Page 12 of The Trade

“We live together ... I mean, there’s this little thing called boundaries.”

“Suit yourself, then.”

“Just go on your date with Fred,” she says. “Then I’ll put some more thought into who I might set you up with next.”

I huff out a resigned “Fine.”

“Yeah, it will be fine. But hey, look, I gotta get going,” she says, gaze stuck on her phone, the unexpected urgency of her meeting written all over her face.

“Alright,” I mumble through a mouthful of pizza, the spice still tingling on my tongue. I give my fingers a quick lick before waving her off. “See you later.”

She calls out a hasty “Good luck at the library!” as she races up the stairs.

Left alone, I turn my attention to the remnants of our meal. I gather our trash, tossing Shannon’s discarded crusts into the compost bin. She may be obsessively neat about our apartment, but she always seems to leave a mess behind her everywhere else.

With the table clean, I sling my backpack onto my shoulder, letting out a resigned sigh. The serene quiet of North Campus is my next stop—along with a daunting pile of assignments waiting for me.

* * *

An hourinto my solo study session, I’ve barely chipped away at my study guide for Mass Media Law. The table in front of me is buried under a wild landscape of textbooks, notebooks, colorful sticky notes, highlighters, and pens.

This may look like a hot mess to an outsider, but to me, it’s the opposite. The more chaotic my physical space is, the more organized my mind becomes. The visual clutter, in a strange, unexplainable way, helps me compartmentalize and sort my thoughts, untangling the knots inside my head.

Unfortunately, my concentration shatters at the sound of a familiar male voice calling my name. I raise my head to the sound, my gaze finding its way to the arrogant face attached to it.

“Um, hello?” I question, my confusion rising at the sight of West amidst my carefully orchestrated chaos. Of all the people, why did it have to be him disturbing my peace?

“Hey, it’s, uh, West?” He furrows his brow, scratching at the back of his neck. “We met the other day.”

A flat “Yes” slips from my lips, my face unreadable. “I recall.”

“Right.” He tightly grips one strap of his backpack, fingers drumming against the worn material. “Well, I just wanted to apologize to you for being a jackass then.”

I raise a skeptical brow. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirms, sincerity lacing his voice. “I wasn’t in the best headspace that day, and I just ... well, something you mentioned kind of set me off, I guess.”

My lips quirk up into a teasing smile. “Are you saying that my nonstop questioning offended you, Theo?”

“West,” he corrects swiftly. “And yeah, I guess. Something like that.”

With a playful tap of my pen against my chin, I prod him further. “Which question was it exactly?”

He brushes it off with a curt “Not important.”

“If you say so.”

“You know, all those questions ...Shan told me you’re a reporter,” he says, veering the conversation off course. “Must be kinda hard to turn it off, yeah?”

“I am,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “And I guess it is, sometimes. Sometimes it’s just my natural curiosity.”

His features twist into a smug grin, echoing my words from the previous day. “So, you any good, then?”

“Well, I recently wrote a riveting article on the new residence hall. I’m sure you read that one, just as soon as you picked up the last issue of theDayton Daily.”

His smirk broadens, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Ah, must have skipped right over it. I’ll have to scrounge up my copy again.”

“I’m sure you could find one in a recycling bin somewhere.”

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