Star's Theory

PPS

To: aworkinprogress

From: starstheoryprevails

Subject: This Assignment??

So A, what do you think this assignment is about? Are our professors encouraging us to meet and talk to strangers online? Have some witty banter or deep philosophical discussions, exchange numbers then meet up for some lunch and mini golf?

- Star

To: starstheoryprevails

From: aworkinprogress

Subject: This Assignment????

Well here's what I assumed Star: a bunch of old professors sitting around a large wooden table at the start of term wondering how to get these rowdy kids 'interested' in school so the english department decides that they should write letters (starting a quiet mumble of agreement from the rest of the old professors) and the foreign language department didn't want to be left out so they added that the letters would be to foreigners (with a louder mumble of agreement from our oh-so-diverse faculty) and then that trying-to-be-cool teacher jumped in and decided that instead of letters, it should be emails and bam! the devil assignment was born

- A

ps. for a foreigner, I have to say your English is pretty decent

pps. sorry to disappoint but im afraid mini golf doesn't sound all too intriguing

I read my email once before sending it, laughing out loud stupidly in my empty dorm room. The action feels weird, coming from me, but it's strange how weirdly happy I feel emailing a stranger about absolutely nothing of importance. 

"What's so funny?" a voice calls and Clara's head pops into my room.

"Clara! You have to stop doing that. Just because my roommate doesn't live here and I gave the extra key to you doesn't mean you can just waltz in here any time you feel like it!"

But she's not listening and somehow managed to snatch the phone out of my hand.

"Ooh," her eyebrows raised when she sees my screen, "Messaging with Star again?"

"Shut up," I mutter, my cheeks filling with heat. But why do I feel embarrassed? It's not like we had been talking about anything even mildly interesting.

"Dang, Star replies fast!" Clara cries as my phone's email chime goes off. 

Bolting up, I lunge to retrieve my phone but Clara is already reading and insanely good at holding onto things so I can only read from over her shoulder. 

To: aworkinprogress

From: starstheoryprevails

Subject: Movies?

Nice one A, old professors sitting around a table was exactly what I was thinking of. Although I have to disagree with you on one thing; I personally think this assignment isn't all too bad and definitely not awful enough to be deemed the "devil". In fact, I rather enjoy this much more than I would writing a three page essay on a three line poem, don't you think?

- Star

ps. Thanks for that, although I'm not as foreign as you might think ;)

pps. Not a mini golf fan, eh? I don't know many people who are so are you a cliché who prefers movies and popcorn?

"What a flirt!" Clara exclaims, quoting parts of the email, "'I rather enjoy this'? A winky face? 'Movies and popcorn?"

Her voice rises to a shriek at the end of that sentence.

"God, Clara, I can read," I grumble, but my heart is racing as well, "Why would she put the movies and popcorn in the 'pps' but then also as the subject? Also what does that even mean, she probably lives halfway across the world in freaking Australia or something?"

"Like I said," Clara sings, "a FLIRT! But you guys are cute!"

She winks at me and I roll my eyes. Only Clara would think a conversation consisting of about three emails would be cute.

"At least you finally admitted Star's a girl."

"Who said that I did?" she smirks and it takes me a moment before I even realize what she's implying.

But before I can tackle her, she's already rolling off the bed, cackling with delight, knocking the stack of notebooks and papers off my desk and scattering them across the floor.

"Ouch!" I hear her cry loudly.

"What?" She's probably just playing around so I bend down, picking up the scattered papers.

When I turn around, she's looking at me with an expression I've never seen on her before: fear. 

"Atlas?" her voice is so small, it reminds me of my five year old sister but what makes my own blood turn cold is what she holds up in her trembling hand. A thin, metal blade. There's a small trickle of blood on her hand where it must have nicked her while falling down.

I groan inwardly, all the happiness I'd felt earlier flooding out in a rush to leave me completely empty. I'd hid it under a few notebooks since no one ever comes into this room except Clara and we usually just sit on the bed watching Netflix. That was stupid.

"Clara, don't," I start, but don't know how to finish.

"Atlas," she says again, her eyes welling up with tears. She grabs my arm and yanks up my sleeve, revealing a messy pattern of red welts. The tears are falling steadily down her face now as she shakes her head, still not saying anything.

"I'm sorry," I whisper because it seems like the right thing to say, but what am I even apologizing to her for? "Remember the cruise? After that week of not feeling anything, just fooling around, doing dumb things and basically living in an alternate universe, when I came back, everything just came crashing back and it was... too much."

"Why didn't you tell me," she cries, "I could've helped you, I could've..." 

"How?" I ask blandly, but she just shakes her head again, still clutching onto the blade. Without saying another word she gets up and leaves.