[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 Twenty-four | November
♫November by Babeheaven
Weinstein Hall hasn't exactly been buzzing with life since the introduction week. People sometimes have their doors opened when they feel like socializing and weekends are much more relaxed than weekdays, but still, when classes started, so did business. Full-blown parties are more often located at fraternities and sororities, not the second floor of a residency hall.
But the most wonderful time of the year is nearing. As rain falls upon the city with smaller intervals and my coat is returned to me from the dry cleaners in all its glory, the warmth translates to coziness. Doors along the hallway no longer shut, conversations carry themselves throughout the entire day between complete strangers and privacy dissolves into a solidarity between what we call 'hallmates'.
Me being me, I don't know how to insert myself into said solidarity.
It's easier for Olivia, unsurprisingly. We'll be studying at our desks and she'll gasp out of nowhere, startling me (thank you, Moro Reflex), and say something like, "I love this song." Then she'll be off to befriend whoever's playing it loud enough for us to hear in the middle of midterm season.
I haven't noticed it much lately because I'm so inserted into Milo's life and he's as social as Olivia is, but I'm still not good with people, like I was in high school. It's not like I'm not trying, it just seems as though there's cues I'm not getting: what tone is right for compliments, when it's okay to join conversations, what body language says, 'open to conversate' as opposed to 'do not talk to me'.
I'll just end up sitting there as Olivia meets new people or invites people she knows into our dorm. I'm not completely inmovable. I'll observe her and the way I can see her face change when she's talking to them, her excitement melting into surprise melting into compassion so easily. Not once does the corner of her mouth quiver, does she touch her earlobe or bite her lips. Either I'm not getting the cues of what nerves look like, or she has none.
It's the same way today. Her friends are sitting on the carpet of our dorm room, dressed in hoodies and turtlenecks as the first snow of the year is predicted to fall any day now (daytime tempature highs have fallen to 40 degrees Fahrenheit) and the new trend seems to be Dutch braids, that each of them is sporting. I really try not to generalize the type of friends Olivia seems to have found at NYU, but to a mixed girl like me, it's remarkable how they're all blonde and white with the same fashion sense.
"Do you guys think I could be an influencer?"
I look over my shoulder to glance into the room. The girls are sitting in a circle and one of them has her camera pointed at Olivia, who's smiling brightly. She continues when the picture's been taken. "I'm serious. I want to do something with beauty."
"I thought you wanted to do something with law," her friend, Cassie, says.
"She can do both. Elle Woods did it," another friend, Ally, comments.
