Weekend Friend

14.

FOR ME, THE start of a new academic year at Claremont University means reestablishing old routines. I run in the morning before lecture, study on CCB3, and treat myself to an iced oat latte from various cafes whenever I need a dose of caffeinated serotine. Then of course comes balancing the most pressing obligations in my life: co-parenting a corgi and maintaining some semblance of a social calendar. It's not easy, but I like the structure. I need the structure. It centres me, provides a sense of purpose.

The first week of Autumn Quarter passes in a blur of introductory lectures, life admin, and culminates in a night out with my Kappa Delta friends that leaves me with a throbbing headache the next morning.

But because I'm no longer an active sorority member, I don't have to factor weekly chapter meetings or sorority-sponsored social activities into my schedule. And now that I'm free of the ritualistic binds of Greek life, I have the luxury of hanging out with my friends without worrying conforming to any kind of expectations. I also have more time to spend with people who weren't ever bound by the shackles of Greek Life—namely Audrey Peters.

After spending the summer as a caddy at a country club on Cape Cod, Audrey's tan skin has become a few sunkissed shades darker, and the highlights in her brown hair only enhance her summary aura. She's basically the New England version of Malibu Barbie. Hell, she even surfs.

"You'd think that with all the tuition money we pay that our International Law lecture would be held somewhere other than the Fishery Science Building," Audrey bemoans on Thursday morning as we stand in a queue for our post-lecture breakfast treat.

"At least it puts us close to Ugly Bagel," I say as I survey the assortment of fresh bagels behind the glass display case. One of the few perks about having an early lecture is getting here before all of the Everything Bagels are gone, circumstances under which I'm forced to compromise with Sesame.

Audrey's chocolate brown eyes narrow at me from behind the oval shaped lenses of her Miu Miu glasses. The pink frames are the same shade as her skater dress. "Since when did you turn into a glass half full type of girl?"

"This morning," I quip with a grin. "Or maybe it's just the sun that's put me in a good mood."

Like everyone else in Seattle, I never take good weather for granted. When the sun is shining, you better haul ass outside, put on a smile, and stop to smell the coffee beans. Preferably the organic ones at Ugly Bagel. It's one of the many independent cafes located just off the high street, which gives it a more cosy, local feel.

"You're more of a California girl than you let on," Audrey says and steps up to the till to order before I can remind her that I loathe the whole California Girl stereotype. I'm not blonde, from Los Angeles, or speak in a high-pitched, nasal tone.

My phone pings in my hand, and I look down to see an email from Professor Mercer, who oversees the Centre for Speech & Debate. The notification sends a jolt of anticipation through me, and I immediately open it, knowing it contains my tutoring schedule for Autumn Quarter.

For six hours each week, I'll sit in a tidy little third-floor office in the Communications Building, where I'm supposedly qualified to help my peers design PowerPoint slides, and help polish their oratory skills. It's a decent gig, one I was offered after receiving high marks in COM 220 Political Communication & Debate. I'd taken the course during Winter Quarter of my freshman year to fulfill one of the prerequisite courses for the Communication major, which is highly capacity-constrained and has an acceptance rate of about 20%.

When I first received the offer, I genuinely thought it had been mistakenly sent to me because I would never describe myself as an excellent public speaker. Or speechwriter. Those titles are typically reserved for my dad or Logan. In fact, I've been told that I make quite enigmatic hand gestures, and talk faster than most people expect from a native Californian (reminder: I'm not a valley girl). But as it turns out, the offer was meant for me, and it was just my chronic self-doubt that made me think I wasn't qualified.