A long night of sleep is the perfect remedy after spending a day draining my fragile social battery, which is why not being able to sleep is the worst possible thing that could be happening to me right now. And when there's no water in the dorm to drink and no sweets to snack on, the situation just keeps on getting worse.
I grab my keys and leave in a hurry, thankful for the vending machines in the lobby, but frustration quickly bubbles in my chest when I see the machine is cash only. The only cash I ever carry on me always comes in bills bigger than five, which are the exact kind of bills it refuses to accept. Barington is supposed to be a big city university; shouldn't the vending machines at least take Apple Pay?
The warm tint of the wall lamps dimly light the path back from the lobby to the front door of my dorm, and it truly feels like the walk of shame. Not only am I completely restless, but now I'm also waterless and cookieless and overall joyless. And when I open the door to the dorm, I'm prepared to tiptoe back into my bedroom to grab some cash from my locked desk drawer, until a figure in the corner nearly sends me into a heart attack.
"Holy shit!" I screech louder than preferred. I can practically feel my soul leave my body for a short second before my eyes adjust and I realize the figure is just Aspen on the sofa, snacking on a grape Uncrustable.
She glances over to see me leaning over the tiny dining table, still trying to catch my breath. "Sorry?" she says.
I press my hand to my temple. "It's fine."
Despite my response, she doesn't look away just yet, even though she's clearly watching a movie of some sort. The scenes play out on the screen, but her expression just remains a mix of judgment and concern.
"Why are you still up?" I try to break the silence. "Don't you have class tomorrow?"
"Don't you?"
I roll my eyes and head into the bedroom to grab the cash. When I come back out, Aspen stares at me again.
"What?" I ask.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm getting snacks, is that okay with you?" I know my voice comes out a little snappy, and part of me feels bad for it. But the other part is so damn hangry.
After a short moment of quiet, she shuts her laptop and starts to stand up.
"What now?"
"I'm coming too," she says.
I scoff, starting to open the door. "Usually people ask before inviting themselves places."
"It's the vending machine, not a wedding," she says. "Also, I don't care."
I swing the door open as quietly as I can muster before stepping out into the cool midnight air. The moon whispers on the sidewalk as I wait begrudgingly for Aspen to get some cash from her bag, though I want to leave her in the room for making me wait so long. When she finally joins me outside, I start walking immediately.
Aspen keeps up with my pace pretty easily, despite my intentions, and we make it to the vending machines in no time. The desk assistant is scrolling through Instagram, clearly trying not to fall asleep, and I dig in my jacket pocket for the five I grabbed earlier. When I make my selection for Oreos, I enter the bill, but then the machine spits it back out at me.
I turn the bill the other way and enter it again, just to get it returned to me just the same. I let out a quiet groan of irritation before trying again, only to get the same result.
"You have to flatten the—"
"I know how to work a vending machine, Greenwood."
"Yeah, clearly," she says, her tone oozing with sarcasm. "Keep knocking 'em dead, Jasper."
Her stupid words push me past my breaking point even though I try to avoid them and before I realize it, I shove my five back into my pocket and start walking off back toward the dorm without another word.
"Oh, Jasper, come on!" Aspen's voice lingers behind me, but I don't slow my pace. It's already bad enough that I can't sleep, but when I'm trying to enjoy a nice pack of Oreos at half past midnight, I should be able to do so without having to deal with snarky comments like that! But no. Snarky comments and making my life a living hell are apparently all Aspen Greenwood seems to know.
"Cara, seriously!" Aspen's hand wraps around my wrist when I'm almost to the door of the lobby, but when I try to rip my hand away, she only pulls me closer.
Her grip is stronger than I imagined, and even though she allegedly had the best spike on the volleyball team, I didn't realize just how strong she actually was until now. The one quick pull is powerful and practically drives me directly into her arms as if we're preparing to tango.
There's a moment when, somewhere deep inside my chest, something glistens. There's the slightest aching feeling when our skin connects, and for a second, the last thing I want to do is pull away.
But then the next moment approaches when I realize the only reason I feel this way is because of the way my parents treated me and not because I find comfort in Aspen Greenwood's embrace.
"You seriously can't go five minutes without pushing my buttons, can you?" I ask her, tearing my wrist out of her grasp and taking a step back.
She sighs. "I was only joking. Don't you think you're overreacting a little?"
I take a moment to breathe and allow myself to calm down. She's right; I'm definitely overreacting. But that doesn't make her any less annoying.
"Whatever." I fold my five-dollar bill the long way and try to flatten it out as much as possible before entering it into the vending machine once more. When my hopes are highest, it still spits it back out at me. "Are you shitting me right now?"
"Don't worry, I'll spot you," Aspen says, nudging me out of the way.
"No, I don't need your help—"
"Stop being so fucking stubborn and let me do something nice for once, will you?"
Her tone catches me by surprise, but not as much as her words. It's not like Aspen has never been nice to me before, but she sure as hell has never been so blatant about it. It stuns me and keeps me distracted long enough for her to get the Oreos I wanted from the machine.
"Here." She places the package in my hand as she vends her own snack. "Eat before you pop a blood vessel."
She doesn't even get her own snacks before turning on her heel and heading back to the dorm without another word. Her perfume lingers for only a moment more before I open the package and pop an Oreo into my mouth. It's just as sweet as I hoped and instantly triggers a pit of guilt to sink into my stomach and drop down to my toes.
I quickly vend the water bottle I initially came out here for and make my way back to the dorm as well. Except, when I arrive, I don't seem to see Aspen on the couch anymore. The bathroom light is off, and so is the light in the bedroom, so either she decided to go for a walk or she's already in bed somehow.
Just in case, I tiptoe into the room as quietly as I can manage and set the bottle down on my desk. When I glance over to Aspen's bed, she's sleeping soundly on her side, a soft and serene silence filling the room. Her face is so calm and innocent; it's like looking at a completely different person. Not that she's ever really been very wild—I guess I've just never seen her looking so sweet before.
God, how cliché is that?
Her eyes blink open for a short second and I realize how close I'm standing by her. My body scurries to the other side of the room where my bed stands against the wall and I instantly avoid eye contact. How creepy is it to watch someone sleep? Who am I, Joe Goldberg?
I bury my face into my pillow to disguise my warm cheeks; this is so not like me. Maybe I just need to go to sleep. Classes start in the morning and I'm sure some rest will help clear things up a bit.
I wake up the next morning to my phone alarm blaring in my ears while Aspen is still sleeping soundly. My eyes clench shut in irritation and I stop the early seven A.M. screaming; I knew I'd hate not being able to fall asleep.
I take my time getting ready for class, showering quickly enough to do my hair and makeup. Realistically, I know having pretty hair and a full face of makeup on the first day of school isn't necessary, but it makes me feel more confident. And at a time like this, I need this confidence.
It takes me a few minutes to find a decent outfit and I end up just going with regular denim shorts and some old crop top I haven't worn in months. I throw on some mascara and lipgloss before brushing out my hair and as I'm about to turn on the blowdryer, there's a knock on the bathroom door that gives me a little jump. I'm still getting used to sharing my space with other people—one of the many side effects of being the only child growing up.
"Hey, what's your ETA in there?" I recognize Opal's voice through the door. Their tone is neutral but my brain keeps trying to convince me they're upset with me.
"Oh, I'm just finishing up!" I tell them, though I admittedly planned on drying my hair first. "Let me grab my stuff and head out."
There's no answer on the other end as I gather my makeup bag and hairdryer, but when I open the door, Opal's standing in their black lace nightgown, rubbing at their eye.
"Sorry," I mumble softly as I scoot past them. They wave me off as they yawn.
"You're okay," they say as they slide in past me. I set my things back down on my desk and check out my final look in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the bedroom door.
For a moment, I glance over at Aspen's bed, where she's still sleeping gracefully. Her blonde braids waterfall behind her as the sunlight glistens on her gold septum ring. I still remember the day she got it pierced—it was like our entire grade fell in love with her for a month. I never understood; it's just a septum piercing.
I put on my socks and shoes and double-check that I have everything I need before I head out for my nine A.M. class. When I start walking, I thank myself for exploring a little the other day; it makes finding this building much easier in the long haul. And after about a ten-minute walk, I make it to Norman Hall, where my classroom is a giant lecture hall filled with hundreds of chairs. Only a third of them are taken up by the time I get there, but within about ten minutes, the clock hits nine and there are only a handful of empty seats.
A person I don't recognize sits beside me, smiling at me as he lowers himself down. "Hi," he says warmly, grinning at me with bright white teeth and a wide, crooked smile. He's wearing a mustard-colored beanie that complements his bronze skin tone well and a white band tee with rolled-up sleeves, tucked neatly into some black cargo pants. There's an impressive metal belt made up entirely of silver hoops bringing the whole outfit together, as well as his pure white sneakers. I don't think I've ever seen so much style on a man before.
"Hello," I smile back, trying to pretend like I wasn't just analyzing his entire outfit.
"This is Introduction to Film Studies, right?" I nod and he nods back, dropping his tote bag to the floor and pulling out his sticker-loaded MacBook. "I'm Ambrose," he introduces himself.
"Cara," I reply kindly—he seems like a nice person. And someone I could take fashion advice from.
"Are you a film major too?"
"I am! Are you?"
He nods. "Yeah, but I hardly know anything about film. I just changed my major, like, two weeks before classes started."
"Wait, that's allowed?"
"I guess so!" He opens his laptop to the Canvas course for this class. "I applied as a painting major and changed it after co-directing one of my high school's daily news videos."
"That sounds so cool! My high school had nothing like that."
"What school did you go to?" he asks. I chuckle a little to myself.
"Not one anywhere near the area," I pull a strand of hair behind my ear as I reach down to grab my own laptop. "I'm from Vermont."
"Vermont? What are you doing all the way out here then?"
"Well—"
"Good morning, everyone!" the professor at the front of the lecture hall calls out suddenly, so I stop talking. I nod to Ambrose as a way to let him know we'll finish this conversation later, and he nods back, seeming to understand.
The professor, Dr. Briar, spends the entire class going over the syllabus and introducing herself to us, including all of her academic achievements and her experience working in film. There's no doubt she has an impressive resume, which makes me thrilled to be learning from her.
Throughout the class, Ambrose and I exchange smiles and occasional whispers about something funny that relates to whatever Dr. Briar is talking about, and we engage so much that it hardly feels like I'm talking to a stranger anymore. So when the professor dismisses the class and Ambrose inevitably asks for my phone number, I am beyond willing to share.
"You have to meet my roommate," he tells me as I type my number into his phone. "He has family in Vermont so he visits pretty often. I think you guys would get along pretty well."
"It would be cool to know someone else who's spent some time there," I say honestly. Especially since the only other option hates my guts.
"Actually, we're meeting for dinner later. Do you wanna join us?"
"Oh, um—"
"You can bring your roommate too, if you want someone there you'll be a little more comfortable around."
If only he knew.
"Yeah, maybe." I adjust my backpack on my shoulders. "Text me the details and I'll let you know in a couple hours."
He nods and heads off to his next class and now I'm standing here, trying to figure out how I can ask Aspen Greenwood, of all people, to accompany me to a dinner with people she probably couldn't care less about.