Chapter Thirteen

Wednesday;

After my lecture, I headed straight to the park where Lea wanted to meet up. Naturally, Lana Del Rey was on full blast as I cruised down the road, her haunting voice filling the car. When I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed Lea's motorcycle parked in its usual spot, glinting under the sun. I parked next to it and got out, spotting her immediately on the familiar bench, already smoking a cigarette.

I shook my head with a smirk as I made my way over, the smell of tobacco hitting me before I even got close. Just as I reached her, I cleared my throat, trying to be subtle, but it startled her enough that she almost dropped her cigarette.

Lea spun around, wide-eyed, clutching the cigarette like it was her lifeline. "Stop, I could've dropped my cigarette!" she whined, though the grin on her face told me she wasn't really upset.

I chuckled as I sat down beside Lea, my eyes drifting toward the pond where the ducks glided lazily across the surface. The park was always so peaceful, a little slice of quiet that made the world seem distant for a while. The gentle rustling of leaves, the soft ripple of water—it was exactly what I needed after the chaos of the week.

Lea took a slow drag from her cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke as she turned to me. "Anything interesting happen this week?" she asked, boredom lacing her voice. "Please tell me you've got something, because my life's been dead."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I almost killed Prof. Montgomery yesterday."

Lea's head snapped in my direction, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Wait, what? Spill."

I leaned back, still trying to shake off the embarrassment of it all. "Okay, so you know I've been volunteering at the hospital, right?" Lea nodded, already hooked. "Well, I've made friends with this sweet old lady, Elizabeth. She's been stuck in the same room for a while, so I decided to take her out to the garden for some fresh air."

Lea raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Go on."

"So I'm pushing her down the hallway, and she's like, 'Let's speed down the hall, it'll be fun!' And, like an idiot, I actually did it," I said, shaking my head at my own foolishness. "Everything was fine—Elizabeth was loving it—until I rounded a corner and nearly knocked Prof. Montgomery off her feet."

Lea burst out laughing, practically choking on her cigarette smoke. "Oh my gosh, you almost swept her off her feet, literally?!"

I nodded, feeling the embarrassment creep up my neck. "She almost bit my head off, ranting about how I could've killed her mother."

Lea's eyes nearly popped out of her head, and she started to choke on her words. "Wait—did you just say mother?" She shook her head in disbelief, a half-smirk forming. "Dude, I'm pretty sure Montgomery already hates your guts, and now you've almost killed her mother? That's next-level."

I groaned, rubbing my temples. "I didn't even know it was her mom! I mean, they don't share the same last name. How was I supposed to know?"

Lea burst out laughing as she stubbed out her cigarette and flicked it into the trash can. "Your year is going to be pure hell," she snickered, eyes twinkling with amusement.

She wasn't wrong. Prof. Montgomery had already given me the most disgusted look during class today, and I had the sinking feeling this was only the beginning. If it wasn't official before, it definitely was now—Montgomery was going to make this year absolute hell for me.

✿

Thursday;

Lea and I had just wrapped up the small task Prof. Montgomery assigned. It wasn't particularly difficult, just tedious, and we spent the entire lecture hunched over our desks, scribbling notes and checking each other's progress. It wasn't officially a group project, but that didn't stop us from quietly working together. Why suffer alone when you can suffer with someone else, right?

As the clock ticked closer to the end of class, we packed up our things, shuffling notebooks and pens into our bags while waiting for Prof. Montgomery to dismiss us. The air felt thick with that awkward post-lecture lull, everyone eager to leave but tethered to their seats until the professor gave the signal.

Of course, in true Lea fashion, she pulled a Monster energy drink out of her bag and cracked it open, taking long swigs like she'd been parched all morning. I shot her a sideways glance, hoping she wouldn't follow it up with one of her notorious loud burps.

Lea smirked as if she could read my mind, "Don't worry," she said between sips, "I'll burp quietly this time."

I chuckled, shaking my head before turning my gaze back to the front of the room.

My eyes wandered over to Prof. Montgomery, who sat slouched in her chair, barely paying attention as a student stood nervously in front of her. The student was gesturing at their paper, explaining how they were stuck on a question, while the professor simply leaned back, arms folded, with an expression that screamed disinterest.

She looked different today—her hair, usually tied up in a tight bun, was left down, loose strands framing her face. Instead of her usual professional attire, she wore a pair of faded jeans and a baggy shirt, like she couldn't be bothered to put in the effort. It was almost jarring to see her like this, so casual and unbothered.

With a sigh, Prof. Montgomery leaned forward, yanking the paper from the student's hands with little care, her eyes scanning the page in quick, bored flicks. After a few seconds, she offered a half-hearted explanation, her voice flat as she asked if the student understood. Then, with a dismissive wave, she sent them away from her desk, barely sparing them another glance.

A loud, unmistakable burp echoed from beside me, startling me out of my focus. I whipped my head towards Lea, who looked just as shocked as I was. "Dude, I swear I didn't do that on purpose," she muttered, shaking her head. "It just slipped out."

A few students around us snickered, clearly amused by the sudden interruption. My eyes darted toward Prof. Montgomery, whose face was twisted in pure disgust. She shook her head, muttering under her breath, "A fucking child," before returning to her work, clearly unamused.

I stifled a laugh. Seriously, it's just a burp. Everyone does it. Sure, Lea could've kept it quieter, but Prof. Montgomery was acting like it was some catastrophic offense.

"You really need to stop drinking that in her class," I whispered, trying to contain my amusement. Lea gave me an apologetic shrug, her lips quirking up in a grin. "I need something to get me through this awful professor's class," she replied.

As soon as Prof. Montgomery finally dismissed us, Lea and I bolted out of the room, practically racing to escape the tense atmosphere. Once outside, Lea threw her arm around my shoulder, her usual mischievous grin in place. "What the hell do we do now?" she asked, her voice light with relief now that we were free.

Good question. We had an hour to kill before our next lecture with Prof. Martin. The possibilities were simple, we could hang out by the fountain, grab coffee at Midnight Mocha, or—if we were feeling productive—hit the library. I glanced at Lea, knowing her too well. The library wasn't on her radar today.

"Chill at the fountain?" I suggested with a shrug, envisioning the quiet gurgle of the water and the warm sunshine filtering through the trees.

Lea paused for a moment, pondering the options as if she were considering something far more profound. Then she gave a decisive nod. "Sold. But first, let me hit the restroom." She dropped her arm from my shoulder and spun on her heel, already on her way.

I had just started toward the fountain when a figure in the hallway caught my attention. It was Prof. Vargas, and she looked like she was fighting a losing battle, balancing a towering stack of books in her arms. The books wobbled precariously, threatening to spill out of her grasp at any second.

Without thinking, I jogged over to her, offering a friendly smile. "Do you need some help?" I asked, nodding toward the pile of books.

Relief washed over her face as she smiled back, her grip loosening. "Yes, please," she sighed gratefully, holding out the stack. I quickly took several books from her, immediately feeling the weight of them.

"Where to?" I asked, shifting the books in my arms to get a better hold.

"All the way to my office," she gestured down the hallway with a tilt of her head.

With a quick nod, I fell into step beside her. The hallway stretched out long and quiet, the only sounds were our footsteps and the occasional rustle of paper. The silence felt a little awkward, so I kept my gaze forward, focusing on not dropping the books.

After a few moments, Prof. Vargas broke the silence, her tone light and curious. "How are you doing with your classes so far?" she asked, glancing over at me.

I glanced over at her, giving a half-hearted shrug. "It's fine, the work has been a lot, but it's nothing I can't handle," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Prof. Vargas raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she nodded. "I sense a bit of frustration in that sentence," she teased.

I sighed and pursed my lips, shifting the weight of the books in my arms. "Nah, everything's good," I replied, though my voice probably wasn't as convincing as I'd hoped.

"Come on," she chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "What's the matter? You can tell me."

Letting out a deeper sigh, I adjusted the books again, my fingers starting to cramp. "I'm just having a hard time with one of my professors," I admitted, though I kept my tone light. "But it's fine. I'll just keep my head down and get through it."

Prof. Vargas shot me a curious glance, her eyebrows lifting slightly. "Who?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. I couldn't help but chuckle, shaking my head.

"Yeah, I'm definitely not telling you that," I laughed, the absurdity of it all making me relax a little.

She scoffed playfully, nudging me with her elbow. "Spill! Unless it's me," she added with a grin, "then definitely don't tell me."

I chuckled, the tension melting away as we reached her office door. "It's definitely not you, but I'm still not telling," I said with a playful grin as I held the door open for her.

She stepped inside and set the stack of books down on her cluttered desk, motioning for me to place the ones I carried beside them. Her office was cozy, filled with old volumes and scattered papers, a faint smell of lavender lingering in the air. Once the books were settled, she clasped her hands together, her face bright with gratitude.

"Thank you so much for helping me," she said sincerely. I waved it off with a casual shrug. "Don't worry about it. I just did what anyone else would've done."

She raised an eyebrow, her lips pursing in mild disbelief. "You'd be surprised," she said, shaking her head, "how many students just walked past me without offering to help."

"That's actually kind of sad," I admitted, frowning slightly. I couldn't imagine doing that. It seemed like such a small thing, helping someone out.

Prof. Vargas nodded, a soft sigh escaping her. "Anyway," she added, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes, "are you going to tell me who that professor is?"

I glanced dramatically at my wrist, as if checking an invisible watch. "Oh wow, would you look at the time! I've got to run!"

Her hearty laugh filled the small office, echoing off the walls as she waved me off. "Alright, alright. Get out of here!"

With a grin, I gave her a mock salute and slipped out the door, relieved to have dodged the question—at least for now.

I stepped out of Prof. Vargas's office, pulling the door shut with a soft click. A sudden realization hit me—Lea! I had completely forgotten about her. Heart racing, I picked up my pace, practically speed-walking down the hallway.

As soon as the fountain came into view, I spotted Lea lounging on the bench, legs crossed, looking relaxed. She raised an eyebrow as I jogged up to her, breathless. "I am so sorry!" I blurted out. "I got caught up helping a professor with her books."

Lea shrugged casually, flicking ash off the end of a cigarette. "No biggie," she said, blowing a lazy cloud of smoke into the air. "It gave me time to have a smoke."

I dropped onto the bench beside her, still catching my breath. Digging through my bag, I pulled out two chocolate bars, offering one to her with a sheepish grin. "Here, peace offering."

Her eyes lit up, and she snatched the bar with a gleeful smile. "Thank you! You know I can't resist chocolate."

We sat there in comfortable silence, unwrapping our chocolates and letting the peaceful atmosphere of the park wash over us. The sound of the fountain's gentle trickle and the occasional chirp of birds made everything feel calm, a perfect contrast to the rush earlier.

Once we finished, we crumpled up the wrappers and tossed them into the trash can nearby. The moment was short-lived, though, as the clock was ticking. Slinging our bags over our shoulders, we stood up and began the short walk to Prof. Martin's class, side by side, ready to face the next lecture.

✿

I arrived home, letting the front door swing shut behind me as I tossed my bag carelessly into the corner. My stomach growled, reminding me just how hungry I was. I need food.

Making a beeline for the fridge, I yanked it open, scanning the shelves. Leftover takeout, a jar of pickles, and half a carton of milk stared back at me, but nothing that could pass for a meal. After rummaging for a few minutes, my frustration grew. I sighed heavily, shutting the door with a bit more force than necessary. "Guess it's time for a grocery run," I muttered to myself.

Grabbing my car keys from the hook, I headed back out, locking the door behind me. The evening air was cool, and the short drive to the supermarket was a blur of passing streetlights and quiet roads. Once there, I quickly grabbed a basket and got to work—meat, fresh vegetables, and, of course, a selection of snacks to fuel those late-night cravings.

Back at home, I unpacked the groceries, placing everything neatly in the fridge and pantry. My stomach growled louder, pushing me to whip up something fast. I settled on a ham sandwich, simple yet satisfying. Within minutes, I had it prepared—fresh bread, thick slices of ham, a generous spread of mustard. I bit into it, savoring the flavors as I leaned against the counter, the hunger finally starting to fade.

Not glamorous, but exactly what I needed.

I sank into the couch, letting out a satisfied sigh as I grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV. The familiar theme song of Psych filled the room, instantly putting me in a relaxed mood. There's something about this show that never fails to help me unwind. The witty banter, the goofy detective work—it's the perfect escape.

A few episodes flew by in what felt like minutes, and before I knew it, the credits rolled on yet another mystery solved. I stretched lazily, my legs tingling from sitting for so long. Time to get moving. Turning off the TV, I got up and made my way to the kitchen, placing my empty plate in the sink with a satisfying clink.

Cracking my knuckles, I glanced around the room, mentally gearing up for dinner prep. "Alright," I muttered to myself, "Let's make something good tonight." My mind settled on a simple, comforting idea, mixed vegetables, rice, and some oven-baked chicken.

I nodded, feeling confident. Grabbing everything I needed from the fridge and pantry, I spread it all out on the counter—fresh carrots, bell peppers, broccoli, rice, and the chicken thighs I picked up earlier. I could probably look up a recipe, but how hard can this be?

I placed a couple of pots on the stove and preheated the oven, the low hum of the appliances filling the kitchen. Standing back, I mentally planned my steps. The vegetables will cook quickly, so I'll leave them for last. Rice can go on now, and the chicken can bake while I prep everything else.

With a determined nod, I set to work, my kitchen coming alive as I chopped and seasoned, the air filling with the smells of dinner coming together.

I'll admit it—I had no idea what I was doing in the kitchen. Sure, it looked decent, but I had this nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, I should have seasoned the chicken a bit more.

Just as I was finishing up plating the food, the front door creaked open, and my aunt breezed into the kitchen, her face lighting up. "It smells so good in here!" she exclaimed, inhaling deeply.

I shot her a nervous smile as I set the last plate down. "Let's hope it tastes as good as it smells."

She chuckled, grabbing some utensils from the drawer. "I'm sure it will."

We carried our plates to the table, where she eagerly sat down, rubbing her hands together as if preparing for a feast. "This is exactly what I needed!" she said, already diving into her rice with gusto.

I watched her as she enjoyed the first few bites, but then she hesitated, her brows furrowing as she cut into the chicken. She chewed slowly, then paused, glancing up at me with a grimace.

"Uh oh," she murmured, poking the chicken with her fork. "This is undercooked."

My heart dropped, and I whipped my head toward her, eyes wide with panic. "What!" I gasped, quickly slicing into my own chicken to inspect it. Sure enough, the inside was still pink.

Yeah, the chicken was severely undercooked. Dangerous undercooked. It was strange, though—it had looked perfectly fine on the outside, crispy and golden. I rubbed my forehead, feeling the weight of disappointment settle in. "I am so sorry!" I muttered, shaking my head.

My aunt, ever the optimist, smiled warmly and waved me off. "Don't worry about it, honey," she said gently, her eyes soft with understanding.

But I couldn't let it go that easily. "No, it's really not okay," I sighed. "I just wanted to make you dinner, something nice to come home to after your long shift."

She smiled again, this time with more sympathy, as she gathered our plates. "It's no problem at all. I'll just pop these in the oven for a few minutes, and we'll be all set." Her tone was casual, like this was a tiny bump in the road.

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling of failure. I hated when my attempts to do something thoughtful ended up going wrong. Frustrated with myself, I got up from my chair and joined her in the kitchen, watching as she slid the chicken back into the oven with ease.

I leaned against the counter, shaking my head. "You know," I sighed, "I probably should've followed a recipe."

I scoffed at my own stubbornness. Next time, I'll definitely stick to something foolproof, maybe even get the step-by-step instructions from the internet. After all, I'm no professional chef.