ALEX
NOW – SOPHOMORE YEAR – JANUARY
Ipush through the heavy oak doors of the UMS library, my color-coded notes clutched to my chest like armor. The familiar scent of old books and coffee hits me, a bittersweet reminder of late-night study sessions and heated debates. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the snow-capped Rockies mock me with their immovable presence.
Professor Bam’s project brief burns a hole in my bag. “Details” is a generous term for the vague nonsense she sent us. A defunct gold mine needs reclaiming? Gee, thanks for narrowing it down, Professor. Economic restoration? Land reclamation? Turn it into the world’s most depressing museum? The possibilities are endless and infuriating.
I spent all night bouncing between ideas, fueled by too much caffeine and the gnawing dread of working with Freddie again. Because, of course, the universe hates me.
And there he is—Freddie Donovan, sprawled at our usual table like he owns the place. Ouroldusual table. Because non-friends don’t have usual tables, right?
The afternoon sun streams through the windows, catching his hair in a way that’s absolutely unfair. He’s wearing that damn blue button-down that makes his eyes pop, and I hate that I still notice. I hate that I care.
“Alexandria,” he says, standing as I approach. His voice is formal, but that signature grin is plastered on his face. The one that used to make my heart skip. Now it just makes me want to throw my extremely thorough notes at his stupidly handsome face.
“Freddie,” I quip. “Shall we get started?”
He’s all smiles, while I’m armed for battle. I can already hear his economically sound, morally bankrupt suggestions. With a little activism sprinkled on top, like garnish on a crap salad.
As I spread my array of colorful notes across the table, I can't help but steal glances at him. He seems... different. Sharper, somehow—like he's been honed to a fine edge. His jawline, always unfairly defined, now carries a dark stubble that screams "effortless bad boy."
My eyes trace the line of his jaw, the way his shirt stretches taut over his shoulders as he leans in, his focus on the papers in front of us. Heat floods my neck, and I bite my lip, the pressure sharp enough to hurt. I grab my pen, scribbling nonsense just to have something else to focus on.
"So." I tap my pen against the notepad, probably harder than necessary. "Professor Bam wants us to develop a reclamation plan for the old Jefferson Mine."
Freddie nods, his eyes scanning the brief. "Right. We need to address the environmental impact, potential hazards, and propose a solution for the land."
"Exactly." I lean in a little, warming to the topic despite myself. "We need to approach this like we’re healing a wound. That mine is basically a giant scab on the earth. We don’t just slap a band-aid on it and call it a day. We need major surgery."
I dive into my carefully prepared argument, my hands flying as I sketch my vision of ecological restoration. But something feels off. Freddie's usual sharp counterpoints are absent. Instead, he offers sluggish nods and half-formed sentences. I catch him stifling a yawn, his eyes struggling to stay fixed on the papers in front of him.
Frustration builds with each uninterested "mm-hmm." This isn’t the Freddie I know—the one who’d challenge every point, offering counterarguments that both infuriate and impress me. This Freddie looks like he might collapse into his textbook at any moment.
A tiny, traitorous part of me misses our old dynamic—the back-and-forth, the intellectual sparring. I shove that thought aside. I’m not here to mourn what we’ve lost.
“Are you seriously falling asleep right now?” I snap, my voice sharp, cutting through the quiet library like a blade. Nearby students glance our way, but I’m too worked up to care. Let them stare. Let them witness the disaster that is Freddie and Alex: The Reunion Tour.
Freddie blinks rapidly, looking like a deer caught in headlights. A very handsome, very infuriating deer. "What? No, I’m listening. You were saying something about... scabs?"
That does it. The dam breaks, and all my frustration pours out in a rush. I can’t stop myself.
"Freddie!" I whisper-shout, leaning in so close I can smell his stupid cologne. It’s intoxicating, and I hate myself for noticing. "This isn’t a joke."
A sharp "Shh!" slices through the air, followed by the glaring eyes of a girl at the next table. I whip around, my attempt at an apologetic smile probably looking more like a grimace. It does nothing to soften her scowl. Great. Now I’m pissing off the entire library. Add it to my list of accomplishments for the day.
Turning back to Freddie, I hiss, “Do you have any idea how crucial this is for my GSRI application? This could make or break my entire life plan!” My fingers clench around my pen so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t snap. “But I guess that doesn’t matter to you, does it? You probably made some plan with Dr. Reeves to steal kittens for cash, so why bother, right?”
It’s a low blow, and I know it. But I can’t seem to stop the words from spilling out, bitter and sharp.
Freddie’s eyes flash, a spark igniting in their depths. He leans forward, jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts. “You think I don’t care?” His whisper is sharp enough to cut. “That I’m not taking this seriously? Maybe if you’d stop assuming the worst about me for five seconds, you’d realize there might be other things going on in my life!”
His outburst leaves me reeling. We stare at each other, the air between us crackling like a live wire. I want to reach out and touch him, to bridge this chasm between us. I want to slap him. I want to?—
Slam!
We both jump. The shusher from earlier is on her feet, textbook clutched to her chest like a shield, lips pursed in disapproval. As she storms off, Freddie and I mumble simultaneous “Sorrys!” then lock eyes again.
Freddie deflates like a punctured balloon. He runs a hand through his hair, messing up its perfect sweep. I hate that I want to smooth it back into place. “This matters to me. You know it does. I was planning on being at the top of my game for this meeting, but I didn’t get any sleep last night. I’m sorry,” he admits.
