Page 25 of Mud, Love, and Chemistry

“Ugh, fine. I see there’s no talking you down.” She gets up and walks toward the door, but stops and spins to face me. “At least classes start tomorrow, so you’ll have something to distract you.”

A lightness fills me as I nod. “Yep. The only thing that sucks is I have to wait until Thursday for Professor St. James’ class. But that means I don’t have labs this week, so I guess it evens out.”

***

With an exasperated groan, I traipse out of my first class Monday morning; English 305. I can already tell it’s going to be the worst of my classes. Give me literature class and I’ll read all day, every day, but an entire class dedicated to essays? No way. Unless I’m writing about pollution remediation and how the breakdown of chemicals affects nature, count me out.

As I exit the building, I’m welcomed by a warm August day. And that wonderful Greeley smell. Being an agricultural hub for the surrounding farmlands, Greeley is famous in Colorado for its Earthy aroma. After going to The University of Northern Colorado for almost four years, I’ve grown used to the stench of the pastures, but sometimes the slaughterhouse smell still gets to me. Being a vegetarian, I try not to think too hard about it.

Today, it’s not so bad, so I relish the beautiful day as I walk home for lunch. The house I share with Lisa, Jackie, and Hannah is only a few blocks away from the UNC campus, which is enough time for me to warm up after being in that frigid English building.

Inside, I flop down at the kitchen table. Folding my arms, I cradle my head in them. “How am I going to survive a whole year of essays?” It’s so depressing to think about that I’ve almost lost my appetite.

Almost.

I heat up some leftover pizza and try to forget that I have English again on Wednesday. Hopefully, my other classes won’t be so bad. Of course, the best class is my last one of the week.

When Thursday comes, I’m beyond excited to get to my three-hour lecture class with Professor St. James. It’s Organic Chemistry, supposedly the hardest of the chemistry courses, but I’m ready to be in the professor’s presence again. I’ve had a class taught by Dr. Miranda St. James every semester since freshman year, and they’re always my favorite.

The professor is brilliant. Her mind is amazing with the amount of knowledge flowing through it, and she’s a great person. She also happens to own and operate an environmental research facility a few towns over. She gives the top chemistry major first chance at a spot in her paid internship every year, and not to brag, but I’ve basically been guaranteed that spot since sophomore year.

Working at that lab is my dream job. I’ve always loved nature and I can’t wait to spend my life saving it.

I practically bounce through the door and across the classroom to take a seat at the front. I like to be as close as possible so I can hear and see everything going on. As students file in, I recognize quite a few. We’ve all had classes together for the past couple of years, so naturally, I know a lot of them.

We exchange amicable waves, but I keep to myself mostly. I’ve got my close-knit group of friends, and I like it that way.

When Professor St. James walks in, she heads straight to the desk, but catches me in her sight and smiles. Smiling back, I dip my head in recognition.

She checks the clock. “Since it’s the first day of classes, I’m going to wait a few minutes for those who may be lost. Occupy yourselves a bit longer.” With that, she begins unpacking her satchel.

I flip open my notebook and write “O-Chem” at the top with the date right next to it. As I’m writing, my mind drifts off momentarily. I think about all the great things happening for me. Senior year of college, an internship at a research facility owned by my favorite professor, great friends, and a bright future. The only thing missing is someone to share the rest of my life with.

If only that person could be?

The classroom door opens, pulling my attention away from my blank notebook page. I lift my gaze, and a million butterflies take off in my stomach as I watch the one person I least expect to walk in.

Sam Eastman.

His eyes scan the room from behind square-framed glasses. I didn’t even know he wore glasses. When he finally lands on me, his face lights up, his expression surely matching my own. But then his brow furrows as he looks at the desks surrounding mine. They’re all full. He gives me an apologetic shrug and tilts his head toward the back of the room.

I’m left gasping for air. My heart beats so wildly, it’s drowning out all other noise. I know the professor has started the lecture, but I can’t hear anything.

What is he doing here? He lives in Wyoming, so why is he in Colorado? I thought he was going to be job searching at the end of the summer. Why is he at my school? Why is he in this class?

One question puts all the others to rest...who cares?

What matters is he’s here. I never thought I’d see him again, never thought we’d have a chance to be together, and now, here he is. Judging by the delight beaming from him, he’s happy about it, too. I wiggle in my seat, unable to contain my excitement.

I can’t wait for class to end so I can talk to him. We can tell each other all about our summers, and he can explain what in the world he’s doing here.

My stomach plummets through the floor as that notion sinks in.

How will he explain it? He didn’t mention anything about going to school when we met, and there’s no way this is his first semester. He can’t be in O-Chem as a freshman, can he? He’d have to be exceptionally brilliant.

But then how is he going to justify being here?

The bitter taste of bile creeps up my throat as I tell myself he’ll have a perfectly reasonable explanation. He didn’t lie. Sam wouldn’t do that. Would he?

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