The Soulmate Hypothesis

Introduction (Part 1)

You'd think after two semesters of college with four 8ams a week I'd have no problem getting up on time for class, but summer break does things to a person. And so, instead of starting my Sophomore year the way I planned - a perfectly timed shower, a calm cup of tea and a bagel, a glance through my color coded planner, so intricately organized a month ago - I somehow manage to sleep through my alarm and begin my year with a scramble out of bed at 7:54am, giving me just enough time to throw clothes on my body, a granola bar in my mouth, and myself out the door by 7:56am. The customary five minute walk becomes a three minute hustle and I make it one minute early to my physical chemistry lecture.

Everyone's already taken their seats, and, though the professor hasn't arrived yet, the only empty spots are clustered in one awkwardly inaccessible corner of the room. It's a generally known fact that wherever you sit on the first day becomes your unofficially-official assigned seat for the rest of the semester - and I definitely got the short end of the stick. I slide past a few students, accidentally hitting one of them in the shoulder with my backpack, and frantically gasp an apology. "I'm a mess, sorry," I mutter as I sit down, furious at myself for not arriving earlier and claiming my preferred seat for any class - in the middle of the second row, best for visibility, but not too close that the professor's all up in your business.

I get settled and look around. To my left, a girl studiously writes in a planner, and I make a mental note: future friend? She looks up, and I smile, but she doesn't reciprocate and goes back to scribbling. So, I turn to my right and see a boy lounging as much as is possible in his narrow plastic chair. He's got a single piece of lined paper on his desk that looks like it's just been ripped out of a spare notebook - and nothing else. I pull out my five subject notebook, my planner, my water bottle, and my packet of colored pens, placing each item gently in front of me. His eye catches on my little setup, and he glances it over, then up at me, grinning.

I grin back. Future friend? I allow the thought, though I am silently judging him for his sloppy single notebook page.

"Good old Lawrence," he says. "Always late." It takes me an embarrassingly long second to realize he's talking about the professor.

"You've had them before?" I ask.

"Yep," he says. "Didn't you? I thought 'most everyone takes her for Gen Phys."

"I didn't take General Physics here," I explain. "AP Credit."

"Smartie pants," he says, but it's not an insult, and his mouth quirks up as he says it.

"Is she tough?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Eh."

I'm not sure what that means, but I nod.

"I mean, this is a PChem class," he continues, with a wave of his hand, as though that explains any better. "So we'll see."

"Yeah," I say, not sure how else to continue. Luckily, the door opens then, and Dr. Lawrence walks in, a long sundress with crescent moons covering her tall, wispy frame down to her ankles. She thumps a folder onto the desk and pulls a whiteboard marker from the bun in her hair.

"Hello, kids," she says. "I'm Dr. Junie Lawrence; I'm a theoretical chemical physicist. Syllabus is online, email me if you want office hours, let's get started with some thermodynnamics."

I raise my eyebrows at the lounging boy, and he raises his dark ones back.

"She's not one for introductions," he whispers.

"Clearly," I say, though my mind is mostly turning her name over in my head. I feel like I've heard - or read? - it before. I shake it off and focus on the lecture.