Starting Position

Chapter 21

While he had given me the ride home, Ben asked if I would like to meet to work on our project next week. We decided on the following Tuesday which arrived in a blink of an eye. This was easily attributed to living like a zombie: I ate, did homework, slept, repeat. I focused on the menial tasks that left no room to dwell on Cambrie, and because I had much experience with keeping thoughts of my mother buried, it was easily done. 

The library was vacant when I entered, no creaking floorboards or hushed voices echoed around the room. In fact, when I walked inside, I was immediately drawn to Ben who was sitting at our usual table, his body hung over a vast array of loose papers. Sun was spilling in through the mullioned windows, and, even inside the temperate room, I could feel the heat swelling outside. It was the first day of warm weather we had had all year, and everybody was probably outside enjoying it. 

"Looks exhausting," I stated as I slung my messenger bag along the side of the chair I plopped into.

Ben lifted his head and gathered the scattered papers, stacking them together and tucking them into a thick textbook.

"Math always is."

A question popped into my head, one that I was surprised I hadn't thought to ask before. As Ben continued clearing the space before him, I asked, "What are you majoring in, anyway?"

Ben's hands stopped their task.

"Chemistry – and then chemical engineering."

Even with his anecdote about causing an explosion in a chemistry lab, I was still surprised. "Chemistry? But why take an upper level literature class?

"Probably the same reason your friend does."

I had to wrack my brain before piecing together what Ben meant.

"What – Hudson?" I asked, remembering Ben and I did share American Literature with him. "He's not really my friend," I added as an afterthought.

"Oh. I just assumed – you both talk a lot in class."

Ben wasn't incorrect. I often did talk to Hudson, but it was usually because I was answering his questions about homework. At one point, we had been friends after all, but something had since changed. It was like an alternate version of myself had taken my place, and no one I interacted with in daily life seemed to notice. I looked the same, dressed the same, and sounded the same, so to them, I must be the same person

"He was once."

This intrigued Ben. "What changed?"

Leaning back into my chair, I tucked some loose hair behind my ear and said, "Me, I guess."

While Ben said nothing more, it was obvious he had much to say. His focus was intent on me, his body almost still, apart from the slight jerk in his hands and torso. I couldn't fault him; if someone had answered the question in the way I had, I would want to take the bait. It then struck me that I wanted Ben to ask more so I could tell him about the person I used to be.

But, he didn't. I wondered if it was fear or consideration that held him back. Regardless, I felt a fragile pull to him in that moment. I hadn't given away much, but it was more than I had with nearly anyone else, and it warmed my insides. The delicate connection that hung in the air between us promised Ben might understand my change in character. Did Ben feel the same pull?

"I have an idea for our story," he said.

"Our story? Oh, right – our story – for the project."

The air between us returned to normal, the shift in topic neutralizing any simmering emotions.

"So, what did you come up with?" I asked, thankful my voice wasn't frenzied.