Breaking Masks

By Josh Aterovis and Dabeagle

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Chapter 3 - Jake

"Where do we go first?" Judy looked around the intimidatingly large campus.

I shrugged. "Um...I'm not sure. The dorms?"

"Didn't they send you some instructions?"

Feeling like the world's dumbest freshman, I pulled up the email I'd received a few weeks earlier and scanned it quickly.

"Yeah. It says I'm supposed to go to my dorm building and check in with the RA to get my room assignment."

"And classes start when?"

"Next Monday."

"What are you supposed to do for an entire week until then?"

"Get settled in? Meet people? Go to orientation? Learn your way around campus? Get rid of your parents?"

"You'll miss me when I'm gone. When is orientation?"

"They have a few scheduled. I'll probably go tomorrow just to get it out of the way."

She nodded approvingly. "What dorm are you in again?"

I checked my phone again even though I already knew the answer. "Mohawk."

All the older dorms were named after local Indigenous tribes.

"Which is where?"

I shrugged again. "You know as much as I do."

"Didn't you go on a tour when we came up to visit the campus?"

"Yes, but so did you. I don't remember much about it, though. It was like two years ago, and I was high. What's your excuse?"

Judy snorted. "I'm old. That's my excuse. Come on, there's a map."

We consulted the map, found the 'You Are Here' marker, located Mohawk Hall, and then Judy began navigating across the campus following signs. I just followed her, letting my mind wander.

I had to admit it was an impressive campus. Most of the buildings were at least partially built from stone, something we didn't see much where I came from. Neat brick pathways connected all the buildings, and everything was landscaped beautifully.

As lovely as the campus was, my mind kept drifting to my roommate. I'd never shared a room with anyone before, and I wasn't looking forward to starting. Especially with the guy I'd been assigned.

The email the university had sent me also included the name and contact info for my roommate: Foster Williamson. I'd FaceTimed him, and we'd talked for a total of five minutes, long enough for me to realize we were hopelessly mismatched.

He was a jock. The only sport I enjoyed was surfing.

He spent four of the five minutes we talked telling me about his girlfriend and her apparently very generous breasts, and how he was probably dumping her before leaving for college so he could "play the field." I was gay and single.

He was rich. Judy was going out on a limb to send me to college.

He liked to party. Well...we were bound to have something in common sooner or later. The difference, of course, was that I quit all that when I got sober, which meant college parties were probably not the best option for me.

I wasn't planning on outing myself to him right away. It was hard to judge how homophobic he may or may not be from our brief conversation, so I figured it was wiser to get to know him a bit first. I thought it was pretty safe to say he was straight as an arrow judging by the way he went on and on about his girlfriend and how much she liked sex.

I didn't tell Judy any of that. When she'd asked how our chat went, I'd just given her a noncommittal "okay."

Back on campus, Judy stopped suddenly, and I almost ran into her.

"Well, here you are," she announced. "Home sweet home."

I looked up at the huge stone building that looked as if it had been there since the college was founded over a hundred years ago...and probably had. It resembled Dracula's castle more than a home.

"Cozy."

Judy ignored my sarcasm. "I guess we should wait to get your stuff until we see where your room is. It's quite a schlep from the car."

I glanced around and saw some people had driven right up to the dorm on small brick roads. I pointed them out to Judy. She approved, then set off toward the dorm with a purposeful stride, with me trudging along behind her.

The small lobby area just inside the door was furnished with a slightly beat-up desk on the right and an institutional style chair and couch in a small conversational area off to the left. A TV was mounted in the corner, but it was turned off at the moment.

Behind the desk sat a rail-thin girl with shockingly red hair and a face-full of freckles. She was talking to a much shorter, slightly plump blonde girl about having her mattress replaced — apparently the blonde thought hers looked a little unhealthy — so we stood by patiently until they were finished.

When the blonde girl was satisfied that cleaner bedding was on its way, the redhead turned her attention to us.

"Hi, I'm Erin, the head RA for Mohawk. Are you a freshman?"

I thought that was a silly question considering only freshmen were moving in that day. Instead of saying that, however, I just nodded my head.

"What's your name?"

"Jake...er, Jacob Sheridan."

"Hi Jake," she said brightly, flashing me a glimpse of her pearly whites. "You have some ID on you?"

I produced my driver's license, and she scanned down a pad, tapped the screen, then rummaged through a stack of large manila envelopes, selecting one from the pile bearing my name printed in bold font.

"You're on the fourth floor." She handed me the envelope. "Your roommate has already moved in. Pre-season practice and training."

I knew Foster was a jock, but I couldn't remember for the life of me what sport he played. Clearly, the answer was a fall sport. That should have probably narrowed it down, but I had zero interest in all things sportsball related, so I had no clue.

I was snapped out of my thoughts as the RA stood up to reveal that, in addition to being thin, she was also tall — very tall. I was only an inch away from six feet, and she towered over me.

"The elevators are over that way," she said with a barely concealed smile.

Judy and I followed her onto the elevator. "Your key and the dorm house rules are in the envelope, and, for the record, no, I don't play basketball, and yes, my hair is naturally this color." She broke into a grin.

I couldn't help laughing. "I wasn't going to ask."

"Yeah, but I could read it in your eyes," she said teasingly. "I wish I had a dollar for every time I've been asked one or both of those questions. I wouldn't need student loans, that's for sure. So where are you from?"

"Maryland."

Her eyebrows shot up. Even they were red. "You're a long way from home."

"Yeah, I know."

Don't remind me.

She smiled sympathetically. "I think you'll like it here. Any questions?"

I shook my head. "Not right now, but I'm sure I'll have some later."

"Then you know where to find me. I'm here all week. Try the veal."

She waved cheerily, and Judy and I got on the elevator and pushed the button for the fourth floor.

"The veal?" I asked as soon as the doors closed.

Judy laughed. "It's a reference to the Borscht Belt circuit."

"The who what where?"

"The old stand-up comedy circuit at places like the Catskills. When comedians used to perform for several nights in a row in restaurants at resorts, they'd end their sets with, 'I'm here all week. Try the veal.' It was a way to remind people to tell their friends about the hilarious comedy they just saw and push the more expensive menu items."

"I don't get it."

"It's just a joke."

"I don't even eat veal. It's cruel."

"That's not— You know, what? Forget it."

The doors opened, and we exited into a long hallway. We found my room number on a door adorned with two paper stars bearing the names Jacob and Foster.

Judy tapped the star with my name, "You should cross that out and write Jake under it unless you want everybody calling you Jacob."

I shrugged. "No big deal either way."

Fresh start, right? Maybe Jacob would be less of a fuckup than Jake. I dumped the key into my palm, unlocked the door, and pushed it open, but didn't go in.

"What are you waiting for?" Judy pushed past me and sailed into the room.

I followed her in, then froze in my tracks, staring around with growing horror. The room looked less like a bedroom and more like a low-security prison cell. Cold white cinder-block walls, a single narrow window sunk so deep into the wall it might as well have been an arrow slit, two twin beds with clunky metal frames, a pair of mismatched dressers, and two desks that had definitely seen better decades.

Welcome to higher education, I thought grimly.

One bed — the one on the right — was “made,” if by “made” you meant there were rumpled sheets vaguely covering the mattress and a blanket dangling half off the foot. A high-end laptop gleamed on one of the desks, while a grubby sweatshirt had been tossed over the other like it had died there. Apparently, my new roommate believed in manifest destiny and both desks were his.

The top of the right-hand dresser was a shrine to filth, buried under a landslide of dirty laundry. I squinted, horrified. Was that...was that a jockstrap? Fantastic. Nothing says home sweet home like a stranger’s dingy crotch gear on display.

As if to taunt me further, a dorm-sized fridge was shoved under the desk nearest the unmade bed, humming faintly. Guess who wouldn’t be sharing that, either.

I kicked the leg of the unmade bed and frowned.

"Perfect. Just what I always wanted — fifty square feet of cinder-block chic, accessorized with other people’s dirty underwear."

"What were you expecting?" Judy said dryly. "The Ritz?"

"Let's just bring my stuff in."

We rode the elevator back down in silence.

"Are the accommodations to your liking, sir?" Erin called with a cheeky grin as we stepped out into the lobby.

"I think I'd like a refund," I said, and she laughed, a loud braying sound not unlike a donkey.

Sure, she could laugh. She probably had a cell all to herself, being an RA.

It took several trips to load all the stuff I'd brought into the room. Besides my clothes, which took several boxes on their own, I also had a small TV, my laptop, and my game console.

Judy insisted on helping me make the bed before she left, but once that was done, the inevitable teary goodbye couldn't be avoided any longer. Judy had decided not to get a hotel room for the night, so she was getting right back on the road. It would make for a long day, but she said there was no point drawing things out and spending the extra money.

To her credit, she didn't make too big of a production out of things. There was a big, lingering hug and a few tears on her part, but it could have been worse.

It wasn't until after I'd walked her to the car and stood watching as she drove away, that a sinking feeling hit me in my stomach. I rushed back to my room, where I indulged in a few tears of my own as I put my clothes away.

I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn't help feeling a little abandoned. I had plenty of experience feeling alone, but some things you just never get used to.

Thankfully, I’d stopped sniveling by the time my door flew open with a bang, scaring the bejeezus out of me. I spun around to find an enormous Neanderthal filling the doorway, blinking at me in mild confusion.

He was a mountain of a man — easily six foot seven or eight, with at least three hundred pounds of bulk packed onto his frame. His face was the kind only an ogre mother could love: square jaw, heavy brow, dull brown eyes, and thick lips, ever so slightly smashed in, as if he'd run into a brick wall...and the wall had won.

A curtain of greasy hair cascaded down the back of his neck in what could charitably be described as a mullet. He wore a football jersey and athletic shorts that strained against thighs the size of tree trunks. I had no doubt he could bench press me one-handed without breaking a sweat.

“You’re not Foster,” he grunted.

I shook my head wordlessly, confirming his keen observation. I was not, in fact, Foster.

The Neanderthal gave the room a once-over, as if my elusive roommate might be crouching behind the desk or hiding under the bed. Satisfied we were truly Foster-free, he gave me a polite nod, then backed out and shut the door behind him.

“Fee-fi-fo-fum,” I muttered as I clicked the lock into place, making a mental note to keep it that way from now on. I wasn’t sure if random giants made a habit of bursting into our room, but if so, I didn’t intend to make it easier for them.

About half an hour later, I heard a key turn in the lock. The door swung open, and there was my missing roommate — followed closely by the Neanderthal from before. Side by side, they looked like two branches of the same evolutionary tree.

I’d seen Foster on my phone screen, but in person, he was somehow even less appealing. His head was round like a beach ball, yet his face took up a surprisingly small amount of real estate on it. Dark hair was buzzed close to the scalp, and small, pale-blue, piggish eyes sat a touch too close together above a pug nose and thin, unsmiling lips.

At least he was fit. Broad-shouldered and well-built, he had a defined chest outlined by a tight t-shirt and muscular legs that extended from cut-off gray sweatpants, a light dusting of dark hair tracing their contours. All of it screamed gym time — but no amount of lifting could make that face less...unfortunate.

He looked me up and down like I was some kind of biology project.

“Are you Jake?”

“Yeah. Foster?” I forced my voice steady, though I felt my stomach doing somersaults.

“That’s me,” he confirmed. Then, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, he added, “That’s Slug.”

The Neanderthal grinned at me, and a chill ran straight down my spine.

Nope, I decided. From now on, he was the Neanderthal, and I would never, ever speak the name “Slug” aloud.

“I hope you don’t mind that I took this side of the room,” Foster said. “Come on in, Slug.”

Foster stepped into the room, the Neanderthal trailing behind him like some massive, trained Sasquatch.

“Ah, no. This side is fine,” I said quickly.

Honestly, I didn't really see any difference — both sides of the room were equally dismal — but it seemed impolite to say so.

Foster dropped onto his bed with the casual confidence of someone who owned the place. The Neanderthal stayed standing, looming over us like a redwood tree, silently measuring.

Foster’s eyes flicked to my belongings. “Oh, cool — you play?” he asked, pointing to my game console.

“Yeah,” I said, resisting the urge to add, "Why else would I have it hooked up to my TV?"

Be nice, I reminded myself. No reason to make an enemy on day one. We’d be living in this tiny space together for the foreseeable future.

“What games do you play?” he asked.

I rattled off a few of my favorites, almost all story-driven RPGs, the kinds of games that made me disappear for hours.

Foster frowned. “Oh. I only like shooters and sports games.”

That tracked.

“Cool,” I said, feeling decisively uncool. The words hung awkwardly in the room, but I didn’t know what else to say. After a beat, I added, “Well...I think I’m going to walk around campus, check things out.”

The initial meet-and-greet had gone better than I'd feared, and there was no point pressing my luck.

There was no argument from Foster and Company, so I waved and slipped out, exhaling a long, quiet sigh in the hallway.

“That could have gone worse,” I muttered under my breath.

I considered taking the elevator, but thought better of it. Other students were probably moving in and needed it more than I did. I took the stairs instead, bounding two at a time, letting the tension in my legs and chest release. By the time I jumped the last few steps and landed with a satisfying thud at the bottom, I felt a little lighter — and a little more ready to face whatever this first day had in store.

I thought to ask Erin the RA where I could find a good coffee shop, but she was busy welcoming an androgynous Asian student, and I didn't want to interrupt. I just gave her a little wave as I passed on my way out the door.

I wandered around campus for a while, trying to remember where things were from my whirlwind tour a couple of years back. Needless to say, it was all a little hazy. I managed to find the Commons, the campus dining hall — more by accident than design — and once inside, just followed the smell of food to the actual cafeteria.

I asked the guy at the door if there was a café or something on campus and he gave me directions to the campus bookstore. It was in the student union, which was naturally on the far side of campus.

After getting only slightly lost following his directions, I found the bookstore and café, which had been given the sickly-sweet name Cool Beanz. Note the "z", as if spelling it like that would lend it some sort of street cred.

I noticed a small corporate logo discreetly tucked into the corner of the window and almost walked away, but my caffeine withdrawal pulled me in. I'd given up a lot of addictions but a guy needs at least one vice.

"Give me the strongest thing you've got," I said, feeling like a gunslinger entering a saloon in a cheesy old Western.

The pimply-faced person of indistinguishable gender, multicolored hair, and many piercings behind the counter flashed me a grin and turned to the espresso machine. I waited impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other, while they filled my order.

I paid for my drink and walked to a table inhaling the scent. It smelled a little burned, but it would do. I sat down and just cradled the elixir of the gods between my palms, content for the moment just to breathe in the aroma.

"A fellow java aficionado, I see," a voice said from the next table.

I glanced up to find a very pretty dark-haired girl smiling at me over the rim of her coffee cup. She had one of those perfectly heart-shaped faces you’d expect to see in a commercial for skin cream, all framed by glossy waves of hair. Her hazel eyes were sharp and assessing, like she was already filing me into a mental category, and her smile suggested she might actually approve of where I landed. She had the kind of curvaceous figure straight boys write terrible poetry about. I could acknowledge the aesthetic, even if it wasn’t doing anything for me personally.

I smiled back. "More like a caffeine junkie."

She laughed. "You got me there too. I was about to warn you about the brew here, but if all you're interested in is the caffeine buzz you should be fine."

"Warn me?"

"They're not known for their high-quality beans here."

I took a cautious sip and couldn't keep my face from contorting in distaste. The bitter flavor sat on my tongue and mocked me.

"Wow. You weren't kidding."

"What do you expect from corporate coffee? They burn the shit of the beans and have the nerve to call it a dark roast."

I eyed her cup. "Why do you come here if you know they're so bad?"

She lifted her cup as if to toast me. "Chai. They can pull that one off pretty well."

"Where do you have to go to get a decent cup of coffee around here?"

"The Morning Rush is the only place nearby that's not Starbucks, Dunkin, or some other corporate slop. It's over on Central Avenue."

"I, uh, don't know where that is. I'm new here."

"Maybe I can show you sometime," she said with a little smile, tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and leaning towards me. "Where are you from?"

I knew she was flirting, but she seemed harmless, and talking to her was better than brooding alone, so I decided to play along.

"I'm from Maryland, and I'd love it if you could show me around sometime. The sooner the better. I don't know how long I can survive on this swill."

"Maryland, huh? A southern boy, then. That explains the accent."

"I don't have an accent!"

"Sure you do. My name's Rebecca, by the way, Becca for short."

"Jake. Jacob for long."

She crinkled her nose at me. "Cute."

"What? Me or my name?" I was flirting outrageously, but it was fun.

"Both."

"Well, thankee, ma'am," I said, putting on an exaggerated drawl. "So are you a freshman?"

"Sure am. I wouldn't be here otherwise, would I?"

"You could be an RA or an athlete."

"Good point."

"You seem to know the area pretty well for someone who just got here."

"I didn't just get here. I've lived in Albany all my life."

"Oh. But you're living on campus?"

"My parents wanted me to have the full college experience." She rolled her eyes and put air quotes around 'full college experience.' "You're a long way from home."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"But not now?"

"It's looking better all the time."

She smiled, and glanced at her smart watch. "Oh hey, I have to go. There's some big get-to-know-each-other event at my dorm that I sort of can't miss." She stood and held out her hand. "Phone."

"What?"

"Hand me your phone."

"Why?"

"So we can exchange numbers. Damn. All looks, no brains, huh?" She winked.

"Oh. Uh, right."

I didn't really want her to have my cell number, but I was feeling cornered. I couldn't say no without being insulting. It was my own fault, of course. Me and my stupid flirty nature.

I pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and handed it over. She tapped away at the screen for what felt like a very long time before handing it back.

"I added my number then texted myself so I'd have yours too. I'll be in touch. We'll get coffee. Good coffee."

She swept out of the café in a cloud of sweet perfume.

I'd just got a girl's phone number. And I think I agreed to a date. On my first day on campus. Talk about a fresh start.

I glanced down at the cooling cup of brown sludge in my hand and my stomach immediately began launching a revolt.

"Don't worry," I told it. "I won't force that on you."

I stood up and dumped the cup into the trash can on my way out.

I returned to my room to find that Foster and the Neanderthal had wandered off again. I can't say I was too disappointed.

Just out of curiosity, I opened the mini fridge and found it packed with alcohol. Beer, vodka, rum...they practically had a fully stocked bar in there. Granted, it was all cheap, bottom-shelf shit, but still. I briefly wondered how on earth they had managed to buy it all since I knew Foster was underage, but then I remembered Slug and realized that no one would ever have the nerve to card him.

For the scantest second, the alcohol seemed to call to me. It had been almost a year since I'd had any alcohol at all. I quickly put a cap on my temptation and shut the door.

Walk away.

Then I wondered how long he'd be able to hide that from the RAs, then decided it wasn't my problem...unless he made it my problem.

I went to my desk and pulled out my phone. I opened my music app and put on some Noah Kahan. I found his melancholic songs and sweet voice soothing, and I needed to be soothed. I could still see the bottles of booze wedged into the fridge. I resonated deeply with a lot of the recurring themes of his lyrics — addiction, recovery, mental health, fractured relationships, complex feelings about home. I often felt like he was singing some of my deepest, darkest thoughts.

Don't think about the booze!

I managed to distract myself with the music long enough to drift off to sleep, still fully clothed and on top of my blankets.

Then next thing I knew, I was waking up the next morning, feeling utterly grungy and badly in need of a shower. I must have been more worn out from the travel and stress than I'd thought. I hadn't even woken up when Foster came back to the room.

The proof that he had indeed returned was evidenced by the lightly snoring lump under the blankets on his bed.

I glanced over at the clock and sat up with a jolt.

"Shit!"

It was already nine-thirty. I was supposed to be at orientation in half an hour.

I leaped out of bed and blindly grabbed some clothes from my drawers before starting for the shower. I paused in the doorway and debated if I should wake Foster, but decided he was a big boy and could worry about making it to orientation on his own.

Maybe he'd already had orientation with his sportsball team. What did he play again? I still didn't actually care enough to remember.

I felt a little more human when I got out of the shower. I pulled on my jeans and finger-combed my wet hair. That would have to do for now. I ran a hand over my cheeks. I needed a shave, but I didn't have time. I'd have to go for the scruffy look. I yanked my T-shirt over my head and took off.

I was halfway across campus before it occurred to me that I had absolutely no idea where I was going. Classic. I skidded to a halt and glanced around, trying to look less lost than I felt.

Luckily, I was near the administration building. If anyone knew where I was supposed to be, it would be the people who made a career out of telling clueless students where to go.

I jogged up the stone steps and yanked open the heavy wooden doors, slipping into a lobby that was cool, echoey, and about as welcoming as a mausoleum. Nothing said congratulations on your new adventure like the vibe of a crypt.

At the table for new students, I asked for directions. The guy rattled off instructions to the lecture hall, managing to sound both efficient and bored at the same time, and I set off again.

By some miracle, I made it to the auditorium just in time. Unfortunately, so had everyone else. The room looked like it was holding the entire freshman class, crammed into a space clearly meant for far fewer. Were they seriously planning to run this orientation multiple times? How many of us were there? Or maybe, like me, everyone had decided to rip the bandage off and get this thing over with.

I took in my surroundings while waiting for the “show” to begin. If the admin building had been austere, this room was full-on tacky. I was pretty sure it hadn’t been redecorated since disco died. The floor was covered in avocado-green tile, and the windows were dressed in gold drapes so shiny they could’ve doubled as Vegas show costumes.

I snagged one of the few open seats and immediately regretted it. Whoever designed the chairs clearly hated human spines. I shifted, squirmed, and finally accepted that comfort wasn’t an option. I was just about to give up my seat to one of the poor schmucks standing in the back — let them suffer—when a balding man in a dark gray suit and maroon tie shuffled to the front.

He looked like every bureaucrat I’d ever imagined: pasty complexion, slight paunch, and the kind of nervous energy that suggested public speaking wasn’t his jam. He cleared his throat, adjusted his tie like it might strangle him, and began droning on about campus life and how proud we should feel as the newest members of the VRU “family.”

Family. Sure. Nothing like a few hundred strangers and a guy who looked allergic to sunshine to make me feel right at home.

I stifled a yawn while scratching my chin, wishing I'd had time to shave that morning. Stubble is so itchy.

I tried to refocus on Bald Guy. He was talking about maintaining a good working relationship with the surrounding community. Translation: don't party too loudly and bother the neighbors.

I'd pretty much completely spaced out when several people near me raised their hands. I almost raised mine too, but realized just in time that we were indicating our majors. I hadn't declared mine yet since I still had no clue what I wanted to do. I was taking general studies until I could make up my mind. Hopefully, that would be sometime before my senior year.

I raised my hand at the appropriate time, then promptly zoned out again.

Finally, we were dismissed, and I joined the throng of kids moving towards the room's only exit.

What a waste of a perfectly good hour, I thought to myself.

I went back to my room only to find Foster and the Neanderthal in residence. Apparently, orientation hadn’t made their to-do list. They were hunched over Foster’s laptop, slack-jawed, eyes glazed, drooling over something that clearly wasn’t academic.

As I came around behind them, I realized the “something” was PornHub. Front and center on the screen was a woman with surgically inflated proportions, legs open in a pose straight out of Anatomy for Dummies, her hand working overtime between them while she made a face that screamed 'kill me now' more than ecstasy. Her eyes were vacant, her expression faker than Foster’s slightly unfocused “I swear I’m sober” smile.

I looked away fast, but it was too late. I’d already seen way more than I ever wanted, the images burned into my retinas.

Each of them clutched a can of Natural Light, and it wasn’t even noon yet. My optimism for the semester plummeted.

“Hey, Jake,” Foster said, hitting pause to acknowledge me.

Points for friendliness, I guess.

“Hi, Foster.”

“Want one?” He lifted his beer like a peace offering.

“No, thanks,” I said, keeping it polite. The whole in recovery thing was a conversation for another time.

“You gonna hang out for a while?”

“Uh, no, I...um, have to...” My brain scrambled frantically for an excuse before inspiration hit. “...go get my textbooks.”

Foster frowned, like I’d just confessed to knitting tea cozies in my free time. “You didn’t just pirate those?”

“Uh...no?”

He shrugged, already bored with me, and turned back to the screen. He hit play, and the chorus of high-pitched moans so fake they could’ve been overdubbed by cartoon chipmunks resumed.

Dismissed. I had a feeling he'd already forgotten I was even in the room.

I slipped out, wondering if I’d ever be able to relax without their collective brainpower sucking the oxygen out of the room. Their combined IQ would probably be roughly equal to that of a below-average sea cucumber.

The “textbook” excuse had been pure improv — I already had the e-versions downloaded — but I did need a couple of assigned novels for my English class. So it wasn’t a complete lie. One of them was written by the professor himself, which struck me as a neat little racket to pad his royalties. I decided to buy it used out of principle.

I found my way back to the building that housed the bookstore and Cool Beanz. The bookstore was surprisingly large. Besides books, they also sold a wide variety of school merch — clothing, water bottles, hats, backpacks, tote bags, even baby clothes, pet clothes, and shower curtains — everything emblazoned with the school logo and mascot, the Van Rensselaer Red Roosters. Who bought this stuff?

When I'd first heard what the mascot was here, I thought it was pretty lame. After seeing the T-shirts they didn't advertise on the website, however, I'd changed my mind. I spotted a shirt featuring a large cartoon of the red rooster with the caption, "How big is your...?"

I snorted.

They had shirts for all the sports. For crew, there was a cartoon of the rooster rowing and the caption reads, "Stroke..." For swimming, it was a dripping rooster and "Wet..." My favorite, however, was for the equestrian team. A rooster on horseback: "Riding..." I wanted to buy one even though I've never been on a horse.

I reluctantly tore myself away from the shirts and found the textbook and assigned reading section, but quickly realized I should have preordered my books. It seemed like everything I needed was already sold out. Or maybe I just didn't know what the hell I was doing. I couldn't believe every single book was gone.

I looked around but the only people who seemed to be working were behind the counter and were busy with other customers. The place was crowded with freshmen, most of them with parents who must have stayed until after orientation. I decided to come back later in the afternoon when, hopefully, it wouldn't be quite as hectic, and made a hasty exit.

I wandered aimlessly around campus for a while, familiarizing myself with the layout until my growling stomach reminded me that it was lunch time. I hadn't eaten breakfast and, come to think of it, I'd skipped dinner the night before too. No wonder I was so hungry.

I went to the Commons and grabbed a tray, then wandered around checking out the various offerings. The food didn't look too bad, but I ended up with a couple of slices of cheese pizza and a cup of coffee.

I sat at a table by myself and took a wary sip of the coffee. I almost spit it back out. If anything, it was worse than the jet fuel they served at Cool Beanz. It tasted like dirty dish water. I pushed it aside and decided I might have to switch to soda.

A few minutes later, I was surprised when someone sat down next to me.

"Hi, Jake," Becca said brightly. "Do you mind if I join you for lunch?"

"Not at all." I glanced down at her lunch, which consisted of a small cup of fruit salad and a bottle of spring water. "You call that lunch?"

She giggled and motioned to a tall, model-thin blonde with prominent cheekbones and an outfit straight from the pages of a fashion magazine. "That's my friend Adrienne. You don't mind if she sits with us, do you?"

What could I do except nod?

I watched in fascination as the blonde made her way across the room towards us. I was afraid she'd throw a hip out before she got to the table. She looked like she was strutting down a runway.

As she sat down across from me, Becca made introductions. I noticed that Adrienne's lunch was a tiny plate of lettuce with a small mound of cottage cheese in the center.

How had I ended up at the anorexic table?

We made small talk while everyone ate — or while I ate and they poked at their fruit and lettuce and pretended to eat. I learned that Becca and Adrienne had gone to high school together and were both majoring in elementary education. For the life of me, I couldn't picture Adrienne in a classroom full of five-year-olds.

After we'd finished our lunches, Adrienne and Becca announced that they were off to get manicures.

"Why don't I call you later and maybe I can show you how to find The Morning Rush?" Becca suggested before they left.

I agreed just to be polite and watched the two of them sashay their way towards the door. I could always beg off later.

"I need to make some guy friends...and soon," I muttered to myself. "Preferably proud members of the alphabet mafia."

The university had an LGBTQ club, but meetings wouldn't start for another week or so. I couldn't remember the name, but I knew it tied into the rooster mascot somehow. Rainbow Roosters, maybe?

Despite Becca's overtures, I was feeling very lonely. I had no illusions about her interest in me. She thought I was hot and wanted a trophy boyfriend. Once I came out to her, she seemed like the type that would drop me so fast you'd think I was a steaming hot dog turd.

Or worse...she'd want to be my bestie.

With a shudder, I gathered up the girls' trash, which they'd considerately left sitting on the table, and threw it away with mine.

The next question was: how to spend the rest of my day? I decided to go check out some of the planned activities Baldy had talked about at orientation.

I managed to waste a few more hours playing mindless games with my fellow freshmen — most of which involved more physical activity than I would have preferred — before I couldn't take anymore. I hadn't met anyone I wanted to become friends with and I was getting sweaty. I'm of the opinion that there's only one time when it's okay to be sweaty, and running around the lawn chasing a Frisbee like a trained golden retriever wasn't it. Hint: it takes place in the bedroom.

I decided to head back to my room and risk another encounter with Foster and his sidekick.

I opened the door hesitantly, but was immediately relieved to find it vacant. Two empty beer cans sat on Foster's desk, a testament to their former occupancy. I swept them into the trash can — no point leaving them out in plain sight — and flopped on to my bed.

I was staring at my ceiling when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I dug it out, and a pang of homesickness washed over me when I saw Killian's name.

I opened his text: How's it going?

I told him all about VRU, trying to make it sound as if things were going better than they were. He especially loved the story of my pending date with Becca. We chatted back and forth for a bit before he had to go.

After that, I wasted another couple of hours playing video games. Eventually, my growling stomach reminded me that it was dinnertime, so I returned to the Commons cafeteria. I ate alone, and wasn't all that bothered by the fact.

When I got back to the room, Foster was there — alone for a change.

"Hey Jake," he greeted me. "Want a beer? I was just getting ready to get one."

"Um, no thanks."

"Want something harder? I've got Smirnoff, Bacardi, Jack..."

"No, I'm fine," I said quickly, cutting him off. "Actually, I don't drink."

He blinked stupidly at me, as if I'd just told him I was an alien from Uranus. "You don't drink?"

"Nope."

"At all?"

"Nothing."

"Are you, like, religious or something?"

I laughed. "No, it's not like that."

"So...you don't mind if I drink?"

"As long as you don't get us in trouble for having it in the room, I guess I don't care."

"But why don't you drink?"

Foster was as tenacious as a pit bull, and about as bright. There would be no picking up on subtle social cues with this one. I was going to have to be very blunt.

"I'm a recovering addict."

He blinked at me again. "But you're just a kid."

"There's an age limit on addiction?" I made an effort to keep my tone light. It wasn't his fault he was a moron.

"I guess not." He pondered that for a minute. "Wow, I guess that's pretty cool that you stopped then. Are you sure it won't bother you to have it in here?"

Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. I smiled at him and tried not to remember the way the alcohol had called to me the night before.

"Nah, but thanks for asking."

"Sure. Uh, I guess let me know if it gets to you or whatever. We could probably stash it in Slug's room if we have to."

"Thanks," I repeated, then grabbed a novel off my desk and settled back onto the bed. It was one I'd read before, but it was worth a second read and anything was better than conversing with Foster.

I was just starting the fourth chapter when my cell phone buzzed again, sending me about a foot into the air. I dug it out of my pocket, expecting it to be Killian again, but it was Becca calling.

I suppressed a sigh and answered.

"Hey Jakey, it's Becca," she chirped, and I tried not to grind my teeth at the unwelcome nickname. "You still up for coffee, or is it too late?"

I started to make an excuse, but then I realized that maybe it would be nice to get out of my room, plus she said she knew a good coffee place and I desperately needed one of those.

"I'm always up for coffee, and it's never too late."

"Great! Meet me in front of the admin building in like ten minutes."

"Okay. See you there."

I hung up and jumped off the bed.

"You got a hot date?" Foster asked with a grin.

"Something like that," I said as I peeled off my shirt and pulled on a fresh one.

"What's she look like?"

I paused. "Pretty."

"Come on. You can do better than that. Blonde or brunette?"

"Dark hair."

"Tall or short?"

"Average, I guess."

"Big tits?"

I tried not to make a face. "I didn't notice."

Foster stared at me incredulously. "How could you not notice? Is she, like, flat or something?"

I quickly pulled on my shoes. I needed to end this conversation, the sooner the better.

"She's, you know, normal. I gotta go. Don't want her to wait for me."

Foster looked confused. "Who cares if she waits?"

I just waved and made my escape.

Sure enough, Becca was already there when I got to the admin building. She linked her arm around mine as soon as I was close enough and dragged me away. She kept up a constant stream of chatter as we walked, most of which I blocked out in the interest of my mental health.

Luckily, the coffee shop was only a few blocks off campus. It was a rather plain storefront from the outside: large plate-glass windows were set flush with the brick wall and a neon sign hanging over the door in the shape of a coffee cup on a saucer declared it to be The Morning Rush. Someone had made an effort to spruce it up a bit by adding striped awnings, but it was kind of like putting lipstick on a pig.

We pushed open the door, and the rejuvenating scent of java hooked itself into my nostrils, reeling me in like the catch-of-the-day. I almost forgot about Becca as I made a beeline for the counter.

A petite middle-aged blonde was taking orders. Her name tag read "Marla."

"I'll have one of everything," I gushed.

"That's my kind of customer," someone yelled from a semi-open door behind the counter.

Marla grinned. "Is this your first time here?"

"Yeah, I'm starting at VRU."

"You should try the double cappuccino with whipped cream," she suggested with a welcoming smile.

Before I could say a word, Becca sidled up to the counter and eyed Marla disdainfully, placing her hand possessively on my arm.

"We'll have two espressos, but thanks for the recommendation," she said condescendingly.

I flinched away from her touch, but she just dug her fingers in tighter.

Marla's eyes narrowed, but she simply turned and prepared the drinks for us without comment. She handed us the cups, and Becca stood there staring at me expectantly.

I realized she was waiting for me to get the tab, so I stifled a sigh and pulled out my wallet to pay for our drinks. Then she led me to a corner table closest to the front window.

"You didn't have to be so rude to her," I said, as we sat. "She was just being nice."

"She obviously saw us come in together and she still threw herself at you." she said. "She wasn't even subtle about it."

Like you are, I thought.

"She didn't throw herself at me. She made a recommendation. Besides, it's not like we're dating."

"True," she said with a little smirk. The word "yet" hung in the air as if she'd spoken it aloud.

She batted her eyes and leaned forward, resting one elbow on the table and stretching her shirt tight across her breasts.

That ain't gonna work on me, sister.

I took a sip from the cup in my hand and almost groaned in delight. She'd been right about this place, at least. The espresso was perfect. I closed my eyes and savored the flavor.

"You really take your coffee seriously," Becca said, interrupting my moment.

She sounded a little peeved, probably because the espresso had taken her place as the center of my attention. She was merrily tap-dancing on my last nerve.

I took a deep breath, prepared to let her have it, but, just then, the caffeine hit my system, and I immediately felt more forgiving. I decided to give her another chance. After all, some girls are protective of their prey — and that was clearly how she saw me at this point. I'd have to quickly disabuse her of that notion...right after I finished my coffee.

"Hey, I gave up drugs and alcohol. This is my last bad habit. Give a guy a break, huh?"

Her expression changed instantly. Not dramatically. Just…too fast.

The teasing edge disappeared from her face like somebody had flipped a switch, replaced by something sharper and more alert. Her fingers tightened briefly around her cup before she forced them to relax again.

"You do drugs?" she asked.

Did.

Not do.

That tiny correction registered in my brain immediately because recovering addicts always clocked language like that.

"Did," I corrected. "Past tense. I'm sober now."

"How long?" she asked quietly.

There was something weirdly specific about the question. Not casual curiosity. The kind of tone people used when they actually understood what they were asking.

"A little over a year."

Her eyes flicked down toward her own drink before coming back to me. "That's...hard."

Not impressive, or brave. Hard. Again, that felt oddly precise.

I shifted uncomfortably. This was bringing up bad memories, and I really didn't want to get into my history with her. Or with anybody who wasn't my therapist, honestly. "I'd rather not talk about it, if that's okay."

"Oh. Yeah. Of course." She nodded a little too quickly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

For the first time since I'd met her, she looked genuinely unsettled. She reached automatically toward the table like she was looking for something that wasn’t there before catching herself and curling her hand back around her cup instead.

"That's okay," I said.

"I just think it's really good," she said after a second, quieter now. "Getting sober, I mean. Most people don't realize how hard it is to..." She trailed off. "Anyway...good for you."

There was a tiny pause there. The kind that happens when somebody almost says too much.

Interesting. I studied her for a second over the rim of my coffee. Suddenly the hyper energy, the territorial attitude, even the intensity made a little more sense. She had the restless vibe of someone who worked very hard at keeping herself together.

And maybe didn't always succeed.

I decided not to poke at it.

Mostly because I knew exactly how much I hated being poked at myself.

"Uh, thanks," I said lightly. "But we're still talking about it."

She laughed, though it sounded relieved more than amused. "Right. Sorry." Then she straightened in her chair and pointed at me with forced brightness. "Okay. So what should we talk about?"

I decided to give her a topic she'd have no trouble with. "Why don't you tell me all about yourself?"

I spaced out while she went on at length, enjoying my coffee and making the occasional grunt to indicate I was paying attention. Eventually, she wound down, just about the same time I finished my espresso.

It was well after dark when we left the coffee shop. As we made our way back towards campus down the still busy sidewalk, streetlamps providing little pools of amber light, I thought about how romantic this walk would be with the right person.

Unfortunately, Becca was not the right person, and she chose that moment to remind me of that fact.

"This was a really nice first date," she said suddenly. "Thanks for going with me."

I'd almost forgotten it was supposed to be a date. I decided it was time to release the proverbial pussy from the pouch.

"I had a nice time too, but I don't think we should count it as a date."

She frowned. "Why not? Don't you like me?"

"I mean, sure. It's just that...I'm not looking for a girlfriend."

She spun around to face me and stopped walking. "Why not?"

Great, now she sounded hurt.

"I don't think we'd be very compatible." It's very hard to enunciate when you're speaking through clenched teeth.

"Why not?"

"I just don't."

"But why not?"

"Because I'm gay!"

She blinked at me. For a few seconds, I thought she was going to freak out.

"You're, like...fruity?"

I sighed. "Yeah."

"For real?"

"Why would I lie?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Because you don't want to date me?"

"I don't want to date you because you're not a guy."

"That's all?"

I nodded, and she rolled her eyes dramatically. "Why didn't you just say so in the first place?"

"I was..." I paused. She had a point. "I was waiting for the right moment?"

"Well, thanks a lot for wasting my time."

"I thought we were just hanging out, making new friends."

That wasn't entirely truthful, but it was close enough to count, at least as far as I was concerned.

"I have plenty of friends. I was hoping for something a little more...intimate."

"Ah, well, sorry to disappoint. At least you got some free coffee out of it. No hard feelings?"

"Whatever. It's fine. There are plenty of other guys at this dumb school."

I smiled. "That's the spirit."

We'd arrived back at the campus by then.

"So...see you around?" I said, although I had a feeling Becca was done with me, and I was more than okay with that.

I stepped in to hug her, but she deftly sidestepped my awkward attempt.

"Yeah, sure," she said curtly. "See you."

I was relieved when she set off briskly in the opposite direction from where I was heading. It would have been unbearably awkward if we'd had to walk in the same direction after that.

"Hey man," Foster said when I let myself back into our room. "I didn't expect you back tonight, if you know what I mean. Strike out?"

I considered that for a moment. "No, not at all. I found a really good coffee shop."

He looked confused at that, but just shook his head and went back to his computer.

I changed for bed and crawled under the covers where I read myself to sleep.

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