How to Love

“You’re absolutely sure you’re going to be okay without me today?” I asked for probably the fifteenth time that morning. I was getting ready for my first day of second semester classes, and I had been panicky the entire morning.

“You’re going to school for like three hours,” Dad rolled his eyes, dramatically flipping the page of his morning paper. “I think I can handle it. Jesus Christ, you’re worse than I was on your first day of school.”

I hated to admit that I was having separation anxiety from the funeral home, but that was definitely what was happening and I hadn’t even left yet. How in the world had I handled the semester before this? “Well, if we start to get busy, call me.” I fidgeted helplessly. “On second thought, I don’t really need to go today.”

“No,” Dad snapped immediately, finally doing me the courtesy of looking up from the obituary notices. “Please, just go to class. The place will still be standing when you get back. If it makes you feel any better, there’ll probably be plenty for you to do when you come home, okay?”

“That makes me feel slightly better,” I admitted, though I felt pathetic doing so. “But really, I can just stay here and help out today.”

“No,” he repeated. “You’re not missing your first day. You’re going to your classes. You’re going to earn the credits, and you’re going to get some kind of a degree. After that, I don’t care what you do. But that can’t happen if you sit here for the whole semester. So you’re going.”

I started to protest again. “But-”

“Just humor me,” Dad moaned, his head rolling back in annoyance. “I’m not having this conversation anymore. Just go. I’ll see you when you get back. Good luck.” He reached behind him and grabbed my car keys off the counter and tossed them to me. “You’d better get going if you don’t want to be late.”

I groaned inwardly but stayed mostly silent, excluding a half-hearted goodbye to my dad as I walked out the door. I glanced at the clock once I got in my car. It was about nine-thirty, and my class didn’t start until ten. I considered stopping for breakfast but decided against it since it would probably take me longer to order something at Sheetz than it would take me to drive to school. Despite getting stuck behind every asshat you could possibly imagine, I made it to school with about twelve minutes to spare. The parking situation pretty much sucked since parking lot C, the one closest to my classroom, was all filled up. I ended up parking in B, way on the other side of the school. By the time I finished walking to my class, it was exactly ten o’clock. I was a little irritated to see so many people in the room since I’d assumed abnormal psychology would have been a smaller class since it required a prerequisite, but I was relieved when I managed to snag a seat away from just about everyone else. Upon sitting down, I glanced around trying to figure out if I knew anyone in the room and also to see if I could spot the instructor anywhere. So far, the professor was a no-show, so I decided to flip through my psych text book for a little while.

Over the next five minutes, people continued to file into the room. One of them slipped behind me and pulled out the seat next to me, and I was half-tempted to make a snarky comment about all the other available seats in the room – so why on Earth would you have to choose the one next to me? – but I stopped myself once I realized who the person was. “Jake? I didn’t know you were signed up for this class.”

“You didn’t ask,” Jake shrugged, allowing his backpack to drop to the floor as he set his cup of Starbucks down on the shared desk. “But likewise. Anyway, did you have a hard time finding this classroom too, or was it just me?”

“Not today, but when I came to buy my books a few weeks ago, I had a hard time finding it,” I replied. As soon as I’d gotten my schedule for the semester, I’d decided to take a walk around Tri-C just to make sure that I’d be able to find everything on the first day to prevent any lateness. Granted, I was only signed up for two in-class lectures this semester, but I figured both classes would be easy enough to find. The second level of my Honors English course was located in the same room as the previous semester, but I’d had the damnedest time trying to find the room for abnormal psych. “You’d think that C113 would be across from C112, but evidently not.”

“Is the professor even here yet?” Jake asked, looking around. “Because I busted my ass to try to get here on time, and if I’m seven minutes late and she’s not even here, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“Nope,” I shook my head. “Hopefully she’ll be here soon, though.”

“Well, if she’s not here by ten-fifteen, I say we call it a walk and just go get some food in the café,” he declared, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Their breakfast sandwiches are delicious.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “I’ve only had the food here once. My cousin got a cup of fries and decided she didn’t want them, so she gave them to me. Worst fries on the planet.”

“I like the fries,” he frowned. “You must have gotten a bad batch.”

“Whatever happened, they tasted like cardboard,” I shuddered, my face contorting in disgust. “The after taste was even worse though, so you had to keep eating the cardboard fries so that you wouldn’t experience it. It was a vicious cycle of bullshit.”

“A vicious cycle of bullshit,” Jake repeated, nodding. “I think I like that.” He pointed to the clock. “Check it out. Ten-fourteen. One more minute and we can-”

“Good morning, class,” the professor greeted in a breathy voice.

“Fuck,” Jake muttered in disappointment. “Goddamnit. So close.”

The instructor, a heavyset black woman probably in her early thirties, got herself situated in the front of the room and introduced herself as Donya Wilkins. We spent the next hour or so going over classroom procedures and expected assignments, which included five take-home tests, five papers, and in lieu of a final, a 500-point final presentation on diagnosing and treating a celebrity patient of your choice. She passed out an eighteen-page syllabus as well as sheets detailing each writing assignment and final presentation. Towards the end of class, she asked us to find “study buddies” to aid us in class work.

Jake immediately knocked his knee against mine. “Dibs.”

“Jesus, are we in the third grade?” I cracked, rolling my eyes. The whole thing seemed stupid to me. “Who the hell calls dibs? For a study buddy? Honestly.”

“Aw, come on,” Jake whined. “You won’t be my study buddy? I thought we were gonna hold hands at recess.” He obviously found the term as childish as I did.

I scoffed. “I’ll be your study buddy under the condition of no hand-holding.”

“Deal.” He went to shake my hand but then stopped himself, folding it into a fist and bumping it against mine. “No hand-holding.”

She let us go at eleven-twenty, giving me forty minutes until my next class. I picked up my coat and bag, heading towards the café. I was in the middle of contemplating calling my dad to check in with him when Jake walked up behind me. “So where are you headed off to?’

“The nerdy section of the café,” I replied. “I don’t have class until twelve.”

“Neither do I,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”

“Knock yourself out,” I answered him as nonchalantly as possible. Secretly, I was pretty happy to have someone to sit with, as I usually sat alone in the café. I’d spent the previous semester eating by myself normally looking up stupid stuff on my laptop to keep myself entertained.

As we walked along, I found it increasingly hard to keep up with him. “Jesus Christ, will you slow down? I’m short, you’re tall; one of your steps equals like two and a half of mine.”

He laughed. “Sorry. I’ll do my best.” We walked up the stair and past Campus Administration to get to the upper level of the café. We grabbed a table near one of the fire exits.

“So what do you have next?” Jake asked as we got situated.

“English,” I replied, resting my bag on the seat next to mine. I made sure my cell phone was visible on the table in case I had any incoming calls.

“Same here,” he said, sounding slightly more excited. “Do you have Zegers?”

I shook my head. “No. I had her last semester though.”

“Is she any good?” he asked hesitantly, his face falling a little bit. “Any advice to get me through the semester?”

“She’s okay,” I shrugged. “No tests or quizzes. No final, either. Every class is a lecture and discussion. You’re not required to participate though, but you’re supposed to do the reading and whatnot. Also, she grades largely on attendance, so don’t skip it or she takes ten points off. If you go to every class, you get an extra ten, though. The only assignments are fifteen journal entries due in groups of five, and then three papers. The only advice I can give you is don’t put the writing stuff off until the night before it’s due, because that sucks.”

“Okay.” He blinked, trying to absorb the information. That was probably a lot more than he was expecting. “Thanks. That’s actually helpful. Much more helpful than Rate My Professor.”

“Oh, and there’s a book you have to read,” I added as an after-thought. “I’m pretty sure it’s still Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates.”

“Isn’t that a movie?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “It’s a little different than the book though, so don’t watch the movie until you finish the book.” I leaned back. “I thought you said you weren’t taking any Honors classes.”

“Apparently I tested into Honors English Comp,” he shrugged. “Don’t ask me how that happened. You’re in the second level, right? 102H?”

“Yeah,” I said. “101H is cake, though. You’ll be fine. Just shut up and do your work on time. It’s easier than any high school class I ever took.”

“Sounds easy enough,” he nodded. “I was picturing, like, piles of homework and papers every week.”

“It’s mostly just reading the stupid essays that she hands out,” I confirmed. “I didn’t even read half of them, to be honest, and I still got an A. The only thing I did completely read was the book.”

“Is it gonna put me to sleep?” Jake groaned as if he were about to be tortured. “Because to tell you the truth, I Cliff notes’d my way through school.”

“It takes a little while to get into, but it eventually gets pretty good,” I replied. “It’s pretty heavy on characterization, though.”

“Are you sure I can’t just rent the movie?” he frowned again. “I don’t like reading, especially not for school. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever actually finished a book.”

“How do you go through twenty-one years of life and not ever finish a book?” I asked incredulously.

“I just don’t enjoy it,” he shrugged. “I find it boring. I’ve yet to find anything that really captures my attention.”

“Well, what do you do when you get a magazine?” I questioned.

“I look at the pictures,” he answered simply. “The magazines that I like are mostly pictures anyway.” He laughed as I gave him an overly dramatic eye roll. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I read the headers and stuff, and if an article sounds interesting, I read it. Mostly I skim, though.”

“Obviously you’re not reading the right stuff,” I told him, shaking my head. It was difficult for me to imagine someone not liking reading. I’d learned to read at a pretty young age since there wasn’t much else to do growing up in the funeral home. All activities had to be quiet, and reading required silence, so that was definitely encouraged. Aside from that, both of my parents loved literature and had shelves in the family room brimming with books. Even now when I went to the library with Liz, we could hardly leave without a bag full of books.

“Yeah, Penthouse forum letters are like that,” he joked, smirking. “Maybe I’m just not one of those people that likes reading.” Jake shrugged again. “Anyway, I’m hungry so I’m gonna grab something to eat. You want anything?”

“No thanks,” I responded. Jake left and headed down the stairs for the lunch line. He returned a few minutes later carrying some kind of deformed looking burger and a cup of fries. I stuck my tongue out. “Those look disgusting.”

“It’s not gourmet, but I’m starving ass,” he said. “Plus this will prove to you that the French fries are absolutely fine.” He opened one of the small packets of ketchup with his teeth and then spread it along one of the fries. “Observe.” He placed the fry in his mouth, chewing contently for a moment before making a face of utter horror and disgust. “You were right. These are not okay. Holy shit. Abort mission.”

I laughed. “I told you.” I glanced towards the clock behind me, which read about a quarter to twelve. “I’ve gotta go to class. Enjoy your ass fries. You’ll still be over at three for the viewing, right?”

He nodded and wiped his mouth on a napkin, still looking sick. “I’m throwing these out. But yes, I’ll be there a little earlier.”

I waved good-bye and headed to English, which was a very short walk since the Honors room was located right off of the cafeteria. My class went by quickly and I was out by about one-twenty. I went back to the FH right when it was over and was relieved to find that there was nothing going on, save for the last-minute viewing preparations. Dad spent a few minutes asking me about my day and whether I liked my classes so far, and then we finished setting up flower stands for the viewing. I went upstairs to start a little homework for my online classes. Jake arrived around two forty-five and we talked for a minute or two before he changed and took his post at the door. The next two hours went by pretty slowly, but I was able to finish the majority of my homework for the next week or so. I went to my bedroom to put my books back on my desk and upon entering I spotted Jake standing in front of my book shelf, studying it. “What are you doing?”

He turned to look at me, surprised and slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“It’s my room,” I said slowly. “I’m not really obligated to knock or anything.”

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I mentioned to your dad that I needed that book for English and he said he thought you had a copy. He told me to go ahead and look for it.” He truly did look adorably sorry, so I let it slide. I wasn’t exactly a fan of people in my room alone, whether I knew them well or not, but for him, I’d make an exception.

“I’ll grab it for you,” I offered. I bent down to the bottom shelf and grabbed my copy of Revolutionary Road, I stood up to hand it to him. As he grabbed it from me, his index finger ran along mine, creating what felt like a spark that traveled through my body. This was something I’d never felt before, but it was somewhat delightful.

“Thanks,” he smiled. There was no indication that he’d felt that, too.

My breath hitched in my throat for a moment before I was able to answer him. “Sure.”

He turned to head out and my eyes trailed after him. Maybe I’d have to rethink that hand-holding rule after all.