her words, but when they finally land, I jump up and start gathering the old fleece blanket I brought in with me.

“Shit, why didn’t my alarm go off?” I look at my phone and see that the battery is dead. Great. Just great.

The girl looks back at me blankly. I don’t have time for this. If people notice me camped out here like some deadbeat off the streets, I’m going to lose this as an option too. The light coming in through the window is glaring enough that it should have woken me even without the alarm. Now it’s too late for me to shower, unless I want to bump into a shit-ton of people coming in and out of the rec center, wondering why I’m using their showers if I’m no longer on the swim team.

“I gotta go,” I say, grabbing my tote off the floor and hurrying out with my blanket bunched in my arms.

Thinking about my gross morning breath and which campus building makes the most sense for doing my morning wash-up, it doesn’t occur to me until I’m almost all the way back to my car on the other side of campus to wonder about Mindy or Mandy and what exactly she knows about me.

Wednesday is my busiest day at school, and I’m exhausted when I finally walk into nutrition class at four in the afternoon. I see the girl from the dorm sitting across the way, but we’re in a large lecture room that’s already filling up with other students. She’s busy typing on her laptop and doesn’t look my way.

As class begins and Professor Dunwoodie starts her lectureon the role of diet in managing chronic disease, a text comes across my laptop.

Leo has been asking for my advice on how to talk to some girl he met. I felt pretty proud of myself when he told me a few weeks earlier that I was the one who convinced him to look for teaching assistant jobs, but the romantic advice is trickier. I don’t know anything about this girl, Tatiana, except that she’s a teaching assistant in the 3D printing class across the hall from the class Leo’s helping in. I’ve asked him a lot of questions about her, but all he’s told me is that she goes to the Catholic school a few blocks away from his high school and she has very symmetrical features. Maybe today will be the day I convince him to talk to her.

Except when I read his text, I see that it’s not about Tatiana at all.

Is cheating always a bad thing to do?

Oh, crap. I can’t even imagine what this is about, but I don’t like the idea of Leo getting himself into trouble.

Normally, I try to avoid distractions like texting during class. I keep telling myself that if I’m literally living on the streets to afford my degree, I’d damn well better make the most of my time here. But Leo’s text has me anxious to respond right away.

Generally speaking, yes, it’s bad to cheat. Why do you ask?

I brace for his response.

I don’t want to say.

Me:How am I supposed to help if you won’t tell me what’s going on?

Leo:It’s something from a chat room, but they told me it was a secret.

Me:Look, Leo, I really want to answer properly. This sounds like acomplicated situation. I’m in class, and I should be paying attention to the professor. Can you wait an hour before you do anything, and then we can text about it?

Leo:I can wait an hour, but I don’t want to text about it. I don’t want to write things down.

Me:I know you don’t like to talk on the phone, but maybe I can call you after class?

Leo:No, thank you. We shouldn’t talk on the phone.

My stomach lurches. I know he frequents a lot of aviation chats with tech wizards from all over the world, and I’m worried he might really be in some sort of trouble.

Me:Ok, do NOTHING about this situation until you talk to me. Promise me. And meet me at the Sizz in 90 minutes. I’ll send you the address.

Leo:Ok, I can meet you. I know where the Sizz is.

Me:Promise meyou won’t make any final decisions. Promise!

Leo:Ok, I promise.

An hour and forty-five minutes later, I’m sweating under my winter jacket as I race to the Sizz. In my hurry to get ready earlier this morning, I’d moved my car to a different lot than usual, closer to my first class. But by the end of the day, I’d forgotten this and gone back to P-Lot, where I usually park. After a few seconds freaking out that my car was stolen and I’d lost everything I owned, I remembered parking elsewhere, but then I had to hoof it all the way across campus again. Those extra minutes traipsing back and forth cost me, and I’m worried Leo will think I’ve stood him up. Of course he’s not answering hisphone. I just hope he hasn’t left and gone off to do some awful thing with internet wackos before I could stop him.

But when I get to the Sizz, he’s standing right inside the doorway, wrapped in a hunter green puffer jacket with a matching winter beanie on his head. His oversized noise-canceling headphones are positioned on top of the hat, covering his ears.