Page 33 of The Lost and the Found

I wokeup early Thursday morning feeling like death. I tossed and turned the whole night, unable to close my eyes for more than a few hours at a time.

It wasn’t the best night, and I had to catch an early bus to school.

I made some coffee before I left, even though it wasn’t my favorite. For some odd reason, coffee shop coffee tasted better than the coffee I made at home, but desperate times and all.

I got to school an hour early and headed to my American Lit class, which was empty, and did some homework.

I was not a Lit major. I was an Accounting major. It was practical, and I always had a knack for numbers, so it was the obvious choice. And since I knew I could find a job in the field after graduation, it was a smart choice.

But I was not passionate about it. It was more about passing my classes with honors so that my scholarship wouldn’t be affected, and about being on the right path for my future plans, than it was about enjoying them. What I really liked was some of the literary classes I was taking.

I loved reading books from great authors before my time, loved to read about how people used to think way back when, and to analyzing the hell out of a simple text, looking for hidden meaning.

But to major in it was not practical. Unless I got a teaching certificate, or went on to graduate school, it was a dead-end major. And neither of those options appealed to me. I may as well have already signed up for unemployment had I declared this as my major—or worse, become a full-time bartender for the next thirty to forty years.

There was nothing wrong with making a living as a bartender, but it was wrong for me. I never liked it. I hated dealing with the rude customers, the loud music, how people acted when they were drunk, and even when they weren’t. I especially hated the late hours, and the feeling that I wasn’t going anywhere with the job.

For the time being, I found the joy in taking these elective classes.

I let out a sigh when the doors opened behind me, the noise echoing in the huge auditorium-like classroom. I wanted to be alone.I was good with solitude, considering I spent so much of my teenage years in it, despite how crowded some of the women’s shelters could get, especially during the winter.

When the footsteps continued down the small steps leading to the front of the classroom, I knew whoever entered sat in my row at the front or somewhere close. Was it rational to feel like this stranger had intruded into my private bubble when he was only going to class, same as me? I didn’t know, and I didn’t really care. And when he came down and sat at the desk next to mine, I looked at him.

It was him. The boy from last week. With curly auburn hair, gray eyes, fair skin, and a lean build, he was someone I imagined getting overlooked most his life. There was just something about him that reminded me of myself.

Perhaps it was his shy demeanor, or that he seemed like the kind of boy who lived most of his life trying not to draw attention to himself, but I sensed a kindred spirit of sorts in him, and it made the usual defenses I put on around other people a little less heightened.

“Hi, I’m Daniel,” he said, holding out his hand when he saw me staring.

I smiled and took his hand. “Hayden.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” I was clearly out of practice. Social skills were obviously something I never learned as a kid, and being an only child meant that I never had to share my mom’s attention or toys with anyone.

Only now I didn’t know what to say when I was speaking to people. I sometimes even found myself at loss for words with Dave, and that was saying something, considering he was the person I had in my life the longest, aside from my mom.

“Are you liking the class so far?” he asked politely after a long pause.

I nodded and smiled. “Yes. I love it.”

“Are you a Literature major, too?” His eyes widened slightly, and he seemed way too excited over the prospect that we might have something in common.

Sorry to disappoint. “No. Accounting major.”

“Oh.” He deflated slightly, and I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “What year are you?”

“Senior.”

“Me, too.”

I smiled then, and without another word, got back to my Business Statistics homework.

I was never good at small talk. Sure, I talked to my customers, but it was always about them. I never divulged any personal information, and that made the conversation easier somehow. But this felt too personal.

By the time class was over and I was heading to the studying hall, I realized I would never agree to go out on a date with Daniel, despite how safe he was, even if he’d asked.Our conversation would feel more like pulling teeth, so I would never be interested enough to get naked with him.

The only time I ever felt at ease conversing with someone was Logan, but I had already established that Logan wasn’t good for my plans or my sanity. Groaning, I buried my head in my arms. This was getting me nowhere.

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