The Way We Talk

It should come as a surprise to no one that I brewed my own coffee this morning after yesterday's fiasco. I hate waking up Sammy with my absurdly loud coffee maker, but it does remove the risk of dumping coffee all over someone.

It does, however, require me to wake up a little earlier.

I gulp down the remainder of cup number three and toss my notebook into my bag before heading to Psychology.

I am unimpressed when I enter the lecture hall to see that my usual seat smack in the middle of the left section is filled, along with all of the seats around it. I sigh, taking an empty seat towards the front of the right section.

I pull out my notebook and cellphone, then typing out a text to Katy. We're in our Psych classes at the same time, despite the over six hundred miles of ground between us.

To Katy Cell: managed not to spill coffee on people today. personal victory.

I giggle as my phone buzzes thirty seconds later with a new text.

From Katy Cell: hallelujah, sister. let's try to make a habit of it.

To Katy Cell: i'll try, love.

"So you spill your coffee on me AND steal my seat. What kind of vendetta do you have against me?"

My head shoots up at the oddly familiar voice. Coffee boy ignores my what-the-fuck expression and takes the seat next to me. "I, uh...somebody took my, uh, usual."

Christian chuckles amid my fragmented attempt to produce words, placing a hand on my arm. "I'm just giving you a hard time. I'm Christian, by the way." He extends a hand, and I shake it firmly.

"I'm Erica, and I'm so sorry about the coffee thing. Wasn't completely awake yet."

He shrugs, pulling out his Macbook. "It was eight o'clock, pre-coffee. I know the feeling. What class were you running to?"

"UW." He grimaces at this as he logs into the crappy school wireless.

"UW at eight AM. Yikes. That was bad enough at two in the afternoon."

There's a lull in our conversation at this. From the corner of my eye, I see him writing on someone's wall on Facebook. "So, I take it you're either a freshman or a transfer student," he says after a minute or two, eyes on me as his fingers dance over his keyboard.

I nod. "Freshman."

"That's cool," he responds, scrolling around somewhat aimlessly, "I don't know a lot of the freshman this year. Makes me feel so old."

"You're a senior?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation going. My phone buzzes in my hand, but I ignore it. Katy will understand, without a doubt.

"I wish," he replies, shaking his head as he resumes typing, "Nah, I'm a junior."

The professor clears her throat on her clip-on microphone, a necessity in a room this size, and I turn back to today's printed out powerpoint slides.

In the middle of Abra's lecture on Freud (the latest of many), I take a chance. I scribble a small note on a nearby sheet in my notebook.

does this woman have nothing better to do than talk about penis envy for an hour and fifteen minutes?

I rip the page out and nudge Christian. He chuckles, then finishes typing something before taking the page from my desk and scribbling a reply.

your guess is as good as mine. we've been over this like fifteen times- i think we get it by now.

I smirk; this is definitely juvenile of me, but hell, it's working.

i know, right? i know she's got a raging hardon for freud, but can get talk about abnormal or something?

I see him grin out of the corner of my eye. High school-esque note-passing for the win.

you've read my mind. also, what the fuck is up with that shark poncho? it looks like it's eating her.

I stiffle a giggle and scribble down an important-sounding pint to at least look like I'm half paying attention to the lecture.

i think that's the look she's going for. makes her look like the tough shit professor.

The "tough shit professor" gives me a look that says "Please pay attention to my lecture, Saunders, or get out". I mouth sorry to her, and pretend to be engrossed in note-taking.

no, it makes her look like she had a fight with a ball of yarn and lost. and way to get us caught, erica.

To keep it safe, I ignore his new addition until Professor Abra dismisses us. "Completely true," I respond, pointing to his hasty reply on the notebook paper.

He grins. "Hey, can I have your number? We should get coffee sometime and talk about the other annoyances of our lives. And you can try not to spill it on me this time."

I shake my head as he offers me his EnV3. "You are never going to let me live that one down, are you?" I ask as I type in my name and number while we walk up the stairs to the building's exit before handing his phone back to him.

"I'm headed this way," he says, point towards Eye Street, the opposite of where I'm heading. Awesome. "I just texted you my number, so I'll see you Friday, I guess."

I grin as we part ways, and dig my hand into my oversized purse to pull out my phone. Sure enough, I have a new text.

From Unknown Number: christian climer :)

The side of my mouth curls up in a reluctant smile, and I shut my phone and head to lunch.