Someone Like Me

“You’re murdering that sandwich,” Miyu said.

I looked down. I had pulled most of the crust off.

“I don’t like the edges.”

“You’ve eaten crust your whole life.”

“People change.”

We sat outside the education building, where October wind pushed dead leaves against our shoes. She had a scarf wrapped around her neck and the patient expression she used when I was lying badly.

“Did something happen camping?”

“No.”

“Was it a nice nothing?”

I looked away.

She sighed and nudged my knee. “You’re allowed to like him.”

“And then what?”

She didn’t answer quickly enough.

I shoved the sandwich back in its wrapper and stood up.

“I have class.”

That was how I met Gavin: angry, hungry, and four minutes late.

The only free seat was beside a blond guy in a dark hoodie. He moved his bag before I had to ask.

“Rough morning?” he whispered.

“Developing character.”

“Awful hobby.”

I almost laughed, then hated that I remembered somebody else saying something similar.

Our instructor assigned pairs for a presentation on language development. Gavin turned his notebook toward me. His handwriting was neat, his outline already sensible.

“I’m good at slides,” he whispered. “How do you feel about talking?”

“Currently against it.”

“Excellent. We’ll be unforgettable.”

After class, we stayed to divide the work. He listened when I spoke, asked useful questions, and didn’t lean into my space.

I found myself relaxing.

We met twice that week in the library. I learned that he had taken a semester off, worked evenings at the campus print shop, and possessed a comprehensive ranking of terrible vending-machine snacks.

He also wore his hood indoors.

I noticed because people always noticed my hat.

“Cold?” I asked once.

“Usually.”

“Same.”

His gaze rested on my beanie for half a second.

Then he asked about our conclusion slide.

On Friday, I came back from the library to find a sock hooked over our doorknob.

I stood staring at it until the door opened.

Micah looked surprised to see me. His shirt was inside out. Behind him, Amara sat on his bed, fastening an earring.

“Hey,” he said. “Thought you were out later.”

“I live here.”

“I know.”

“Good. I was worried we’d lost track of that.”

Amara winced slightly. Micah glanced down at the sock, then took it off the handle.

“We’re leaving,” he said.

I stepped aside. Amara gave me a quiet apology on her way past.

Micah lingered.

“We can work out a system.”

“A text,” I said. “Beforehand. And sometimes the room needs to be available to me.”

“Okay.”

He seemed about to add something. I went inside before he could.

I hated how much it hurt. He wasn’t my boyfriend. He had offered friendship, and I had accepted, then secretly started charging him for things he had never promised.

That didn’t make finding another person in our room any easier.

The next afternoon was unexpectedly warm. Jyll suggested the lake before the weather changed for good. I went because Miyu threatened to drag me there and because refusing everything had begun to feel too much like the life I had promised myself I would leave behind.

Micah drove. I sat in the back between a bag of towels and Jamil, listening to Amara argue with Jyll about music.

At the beach, everybody stripped down to swimwear.

I kept my jeans on.

Miyu looked at me once, gently, then went to help Jamil with the cooler. I appreciated her for making the kindness so small nobody else could see it.

Micah stopped beside my towel.

“Not swimming?”

“I’m fine here.”

“You sure?”

“Some of us enjoy sitting quietly.”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

He smiled, but he didn’t leave immediately.

My eyes betrayed me and dropped to his bare chest. There was a small scar near his ribs, another silver line at one shoulder. His hair was still damp from a quick swim, dark water dripping onto his collarbone.

“Loui?”

I looked up too fast.

He was smiling differently now.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Go drown.”

“Would you rescue me?”

“No.”

“Your hesitation was touching.”

He left before I could answer. I watched him jump into the water, then pulled my knees to my chest.

Under my jeans, my tail was cramped and uncomfortable. The sun heated my hat. Somewhere nearby, a girl laughed as her friend splashed her, and a sharp, childish envy caught in my throat.

I wanted to be annoyed about cold water.

I wanted to complain about my hair getting wet.

I wanted ordinary problems.

“Room for one more?”

Gavin stood beside me with a folded towel over his shoulder.

“You’re everywhere,” I said.

“Small campus.”

He sat. For a while we watched the others.

“Don’t like swimming?” he asked.

“I like it.”

“Just not here?”

I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve.

He didn’t repeat the question.

Eventually, he said, “There’s a quieter place up the path. Shaded. I go there sometimes.”

I looked toward the water. Micah and Jamil were trying to tip each other off a floating platform. Miyu was recording them and laughing.

“I’m taking a walk,” I told her when she came to get a drink.

She glanced at Gavin, then back at me. “Phone?”

I held it up.

“Good. Text me.”

Gavin led me along the public trail, then down a short slope to a little inlet enclosed by trees. You could still hear voices from the main beach, faintly, but nobody there could see us.

Water lapped against smooth stones. Leaves shifted overhead, scattering light across the shore.

“It’s nice,” I said.

“Thought you might like it.”

He set his towel down and turned toward me.

“You don’t have to keep that on here.”

My hand went to my hat.

He saw the movement. His expression changed, the smile easing away.

“I’m not going to touch it,” he said.

“I wasn’t—”

“You don’t have to explain.”

I took a step back.

He stayed where he was.

Then, slowly, Gavin pushed down his hood.

Two caramel-colored ears lifted out of his blond hair.

One flicked toward the distant sound of somebody calling from the beach.

I stopped breathing.

“Oh,” I said.

For the first time since I arrived at Briarwood, somebody was looking at me as though he already understood.