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truly my first day of school.
    I threw up into my bowl of Trix.
    Correction: I threw up the Trix I had just eaten back into the nearly empty bowl. Which meant I literally threw up rainbows.
    That’s how I felt when I woke up for my last first day ofcommunity college. Simultaneously so nervous and so excited that I thought rainbows could come erupting out of my mouth at any moment.
    Just to be safe, I skipped breakfast and made it to my Intro to Psych lecture by 8:42 a.m. Eighteen minutes to spare. I was the second person in the room; even the professor ( Professor Latham , I reminded myself, fully committed to this Prepared Student persona) wasn’t there yet.
    The lecture hall is one of the bigger rooms the school has, probably about eighty seats. Most of the classrooms fit twenty or thirty at most. Small class size is touted as one of the benefits to attending our community college. Seriously, it’s all over the brochures. And it’s something I used to love—not because we got more “teacher-student attention” (and ew, that sounds super gross now that I say it), but because you know everyone and everyone knows you. And, yeah, okay, it was easier to get everyone to pay attention to you—I won’t deny it! Attention is nice. Or it can be.
    But that’s also one of the reasons coming back last semester was so difficult. Now, I’m glad to be taking a psychology class, but I’m also glad it will be a little easier to just blend in.
    I pulled my blue spiral and a fountain pen out of my bag, trying to fill the silence of the room. Opening up to the front cover, I carefully printed:
    INTRO TO PSYCHOLOGY, SUMMER 2013
    Most of my notebooks for my previous classes have been filled up with whatever notes were on the board or PowerPoint, and doodles. Lots of doodles. I’ve gotten pretty fantastic at drawing spirally things that bleed into more spirally things. Too bad that’s not something you can make a career of.
    â€œCool pen.”
    I raised my head to see the only person who beat me into class that morning.
    A guy. A not unattractive guy. Maybe even bordering on, like, super cute and possibly even handsome.
    Hey, I can take academia seriously, but I still have eyes.
    He was turned around in his seat, looking up at me from a couple of rows ahead. Should I be sitting closer to the front? Would that show Professor Latham a dedication to the subject?
    â€œThanks,” I said, looking down at my dad’s fountain pen. I stole it off his desk—it’s the most serious pen I know of. Serious pen for a serious student.
    â€œDid you get the time wrong, too?”
    â€œHuh? Oh, no,” I replied. “I just . . . wanted a good seat.”
    â€œCool.” He nodded. “I screwed up and thought classes started an hour ago.”
    He had a half smile. So I half-smiled back.
    â€œI’m new. Just fulfilling some requirements so I can change majors at my regular school.”
    â€œMakes sense,” I said.
    â€œWhat about you?”
    â€œI . . .” was saved by a bunch of other people filing into the classroom. As the newcomers settled into their seats, scattering, chatting, the new guy kept his chair turned my way.
    â€œI’m Cody,” he said. “Would it be too soon to ask for your number?”
    He must have seen my internal freak-out, because he held up his hands immediately. “I’m not hitting on you, I swear.”
    â€œJust so you know, when you have to tell people you’re not hitting on them, it’s kind of a given that you’re hitting on them,” I replied.
    â€œYou’re the first person I’ve met, and you seem to know what you’re doing,” he said. I admit, I might have blushed a little. I guess this commitment to academia thing was really working for me. “It would be just in case one of us misses a class, or if we want to compare notes.” He pulled out his phone.