A Kiss Goodnight at the End of Forever

Chapter 10 Pt 1 - Second Contact

The 18th of August, 2015, My Seventeenth Life

I checked myself in the mirror mounted on my dorm room wall. I looked good, but not like I was trying too hard. I'd considered wearing my Bikini Kill t-shirt because it was her favorite band but my dad had advised against getting too cute. Instead, I'd opted for an olive green tank top with a jean vest. She always had a thing for me in denim.

"So you're ... not going to the Floor 3 mixer?" my roommate, Hikari, said from the corner of the mirror, sitting meekly on her bed.

I turned to her. She wore an orange and blue University of Illinois t-shirt and khaki shorts and looked to be on the verge of tears. "You're going to be fine," I said. "The first night is always tough. Everyone's at least a little homesick. You should go to the mixer. I bet you'll make friends." I returned to the mirror and checked my hair.

"Where are you going?"

"To see a friend." My hair was short and styled indifferently just as it was the first time. There were fewer split ends than I remembered – evidence that I'd taken better care this childhood – or that I cared at all. In addition, my face had more color and the muscles in my arms, more definition. Will the differences matter?

"A friend from Pasadena?" Hikari persisted.

"No, she's... It's complicated."

"Can I come?"

"It's really complicated." I turned to her and she wiped away a tear. I let out a sigh. She looked terrified, her arms crossed and shoulders hunched. I'd been waiting sixteen years for this day and didn't have time for a lonely roommate. But it felt good to care about people again and caring meant sacrifice.

I sat next to her on the bed and patted her on the back. "Tell me about yourself, Hikari."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... what are you into? Were you in any clubs in high school? Did you play a sport?"

"I was in color guard. That's not really a sport though."

"Are you kidding? Tossing and catching spinning metal poles and various weapons... A higher rate of concussions per capita than football... Oh, it's a sport. Were you on sabre or rifle?"

Her face brightened. "Both! Were you in color guard?"

"Not this last year..." Or any year in this life. "...but I have been. Tell you what, how about you and I check out the Union tomorrow. They have listings for most of the student run clubs or intramural teams. I'm pretty sure there'll be one for guard." I took a breath. "Maybe... we could join." There go my Saturday mornings...

She smiled and sniffled. "Yeah. Maybe we could."

"But I need you to do me a favor."

"Yeah. Sure," she said, still smiling from our plans. "What do you need?"

"Well, I do have to meet my friend tonight, but I also want to know who lives on our floor. So could you go to the mixer and meet as many people as you can? Find out stuff about them and go ahead and tell them stuff about yourself – because why not – and then you can tell me all about it tomorrow. Who's nice, who's not so nice and everyone in between. Sound good?"

"Yeah, I... I think I could do that," she said, talking herself into it.

"Fabtastic!" I raised my hand. "Team 303!"

"Team 303!" she repeated then slapped me five.

The alarm clock behind her read 5:32. Practice would end in twenty-eight minutes and I had a twenty minute walk to Urbana ahead of me. "Okie-dokie. I'll see you later tonight... probably." I stood and returned to the mirror.

My reflection was the same it had been two minutes ago. What had I expected? I closed my eyes and willed myself to trust my father's words: In the end, it won't matter what you look like, only who you are... He had, after all, done this more than once, himself.

Author's note:

How will Serafina's first attempt at a second meet-cute go? Check out the next part to find out...

Thank you for reading!!!