Nightlife ✓

06 | python

ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, AFTER ANOTHER long Tuesday night shift at Topaz, I arrived late to the Biophysics lecture. Again.

I slipped into the lecture hall with barely a door squeak. My crocs shuffled lightly on the carpet as I descended past rows and rows of occupied chairs. Sometimes they even squelched, but I was lucky today. My hoodie was tied around my waist because I'd heated up running to class, the sleeves flapping by my thighs.

I held my textbooks pre-emptively cradled in my hands, ready to open them as soon as I found a place to sit. But that was proving a real challenge, with no available seats next to the aisle.

I saw Quentin on the way to the front, in the middle of a row of seats. Inaccessible. He noticed me as I passed him, and gave me a soft smile of acknowledgement. My stomach warmed with happiness. We were still on civil terms, but I couldn't kill the endless curiosity I had towards him.

Why did he hate influencers? Was it an immediate turn-off? Could I change his mind?

Eventually, I slid into a chair at the very front of the room. The lecturer did not hide his displeasure at my late entry. Since I was so close to the front, my head would probably appear on the lecture recording. I kept my head bowed as I immediately started scribbling down notes.

In the pockets where the lecturer taught concepts I was familiar with, I let my mind wander over the last time Quen and I had spoken. After eating lunch in our pyjamas on Saturday, I had retreated to my room to begin my article on Massachusetts' native flora and fauna and the invasive species that threatened them.

Alongside being a club promoter for Topaz, an influencer and model, I was a contributing writer for Natural Affairs, a science journal that released a monthly online magazine. I wrote about biology because of my major, three pieces for each issue, which meant that roughly every week, I needed to write a popular science article. I had been doing the job for two years, and I liked it much more than Topaz. I could work from my bed, I could choose the stories I covered, and each week forced me to learn more and broaden my scientific horizons.

Halfway through writing my latest piece, I had received a Facebook message from Quen.

Quen: Thanks for looking after Fraser. Hope you didn't get into too much trouble.

Krista: You're welcome. You guys were perfect patrons, don't worry. :))

It was crazy how much effort I put into crafting the perfect response.

I wanted him to like me, to see that I was just a normal person trying to make her way in the world. My social platform didn't make me any less of a potential... friend.

I wanted to be sweet but succinct, and Viv would have smacked me if she knew how much mental capacity I dedicated to choosing an emoji.

If I used the winking face, that would be much too obvious—and a little irrelevant to the rest of the message—but if I didn't use any, the words came off clipped and professional.

One parentheses in a smiley face was too passive aggressive. So I settled on two parentheses and sent the message with a racing heart.

And Quentin hadn't even replied after, which made me think he was sorely uninterested in me. Even I wanted to slap myself, if I was honest. What the hell was I doing scrutinising text punctuation?

Guys didn't make my heart race; I had that effect on them.

Why did I care so much? Was it because he didn't fawn over me like everyone else?

One hour later, the Biophys lecture was over. I took the stairs two at a time in order to catch Quentin on his way out but make it look like I had just casually appeared next to him. He was ambling slowly out of the lecture hall, held back by the crowd of students doing the same.