Our dorm room buzzes with nervous energy as a loud knock cuts through the air, piercing even the barrier of my noise-canceling headphones. The sudden intrusion makes my heart jump, a reflex from years of living on edge.
"Who's there?!" I snap, harsher than intended. The words escape before I can soften them, my default defense mechanism kicking in.
Evie's cultured accent drips with disdain. "Must you yell, Helga? It's so declasse." Pages rustle as she reclines, her expensive perfume hanging in the air like a fog of pretension.
I yank off my headphones. The sudden silence is eerie, almost oppressive. My callused fingers catch on the worn comforter as I toss them aside, a small reminder of the gap between Evie's world and mine.
"It's Nessa!" comes the muffled reply, tinged with barely contained excitement.
Evie sighs dramatically. "What is this, the loud bunch?" Her silky clothes whisper against the sheets as she turns away, a rustle of disapproval.
Vinessa bursts in, her wild red hair a fiery halo. Her fruity shampoo cuts through the stale dorm air, a whiff of life amidst the academic doldrums.
"What's gotten into you?" I ask, suppressing a cough. The bitter taste of old coffee lingers on my tongue, a reminder of another late night spent overthinking.
She bounces onto my bed, grinning. "Guess!" Her enthusiasm is almost infectious despite my mood.
I roll my eyes because I hate guessing games. "You got an A?"
"Guess again," Evie interjects sardonically, not even looking up from her book.
"It's a guy," Vinessa beams, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
I sigh but can't help smiling at her joy. "Who?"
"Mathew Rogers."
I peer up to the ceiling and search my memory, trying to place the name among the sea of faces I encounter daily.
"You've seen him," Vinessa insists. "He's popular and so cute. He reads like this." She demonstrates, pressing one of my books to her nose.
"Maybe he needs glasses," Evie quips, and Vinessa and I exchange smirks.
Vinessa's excitement over Mathew bubbles over, but the more she talks, the more hollow I feel. Mathew's sweet, perfect… and sounds way too much like Arnold.
What's it like to love without baggage?
My heart skips. Another do-gooder. Just great.
I force a smile, but my stomach churns. Mathew sounds painfully like Football Head. I've moved on. Jason is what I need—uncomplicated, fun. So why does Arnold still haunt me?
"Sounds like you've got it bad, Nessa," I tease, masking my envy. Not for Mathew, but for that feeling I once had.
Vinessa shrugs, trying to play it off, but who is she kidding? "I wouldn't go that far; we've been having a lot of fun."
"I can tell; these walls are very thin," Evie says, giving Vinessa a pointed look as she struts over to answer the door. One of Evie's little helpers, Rosie—Vinessa's dormmate—strides in, her lanky 5'11 frame looking awkward. "Here are the notes you requested," she says in a high-pitched voice, then sits carefully on Evie's overly frilly bed.
Evie scowls at the page. "Rosie, your penmanship."
"Sorry," Rosie mumbles, adjusting her glasses.
I facepalm. Just when I think Evie might have some depth, she pulls this.
It reminds me of when I used to boss Phoebe around in middle school. God, I'm glad I grew out of that.
I tune the rest of their sorry conversation out, listening to Vinessa drone on and on about Mathew.
My head starts to spin with all this chitter-chatter happening all at once. It's way too much estrogen in this room.
But despite that, I study the redhead in front of me. Her face is so expressive whenever she talks about either romantic stuff or a party. Normally, Vinessa mops around the dorm, complaining about how unfair all of her professors are.
Watching Vinessa gush about Mathew, I feel a twinge of envy. Not because I want Mathew but because I long for the excitement that seems to come so easily for her. Jason's nice, but my heart still echoes with the memory of Arnold.
When she changes the subject, I consider asking more about him, like what he looks like and what dorm he resides in. Maybe I'd run into Arnold... No. I shake the thought away. It'll only mentally steer me back down a football-headed rabbit hole to hell.
After Vinessa leaves, I collapse onto my bed, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me. Arnold's eyes—kind, thoughtful—linger in my mind. Jason's a great guy, but the way Arnold looked at me felt like home. No one has ever made me feel that way.
What was he going to say about my poem before Jason interrupted? What if he only felt pity for me?
This is too much. I press a pillow over my face, trying to smother the thoughts, but they won't shut off. Running into Arnold again would only drag me back into feelings I'm not ready to face.
Somewhere, probably not far from here, he's living his life too. I wonder if he ever thinks of me the way I can't stop thinking of him.
[Arnold's Perspective]
The dorm room air hits me as I step inside, its stale scent mingling with the familiar hum of the mini-fridge. My eyes land on the corkboard above my desk, its mess of reminders barely holding order. 'Call Grandpa!' scrawled on a yellow Post-it, the edges curling from age.
Mathew's side is its usual chaos—textbooks, flyers, and a new photo frame catch my attention. Red hair, wild and familiar. I lean in, recognizing the wide smile. A memory stirs: Helga laughing, soft and unguarded, the sound carried on a summer breeze. The warmth of it lingers before I push it away.
My phone buzzes—Gerald's text about basketball. For a moment, I'm back in those simpler times. But as I flop onto the bed, my mind circles back to Helga, as it always does. I thought two years would give me distance. I was wrong. Helga was still there, in every quiet moment, in every girl who wasn't her.
With a sigh, I pull out my Urban Planning textbook, determined to focus. But my mind wanders to tomorrow's project meeting with Mei at the library.
Glancing at my watch, I groan. An hour until my campus radio shift. At least it pays, even if only three people listen to my 2 AM jazz.
As I try to focus on my reading, I can't help but wonder what Helga's up to right now. Is she still hanging out with that red-haired girl? I wonder if Helga ever thinks about me the way I think about her. That guy she was with at the club... are they together? The thought makes my stomach churn.
My chance came and went years ago, but I blew it. I was too scared of what it might mean to really feel something for her, too scared of losing our friendship if things went wrong. Now, I'm stuck in this endless loop.
My head aches with guilt and regret for the part of me that thought, after two years, a beautiful and intelligent girl like Helga's life would be on hold.
A sigh tumbles out while making notes in my planning for things I need to do. College was supposed to be a fresh start—a clean slate. But no matter how many basketball games I played or late-night shifts I worked, my thoughts always circled back to one person: Helga.
Just as I start making notes, Mathew bursts in with a grin. "Hey, Arnold! You won't believe the amazing girl I've been seeing."
Mathew's grin grew wider with each word, but my gut twisted. Then it hit me—Helga's friend. The world seemed too closed in, too tight, too small. I couldn't escape her. Not now. Maybe not ever.