[completed] Nova Carter knows exactly what the next few years of her life will look like: she will work harder than anyone else (as she didn't get into New York University to slack off); she'll be keeping her head down and prioritizing getting her a...
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Chapter Fourteen | Cold/Mess
♫cold/messby Prateek Kuhad
I'm convinced that I don't know how to be. I could be sitting in class, listening to the lecturer, and then completely tense up all of a sudden. My shoulderblades will feel like they're pricking into the backrest of the seat and I'll forget how to relax my lips, so I'll roll them in and chew on them and purse them and think about how weird I must look to everyone as I'm doing it.
I'm overly aware of what I do: the things I do and don't control, the way my muscles tense and stretch and then get stuck in every inch of my body, until my toes feel uncomfortable in my shoes and my bones feel uncomfortable in my skin. It feels like a curse.
I think maybe it wouldn't bother me so much if I wasn't ever made to be so aware of it growing up. Now, wherever I am, I'm fighting the urge to duck and hide. To be safe and protected by invisibility. Maybe that was always part of New York's charm for me: nobody cares (not as much as they did back home) because nobody sees.
As the day of the gala nears, I find myself growing more and more afraid. I can't even enter a quiet classroom or throw the core of my apple away when everyone else is seated, and yet I've accepted an invitation to an event that'll inevitably strip me of my invisibility and put me in the limelight. The things I do will be seen and looked at, the things I say will be heard.
For now, though, it's just a late Thursday afternoon. I suggested getting some work done at the Elmer Holmes Bobst library with Logan earlier, since I wanted to make up for flaking on him on Monday. We're both quite busy with our normal courses and with Halloween and Thanksgiving around the corner, neither of us expect to get much done in the middle of the holidays. The only way I figured we can at least spend some time together, is if we combine it with studying.
I peek over the top of my laptop. Logan's sitting across from me, elbows on the tabletop and hands in his hair as he reads from a textbook.
"Are you ready for the presentation?"
Logan looks up at me, frowning deeply. "What presentation?" He asks. "We have a presentation?"
"Yeah, for Writing 101. Next week."
"Shit," he curses, dropping his hands and shoving the textbook aside so his laptop can take its place.
I watch him closely as he seems to grow more and more agitated. I've never seen him like this before. This unbalanced, this chaotic, this stressed. Logan's always kind of been the calm one, because he never had anything to worry about. Nothing school-related, anyway, it's always been easy for him.
Up until now.
I take my empty tumbler from my bookbag and stand up from my seat, hovering beside the table. "I'm gonna get some hot chocolate. Do you want some? I'll help you put together your presentation when I'm back."
