CHAPTER EIGHT: MIDTERMS AND NIGHTMARES
"Ugh," Savannah groans before slurping up the last of her black iced coffee. "Midterms can officially suck my—"
"Savannah!" Stephanie yells and shoves her shoulder before she can finish her sentence.
Savannah doesn't even reciprocate the shove but ends up just slamming her laptop closed and hopping off Stephanie's bed.
I blink my eyes a few times before giving in and rubbing them. All the words sprawled out across my laptop screen look small, and when I pass a glance at the notebook on my lap it resembles alphabet soup more than any coherent information. The only midterm I've survived so far is for my lab class, and the weight that lifted from my workload was relieving, but minimal.
I reluctantly bring my hands back up to my keyboard and attempt to keeping typing up my review sheet for my philosophy midterm tomorrow. It's an in-class writing, and he gave us six possible prompts. You would think that would narrow things down, and to an extent it does. But for my black and white, hypothesis and conclusion, this is this and here is the proof kind of brain, the possibilities when it comes to analyzing philosophical literature make my head spin just a little more than usual.
It doesn't help that during review last class Trent made it is goal to blow the biggest bubble gum bubble with the most silent pop. He failed miserably—so miserably—that I only had a second to choke down a laugh just as the whole lecture hall went silent, and everyone's swivel chair to swivel in our direction.
"Sorry," Trent lifted his hand up in an apology to Professor Collins.
"You should be," he bellowed back before continuing to lecture.
"Ugh." Megan sighs, not as disgusted as Savannah's groan, but just as tired. "I'm done, too."
I see Savannah push Stephanie's desk chair in my periphery, sending Megan for a spin around. However, Savannah decides to keep pushing, and Megan squeals a little bit. I glance over my shoulder to find that Megan decided to grab her phone and begin filming herself. They're both laughing and squealing, and I question how she's not dizzy yet before Savannah pushes against the back of the chair too hard and it almost goes crashing to the ground. Almost since Megan throws her hand out to grip Stephanie's desk, and Savannah lunches forward and grips the arms.
"All right, fools." Stephanie hops down from her bed. "Let's go get some food." There's some rustling as they all pack up their things before my laptop gets slammed closed in front of me. "You're coming, too."
"But," I start to protest, but Stephanie grabs my notebook and chucks it on my bed.
"No, buts we've been studying for, like, two hours."
I throw her some half joking disbelief, and she laughs as she slaps my arm.
"Okay, maybe only you've been studying for two hours, but whatever you still need food." She pulls me up, and that's when I realize just how numb both my butt and legs are.
"Fine." I give in as I stretch my arms up. "But we'll still study after, right?" I send my eyes around to each of them as I throw my black windbreaker on over my long-sleeve shirt.
"Right." They all respond in unison, but they all drag out the word like lying little kids and drag me out of the room before I can say anything else.
****
I suck in a deep breath as I remember where I am. My muscles are tense and weighted as I try to roll over with heavy eyelids. My heart is thundering in my chest, moving its way up in my throat. I try to even my breathing again, but as soon as my eyes close again all I see is black hoodies and a van. They still have their hands on my arms and my legs and around my neck.
I force my eyelids open, blinking and blinking as I roll on my back and will myself to breathe. My lungs feel like they shrunk down two sizes, while my heart grew times three, beating and beating me from the inside out.
I push back my comforter and reach for my phone charging on the window ledge. It's only four thirty-four in the morning. I sit up and spot all the things that are ordinary in daylight, but shadowy configurations at night. While my mind lulls to go back to sleep, I can't shake the cold sweat.
I get up and pick up the lid of my trunk and dig around, feeling at my clothes for the scratchy waterproof fabric of my athletic shorts. I replace my polka dotted pajama bottoms with them, keep my oversized t-shirt on, and grab the nearest sweatshirt I can find. It almost still feels like I'm dreaming as I stuff my feet into my sneakers and grab my phone. Especially once I'm blinking against the flickering yellow hallway lights and start jogging out of the building.
I throw open the dorm building door, and it clatters back against the bricks. The frigid morning air feels like a fresh slap in the face, but I greedily breathe it in. It should be enough to shake me out of the haze, but I still feel a shake in my knees that propels me forward onto the cement pathway. My sneakers scrap and pound along, finally coming in sync with the pounding inside my chest. I don't know where I'm going. I just know that as long as I keep moving the easier it is to forget.
The sky starts as a dark blue because the colder weather always postpones the sunrise but soon starts fading into lighter shades. The frosty haze coating the buildings starts to peel away, leaving behind the dewy grass and tree bark.
An hour passes before I'm walking back towards the dorm buildings, taking in all the oxygen I momentarily forgot I needed as the adrenaline fades and leaves just endorphins in its wake.
"I don't know how you do it," my mom used to joke when I'd come home drenched in buckets of sweat.
"It's the morphine." I'd jokingly stick my tongue out.
My heart pings a little at the thought of my mom. Bad dreams can follow you anywhere, but somehow, sometimes this whole campus still feels like a bad dream, only on the really bad days, when I'm texting my sister and yearning for my lilac room and movie nights on the couch snuggled up next to my mom.
I step around some geese poop before noticing something red walking the opposite way across the grass. It feels like a movie. Out of all the people on this campus, the night and shining armor in a bright red windbreaker jacket is trudging through the misty early morning haze. Only there's geese poop and wet sneakers that sink into the ground a little bit, making your slow motion walk more like begrudging clomps. He also seems to be wrestling with his zipper that looks caught in the silver spiral bindings of his notebook.
Trent looks up and freezes. The perfect action shot. If only his face didn't scrunch up. "Lacie?"
"Trent?"
He lifts a hand up and cups it around his mouth. "Lacie-e-e." He mocks an echo.
My lips curl up, but I still send him a now redundant wave before he starts clomping his way over to me.
He waves his arm like a showman. "What light through yonder window breaks?" He pauses and stands straight again. "And that's all I got."
I let out a laugh. "Zack would be very disappointed."
"I know. You know he's played Romeo four times actually?"
"Really?"
"Yeah, fifth grade talent show, seventh grade drama club, and then two back to back summer Shakespeare festivals the year before and after we graduated high school."
"Wow." I glance back up at the sky. It's more of a periwinkle blue, like the flowers on my comforter, reminding me of sleep, and the day that I'm now dreading to start. "I envy his memorization skills."
"Me too," Trent says around the pen he has back in his mouth. He wrestles with his notebook and zipper again. "Finally!" he sighs, catching his pen with one hand and adjusting his jacket with the other. "That's why I'm up actually." He lifts his notebook as he looks back up. "Cramming."
"At five am?"
"Yeah, I get too distracted in my room sometimes, and I have a book reflection paper for Sport and Exercise Psychology that I terribly procrastinated about. I've got"—he reaches inside his jacket pocket to check his phone— "exactly nineteen hours and counting."
"But five am?"
He smiles a little, and for a split second I'm reminded that I must look like the old hag in Snow White only my bed-head isn't hidden under a cloak, rather swinging high in a ponytail, and I've probably got morning breath to match the yellow teeth.
"Zack's snoring certainly doesn't help."
I nod as I go to turn. "Gotcha. I'll let you get to it then."
"No, wait!" He clears his throat. "What are you doing up?"
"Just running." I shrug.
His eyebrows raise. "At five am?"
"Ha, ha, I get it." I run a hand over my head. "I just . . . couldn't sleep."
"Ah, story of my life. Are you on your way back then? I'll walk you."
"No, it's okay. I don't want to distract you."
"Nah, you can help me actually. I'll run my paper idea by you."
I laugh a little. "I don't know if I can be much help, but okay."
We start walking down the pathway for a few minutes. The wind blows around and billows Trent's jacket a little. I switch my hair into a low ponytail all the while knowing my eyes are still glassy. I blink and blink, but most of what Trent's talking about seems to go right over my head, and it's not because I don't understand what he's saying, but rather my own brain won't shut up. Everything I have to do today, class, reading, prepare for lab later, what will I eat, will I get a chance to catch up on some sleep, continues to circle around my head on a continuous loop.
I pass a glance to the left. Trent stares back at me, so I quickly look down, but I still feel his gaze burning into the side of my head.
"Sorry, I must be boring you to death."
"No, not at all." I don't sound convincing. "I'm sorry, I'm just . . . tired."
"So, you decided to go on a run?"
I roll my head. "Well, when you put it like that." I swipe at my nose and shrug. "I just needed a distraction."
"Ah, I see. Running away from your midterms?"
"Yeah." I huff out a laugh. "Basically . . ."
We walk a few more steps in silence. Our feet scraping against the cement as some landscapers start pouring out from behind the buildings, passing each other greetings and pointing and nodding at things.
"Do you run every morning?"
"Yeah, I try. At least during the week."
"At five am?"
I crack a smile. "No, not usually."
Another beat passes as the dorm buildings come into view.
Trent's steps slow. "Which one?"
"Oh, Pemberley."
Trent nods and follows me as I cut across a large patch of grass. He flicks a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm over at Kings."
"Ah." I send him a look as I dig my hands into the front pocket of my sweatshirt. "The party palace."
He chuckles a little. "That's the one."
We step back onto the pathway, and I almost regret cutting through now that I have chilling ring of water surrounding my toes.
Trent stops walking. "Hey, Lacie."
"Yeah?" I glance back, only a step ahead.
He takes a step. "I'm not trying to pry or anything, it's just . . . are you really okay?"
I laugh. "I know I look a little crazy."
"No, that's not it. I mean"—he passes a glance at my feet— "You are wearing fuzzy socks."
I laugh harder. "It was still dark, okay?"
He holds his hands up. "I'm not judging. I'm just . . ." His posture sags. "Checking."
"I'm fine now, really." I run another hand over my hair. "It's just—it's silly." I wave my hand.
"No." Trent's voice is soft as he takes another step forward. "Tell me."
"It's really silly." I huff out another laugh, but I sober up when his gaze doesn't stray from my feet. I fidget a little in response. "I just had a bad dream that's all." Trent looks up, so I continue. "And I've always had bad dreams. I mean, it's not that bad anymore, but at one point when I was little it got really bad. It always involved me being kidnapped, or . . . worse." I gulp. "I don't know. It's just—you know the weird thing is, when I was little, I couldn't control it, and that's why I would get so scared, but as I've gotten older, especially in the last few years, I'm sometimes able to control it, in the sense that I can be conscious enough to know that I'm dreaming, and so that makes me better at trying to outsmart them. I'm able to do all the things, like call 911 or hide in a certain place, or trick them into thinking I'm going one way, but then going another, but the scary part is, no matter how many times I get away, they still end up catching me in the end."
Another breeze rolls by, reminding me of our surroundings.
"That is scary," Trent finally says.
I take a step back. "Yeah, but still silly."
"No, it's not." He mimics my step. "I've never thought . . . I mean, we all have bad dreams sometimes, but I just . . . I never thought that as a girl, I mean, women, you know, female." He clears his throat, making my lips quiver a little. He notices, and his lips seem to do the same before he shakes his head. "All I'm trying to say is I guess I take it for granted sometimes. My fears, although valid, will never compare to yours in that sense, I guess."
My eyebrows furrow a little. "I guess I never really thought of that either."
Another pause passes between us before it feels right to start walking again. The back of Trent's hand grazes mine as we fall back into step.
"I'm guessing that's also why you don't like scary movies."
I purse my lips at the urge to smile again. "Pretty much."
"Want to know what I do when I have a bad dream?"
"What?"
His smile is just as lopsided as my head. "I picture Zack in a coconut bra and hula skirt."
I stop in my tracks. My eyebrows draw together as my mind conjures up the image of a cartoon t-shirt covered Zack with a coconut bra on top, and I'm sputtering before I can help it. "No way!"
Trent lets out a few chuckles himself. "Okay, maybe not. But I've seen it."
I look back up. "No!"
"Yes!" He smiles. "Our eighth grade graduation dance was Hawaiian themed, and he decided to take it to the next level." He raises his hand as if raising an imaginary bar. "Hula skirt and all."
"No way." I laugh again.
"Let's just say the teachers weren't pleased."
"I can imagine." I'm still smiling as we start walking again.
We finally make it to my dorm building, and I find my eyes flickering between the door and Trent.
"Thank you for walking me."
"No problem." He nods.
"And for listening."
A smile traces his lips as he goes to rub at his eyes. "No problem." He alternates between rubbing and blinking for a second before meeting my gaze again. "I would say the same but . . ."
"Crap! I'm sorry, do you want to tell me now?"
"No, don't worry about it." He's still smiling as he tugs his notebook further into his side. "I'm not worried about it."
I take a step back. "Well, if you hit any roadblocks while writing, you can text me."
"Sounds good."
Another beat passes as we both linger on opposite edges of the pathway. The rising sun in the sky is casting an orange halo around the tops of the buildings.
"I'll see you later then." I offer as my body leans in towards the building, but my feet still don't move.
"Yeah." Trent stuffs his other hand into his pocket. "And Lacie?"
I tear my eyes away from my striped fuzzy socks. "Yeah?"
"You know you can always call me, if you want." He shifts his stance as his heel hits the grass. "I'm a terribly light sleeper."
"Thank you." We trade smiles as he takes another step back.
Trent bows forward. "Sleep well upon thine eyes!" He straightens back up and pauses. "Okay, so I lied. But who do you think read lines with him?" He laughs and lifts his hand in the pocket, sending me a final wave, before turning around.
I watch as the red of his jacket swishes from side to side as his sneakers toe into the grass with a lighter step than when I first saw him earlier. It's the same lightness that swells inside my chest as I'm shot with another round of endorphins that I didn't have to pound into my system, rather float into my bloodstream on their own accord.
I turn and go to push down on the door handle only to realize I forgot my ID. Time of death, six-seventeen am because Stephanie's going to kill me.