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Part of me is disappointed.
Most of me is relieved.
CHAPTERTWENTY
CASSIA
I’m the first one in my Genetics class. There were only fifty spots available during registration, but this lecture hall could easily fit a hundred students. It’s a giant, cavernous space.
I choose a seat a few rows back and pull out my laptop and my textbook. Open up a fresh notebook and write the date at the top of the page.
There’s still no sign of anyone else.
I’m ten minutes early.
Holden’s teammates are all nice, but they’re a rowdy group. I left lunch as soon as I was finished eating, stopping for a coffee and then coming straight here.
I look around the lecture hall, then quickly discover there’s nothing interesting to see. Cream walls, gray carpet, whiteboard at the front of the room.
So I pull out my phone. I text my mom first, asking how she is. Text Maggie second, asking how her freshman year is going. Odds are I won’t hear back from her for a while. The last message I sent is still unanswered. Finally, I text Sydney, asking if she’s back in Pembrooke yet. I doubt she is, and it’s an unnecessary question. But I don’t want her to feel like she’s alone. I didn’t ask when Catherine will be back or if Sydney is planning to tell her about the pregnancy. But she’s probably returning to an empty condo.
No one responds right away, so I switch to scrolling through social media. Predictably, Maggie has posted on there. I look through a few photos of her smiling and laughing, unsurprised she’s already made more friends in a few days than I have in three years of college. We’ve always been so different that it’s hard to contemplate that we’re siblings. Maybe it’s an anomaly we’ll study in this class.
A few other students have started to trickle into the lecture hall, but none of them are people I recognize.
There’s no sign of the professor yet.
I open my school email, clicking through the new messages about various campus events.
“…so hot, right?” A female voice says.
“I know,” another girl responds. “Even better in person. How is that possible?”
“He has huge hands. And feet.”
“That’s what you were looking at? I was focused on his face.”
I’m still looking at my phone screen but am shamelessly eavesdropping on the girls’ conversation because it’s more entertaining than reading about the library’s hours or which school the football team is playing in the season opener.
“Well, you know what they say…” A giggle. “I wonder if we’ll cover that theory in class.”
“I don’t care about the theory. I just want to see his dick in person.”
“Good luck, girl.”
My eyes are still on my phone, but I’m very tempted to look toward the voices behind me. The most scandalous thing I’d overheard in a lecture up until now was about petty drama with a roommate.
Maybe I’ve been sitting in the wrong spots.
Embarrassingly, I’ve often ended up seated in the front row. Most of my classes allow laptops, and it’s distracting seeing people in front of you shop for clothes or play games instead of taking notes on the lecture.
“God, can you imagine walking up toHolden Adamsand asking if you can see his dick? You know, for science?”
Both girls start laughing.
I freeze, realizing exactly who this conversation has been about.
Having no idea how to feel about it. Flattered? Annoyed?
