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I reach out and hit theSnoozebutton, feeling like I fell asleep five minutes ago. That might be accurate, actually.
My eyes are dry and gritty as I blink up at the white plaster ceiling of my new bedroom. I only managed a few hours of sleep, up late tossing and turning, worried about what today will be like.
I sit up, untangling the sheets from around my legs before I slide out from under the warm comforter.
The sting of cold floorboards against my bare feet makes me wince as I rush over toward the dresser that contains all my neatly folded, clean clothes. Reminding me to thank my mom—again—for unpacking my entire wardrobe.
First day at a new school.
The thought makes my skin prickle with panic.
I hate starting over. I attended elementary, middle, and high school in Somerville with the same set of people.
Fresh starts aren’t second nature to me. And I only know one other Holt student. A girl from my graduating class chose toattend Holt, but I haven’t reached out to her since I was accepted as a transfer.
I was adamant—excited—about leaving Washington for college, and my eighteen-year-old self made that obvious. Ending up back here feels like a failure, even though Holt is considered an excellent school and isn’t necessarily an academic downgrade.
I focus on even breathing—deep inhales and long exhales—as I walk into the hallway and head toward the bathroom.
Dakota’s bedroom door is still shut, so I don’t have to worry about waiting my turn. I run through my usual morning routine and then return to my room to get dressed.
I decide to wear a wool-blend miniskirt I bought in London and a cozy sweater. My shoulder-length, dark brown hair is a knotted tangle from my sleepless night. It takes me ten minutes to coax the strands into cooperating, then another twenty to apply a full face of makeup. More than I would normally bother with, but today it feels like armor. Like the more flawless my complexion appears, the more smoothly today will go. I pull on tights, boots, and a jacket, loop a scarf around my neck, and then grab my backpack.
Aside from the occasional creak that’s just a characteristic of old houses, there’s no sound as I walk toward the front door.
I’m not a morning person. I don’t understand why anyone would choose to get up when the other option is to stay under warm sheets. But I had last pick of classes because I was abroad last semester and got stuck with a nine a.m. lecture.
Despite my annoyance with the early hour, the walk isn’t terrible. There’s something peaceful about being outside with little commotion around you. Makes it easier to think and to relax. The sun is peeking out today, making the walk toward campus a little more enjoyable. The rhythmic thump of my backpack against my spine is almost relaxing, as steady as a heartbeat.
This neighborhood is mostly other Holt students, so there’s not much activity yet. No adults rushing to work or kids standing outside waiting for the school bus.
The tree branches overhead are all bare, but the grass is still more green than brown.
There haven’t been any snowfalls since I’ve been back in Washington, my only recent glimpse the drifts in Colorado over winter break. Snow in a major city wasn’t the same, more of an inconvenience that led to public transit running even less reliably than usual.
I’m hoping Somerville is due for a small blizzard soon. Nothing is more scenic than seeing the boughs of the pines scattered along the Sound’s shore weighted down with glinting white. I’ve always loved taking photos of snow.
My skin warms despite the slight breeze, thinking of my favorite photo I took in Colorado.
Five minutes later, I’m passing the main entrance of the university, marked with a giant stone sign that’s new since I last visited.
Holt’s campus is beautiful.
I’ve seen it before, obviously.
My dad has worked here for most of my life, and Somerville is not a huge town. Local swim lessons were held at the pool here, and I learned to skate on the same ice rink my dad coaches on. The middle school theater production I reluctantly took part in was held in the university’s auditorium.
But everything looks different now, passing buildings for the first time as a student. There’s a warmth in my chest, a comforting familiarity and an allegiance that never appeared anywhere else I’ve attended college.
Returning home to realize it has changed, and so have I, is notthe terrible feeling I was expecting. And it feels a lot less disjointed than any of my other first days on a college campus.
I still have twenty-five minutes before my first class, so I head toward the coffee shop located next to the student center and bookstore first. Nerves have stolen most of my appetite, but I could really use some caffeine after my sleepless night.
Warm air hits me first when I walk inside the coffee shop, the smell of brewing coffee appearing a few seconds later.
There are a couple of girls chatting with the blonde managing the register, giving me time to scan the chalkboard menu. They’re all standard offerings, nothing all that exciting or original. We’re past pumpkin and peppermint season, I guess, and a long ways from summer.
I’m supposed to be focusing on positives today, so I take note of the banana nut muffin in the pastry case. My favorite flavor, and showing up to my first class with an empty stomach is probably a bad idea. Math classes are rarely that rambunctious, and I don’t want to be the new girl with the growling stomach audible over the professor’s lecture.
