tuesday,
september 1st, 2020
EZRA GREYSTONE
Sitting alone under a cherry blossom tree examining Greenwich University's campus with a rapid heartbeat feels foreign. It doesn't feel like home, because I'm not home. In fact, I'm approximately 640 kilometres from home; Edinburgh.
Although it feels like I'm stepping into unchartered territory, at least I'm not doing it alone.
"Alright fuckhead?"
No, no I'm far from alone, for I have four of my outrageous friends to keep me company.
Back in 2018, my buddies and I spent three weeks at the end of the summer here. We were all the mere age of 16 and we were staying in these shitty dorm rooms with the summer school we signed up for. The weeks consisted of testing out a dozen courses in Greenwich University because it wouldn't be long until we'd have to make a decision on where we wanted to study.
Myself and Lola carried out this process with a variety of universities. Birmingham, Manchester, Glasgow, even our local uni in Edinburgh. But none seemed to fit the way this one quite did and the boys' hearts were set on London, hence why all five of us took a giant leap of faith and moved down here together to try and make this lifestyle work for us.
Sure, our parents were skeptical, but we've known each other since the beginning of secondary school when we were just about twelve years old and remained a tight knit group throughout our A Levels in upper secondary, years ten through thirteen and the little ages of fourteen 'til now.
I think they knew we'd keep each other safe and sane.
I look up from my carton of raspberries, that I'm too nervous to pick at, and meet the eye of my best friend, Lola. It's only when I part my lips to reply that I see the other three 'fuckheads' approach us too.
"I'm not a fuckhead," I purse my lips, watching as the three boys sit themselves down around me.
"Gimme one of those," Leo says, effortlessly grabbing four raspberries from my box and shoving them all in his mouth. "And you're a complete fuckhead, Theo."
I narrow my eyes at the scruffy-haired boy, "I wish you'd stop calling me by my middle name."
"But it rhymes with mine," he pouts, "We're a duo."
"Give it a rest, Leo," Ollie pipes up, following in his mate's footsteps and stealing a handful of raspberries, "What's a fuckhead anyways?"
Milo looks at me expectantly next and I roll my eyes, handing him my container. He grins broadly and cheesily, letting me know he's thankful without verbally thanking me.
"Yeah," he says with a nod of his curly head, voice muffled through a mouthful of berries, "Do you even have a definition, Lo?" Milo pointedly glances at Lola and she just shrugs.
"I wanna dye my hair," Lola replies, changing the subject. I'm sure it's because she doesn't even know what she's on about herself.
"What colour?" I ask, entertaining her idea.
She shrugs again, twisting a strand of her naturally blonde hair around her thumb, "Pink? Purple? I don't know."
"How 'bout black?" Leo snickers.
Milo scoffs, "Don't pull the piss, Leo. Red would be much nicer."
"Like the red of a Pringles box? Or the red of a Doritos bag?" Ollie ponders aloud, genuinely interested in which shade of red Milo is suggesting.
We all turn to him with crinkled noses and puzzled faces.
"What?" he widens his eyes innocently, tossing another raspberry into his mouth, "It's a serious question."
"God, Oliver, how did you even pass your A Levels?" I tease him, knowing full well that Ollie is actually brilliantly intelligent and is majoring in law.
"Speaking of education," Lola chirps, "Did you get the email from Mr. Lennon last night?"
"What? No!" I spit out, worry filling me up to the brim at the mention of our English professor we're yet to meet, in case we had to complete an introductory assignment or something for his class.
"Relax," Lola drawls, "Mr. Lennon won't actually be lecturing us this year."
I frown, "What d'you mean?"
Lola sighs, eyes fixated on the grass beneath us, "A fucking student he taught a year ago is taking over for first year. Apparently he's an aspiring professor, but I don't trust it. He's probably nervous and jittery and dumb as fuck—"
"You don't even know the guy, Lo," Leo points out the obvious.
"Wait, what the fuck? The lad must be, like, 22 or something," I jump in, "How is someone who graduated a bare year ago gonna teach us English language and literature?"
Lo huffs, "That's my point! This is so fucking last minute. The boy probably doesn't even know what he's doing!"
Milo shrugs, "What if he's hot?" he suggests absentmindedly, fishing out another berry from the box.
Lola and I simultaneously turn to him and deadpan, "Absolutely not," she disagrees.
"Well, have you seen him?" Leo rolls his hazel eyes.
I look over at Lola with a raised brow as she stubbornly folds her arms across her chest.
"Well— no," she defeatedly exhales, "Let's change the subject."
"You brought it up," Milo fires back.
"Shut up, Milo." Lola's brown eyes are narrowed and her thin lips are pursed.
Milo smirks, leaning closer with a palm on the grass behind him, "Make me, Deloris."
"Sometimes I think the sexual tension between the both of you is overwhelmingly sickening," I mutter, tearing my gaze from their interaction when they both begin to flush crimson.
"You're wearing odd socks," Milo says to me in a desperate attempt to tear the attention off of himself.
I glance down at my feet, "I'm wearing Nikes."
"One is purple, one is yellow," he deadpans, finishing off my raspberries.
"Your point?" I question pointedly.
I care about my appearance, sure I do. I have a simple style, I think. I don't wear revealing clothes and I much prefer the winter so I can bundle up in baggy hoodies and joggers or baggy jeans; my everyday look. Sometimes I wear a roll-neck underneath for warmth. A pair of crew socks is essential, to keep my shins warm under the circumstances of this sinful country's weather. It's not like I intended to wear odd socks today, but sometimes it happens when I'm in a rush. I get nervous and forget to care about my footwear when I'm scrambling to get somewhere.
I rarely even venture off to different colour palettes, to be honest. Beige, white and maybe grey, are my favourite colours for an outfit's colour way, but if I'm feeling particularly bold, I'll wear a loud hoodie or puffer jacket to make my outfit look somehow more than basic.
I like to read. I like to write. But I don't think you'd guess that by my fashion sense. Or maybe you would. I don't know, really.
Milo's dark eyebrows lift on his forehead and he gives me a look as if he's internally second guessing the choice he made back in 2014 to be friends with us.
It isn't long before Lola's checking her phone and informing me that we have precisely three minutes to get to our lecture hall.
"Shit," I mutter, grabbing the empty tub from Milo's hands and closing it up to stuff in my tote bag, "Lola, we have to go."
We gather our shit together and Leo pats my head as a friendly good luck wish as Lo and I scurry off across the quad, having a vague idea where our English hall is.
"Would you pick up the pace," I urge Lola, my short fucking legs scrambling to fall into a fast walk. "We can't be late on our first day, Lo."
"Relax," Lola grins, catching up to me easily because her longer, slimmer legs aren't threatened by my shorter, thigh-thickened ones. "Not like we're gonna get punished or anything."
I glare at her as we head for the building we're sure houses our English hall, just by the east gate entrance, "What're you on about?"
"I'm just saying," she shrugs, "If Milo is right and this graduate guy is hot... total daddy alert."
My face burns from embarrassment, well aware that Lola Mannix just said daddy aloud, "Stop!" I grimace.
Lo rolls her eyes at me, "C'mon, a hot, young professor? Absolute top tier kink."
"Would you shut up?" I mumble shyly as we approach a broad wooden door with a golden plaque beside it that reads Mr. Lennon, English Language & Literature. "He's probably not even remotely good looking."
"Bet you a fiver?" Lola smirks before we enter through the wide open door.
I furrow my brows as we head inside, most students already chattering loudly in their seats, "I thought you said he'd be nervous and jittery and dumb as fuck?" I quote her.
Lola hums, choosing a seat in the fourth row, four steps up the aisle, "Doesn't mean he can't be good looking. So, a fiver?"
I exhale, rolling my eyes, "Sure, Lo, a fiver."
——
a/n;
welcome, welcome!
a short first chapter to begin with.
opinions on the characters so far? there's much more to come on their personalities so don't worry :)