5 Ways to Ruin Casey Brandt

s e v e n

♡ BRIAR ♡

I call home between classes, hoping it'll raise my spirits. The line picks up on the fifth ring.

"Hey, Bee," my Dad's voice sounds strained, even over the phone. "How's school going?"

I wonder if he's eaten yet today, breakfast isn't high on his priority list. I hike my bag further up my shoulder and ready myself to lie. "Good. Everything is great. I have a break between classes now, so, I figured I'd call."

"My college girl," he says. There's always so much admiration in his voice. His pride seeps into his words. "You're doin' good, kid."

My eyes begin to water even as I fight back. I must still be worked up from seeing Casey. Or I'm regretting my choice to return to campus. Sitting at home and seeing my dad, not just hearing his voice, would be better than my past week. Maybe I just miss home.

"I'm trying," my voice sounds small. I hope he doesn't notice. "I'm going to go grab something to eat. Maybe some coffee. Then I'm back to classes."

"Great idea. Be sure to take care of yourself."

"You, too," I remind. "Take your pills. It's almost that time."

"I have a nurse," he jabs back. "I don't need a future doctor nagging me, too."

I laugh, letting it fill my chest and ebb away the tightness settling there. "Talk soon, yeah?"

"You got it, Bee."

I hang up and head over to the Solace Market just a few buildings over. When I enter, I see my roommate studying the healthy snack options. Her eyes pass over the protein bars and dried fruit. She reaches for a pack of trail mix. Something without chocolate, which is the only type of mix I'd consider consuming.

"Hey, Demi," I greet, mostly because I know she'll see me. "You between classes?"

She beams at me with her happy grin. She's always so bright. Clothes, smiles, blonde high ponytails. It can be nauseating.  "Yeah, just grabbing a snack. How was your psych class?"

I shrug, reaching past her for a protein bar. My eyes scan the price—something outrageous but under my budget of five dollars. I turn toward the line forming before the cash register.

"I love my marketing class," she gabs, following right behind me. "Like, seriously. We get to dress up in business casual and do presentations all year."

That sounds like my own personal nightmare, but, to Demi, it's as good as it gets. She loves the spotlight. She thrives in it. Having eyes on her seems to have some sort of confidence-boosting effect. I have no doubts that she'll be successful with her business degree.

"That's perfect for you," I respond absentmindedly. My eyes are on the bags of chips and cookies, wishing I had the option to choose something delicious instead of filling.

"Right? I have one more class and then I'll meet you at home," she says.

At this point, I'm no longer surprised that she seems so content. I wonder if she's ever not happy. Maybe all those morning runs she does keep her endorphins at an all-time high, twenty four seven.

"I won't be home until late," I remind.

"Oh, right. Are you really just studying?"

I don't entertain whatever she might mean by that. "Not studying. Just planning out when I'll study based on the syllabus."

It's my turn to pay. I hand over a crumpled bill.

Demi presses a finger to her chin thoughtfully, "You're really impressive, you know? So determined. So smart. It's inspiring."