The Book at the Top of the Closet

Chapter Twenty-Six

Finals are a special sort of hell, and it isn't even finals week yet. It's something called "dead week," which sounds like it should be a zombie movie marathon or something, but is in fact much less fun. I'm told that the general idea is that dead week is the time when your professors all know you're studying for a ton of finals, so they don't expect you to do normal things like homework. It's supposed to be down time, I guess? Apparently, though, it doesn't work that way for Humanities classes.

I have three essays due this week, and they're all supposed to be thoroughly researched, and about five minutes ago I found out that the library closes at night. I don't know why that came as such a surprise, since it's not like a college library is Walmart or something, but I thought I could keep working all night, and now I'm out in the breezeless night hoping the dorm internet will work okay when I get back.

Walking back toward my building, I check my phone and see that I have texts from Veronica, Liam, and Wendy, all inviting me to hang out and work on school stuff together. Liam and I could technically study together for the class we're both in, but my impending essay deadlines seem scarier right now than the upcoming tests next week. And besides, we'd probably just end up making out again instead of studying. Pretty much the same goes for Wendy, and we haven't had a date this week so I doubt we'd even keep up the pretense of trying to study for the first five minutes.

What I want, honestly, is to just forget about all the essays and finals and just leapfrog back and forth between Wendy and Liam until my lips get chapped, but I know that's irresponsible. If I'm going to fail miserably, it's not going to be because I didn't try. With a little frustrated huff, I fire off a text to Veronica that I desperately need help studying, and then I tell Wendy and Liam that I'll hang out with them this weekend before finals come to stress us all to death.

I run the rest of the way back to my place, still as skittish in the dark as I was as a kid. The bedazzled pepper spray on my keychain has never been used, but I clutch it as I jog toward the dorms. I'm out of breath when I get back, but I feel a sense of pride at having crossed campus at night, alone, without having a full-blown panic attack. For me, that's an accomplishment on par with winning the Nobel Prize.

Veronica is waiting outside my door with a box of pizza, three crisp yellow legal pads, and an unopened bag of blue ink pens. I'm so relieved, I could kiss her. I unlock the door and we set up a study area on the floor in my bedroom, balancing books in precarious piles and scattering pillows and cushions on the floor so that we have a sort of makeshift nest.

The pizza box rests half on half off the bedside table, and we have to be careful not to unbalance it every time we grab a slice. When we get down to the last piece, there's some contention over who will get it. We both stare at the almost empty pizza box, and you can practically hear the Old West showdown music playing. Slowly, I rise to a crouch, setting down the highlighter in my hand. Before I can make another move, Veronica lunges for the last slice of pizza. I jump forward, tackling her into the wall just before she can snatch the prize. She wriggles to escape, but I pull her back by the first thing I manage to grab: her hair.

Veronica freezes. I let go, afraid that I've hurt her. She turns to face me. "Don't do that again," she says.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt y-"

"It was too hot." She tosses her hair and grabs the last slice of pizza, taking a victorious bite as I sit there, awestruck, confused, and gawping at her like a complete idiot. As if nothing ever happened, she polishes off her slice of pizza, and I try to return to my studying. There wasn't supposed to be any sexual tension tonight, dammit. My hands shake a little bit, and I know better than to think I'm just tired. I've just been hit by the cataclysmic realization that I find Veronica kind of sexy, and I don't even know if it's mutual or if she was just messing with me to get the last piece of pizza.