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I think about Seth’s washboard abs, rippling with effort, and Hunter’s blonde hair glinting in a low light, and then guiltily take another bite of the granola bar. I do it so hard my teeth click together. That’s gross, I tell myself. That’s so gross.

I hear the front door open, then close. Footsteps down the corridor and past my room, towards the kitchen. I quietly unlock the door and peek my head out.

Walking into the kitchen is Hunter’s friend, the pissed-off guy who had told me to ‘watch where you’re going’ when Hunter had whacked me with the kayak paddle. He’s unmistakable; he’s so tall that his coiffed brown hair almost brushes the doorframe, and his biceps are still straining the sleeves of his polo shirt. He turns, and I catch a glimpse of him: high cheekbones, angry grey eyes: before I immediately shut the door again and re-lock it. I hear him go upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. I hear the guys upstairs talking- they say ‘Hey, Lucas!’ and then subside back into voices too quiet to hear.

All three roommates. They’re all asshole jocks.

I sit on the floor. I light my candle in my tiny room. The scent of vanilla fills the room. I close my eyes tight.

Going to college in Aurora is off to a rocky start, I think, but I won’t let some shitty roommates stop me. I’m going to do great in class. I’m going to-

An inner voice that sounds kind of like my mom pitches in unhelpfully.

Going to what? What are you going to do with your life?

I stare at the candle, the firelight flickering in the glass and melted wax. I cup my hands around the warm glass and let it calm me.

I’ll figure it out.

2

SETH

When I wake up, my mouth is dry.

Lucas and Hunter, had been determined to go to the football team hazing last night. They’d invited me, but I turned them down on two grounds. One, I’m not on the football team. Lucas, asshole number one, pointed out that he isn’t either. Two, I have practice in the morning. Hunter, asshole number two, pointed out that so did he.

I only had one way of getting out of an evening of watching giant-shouldered football idiots cry like babies while Hunter and Lucas got them to do weird shit- get them so drunk before they left that they forgot they’d ever invited me along. Unfortunately, that had involved some significant drinking of my own.

Hence the dry mouth. And also the headache and why I feel like death warmed up in a microwave.

I still have lectures this morning.

God damn it.

I drag myself out of bed. I don’t enjoy how my brain feels like it’s tilting in my skull. I grimace against the pale sunlight filtering through the blinds and, eyes closed, grope on the ground for the pile I keep clean clothes in.

I run through a checklist as I stumble through the apartment: Shoes, water, keys, watch. I pick up at least three pairs of shoes that aren’t mine before finding any that belong to me. Water is a hard one: I have one water bottle and I keep it clean. Lucas, whose water bottles all smell like swamp water, has his ever-expanding collection in a pile in, near, or below the sink. There’s one on the floor too. Hunter only drinks protein shakes, but he seems to only want to keep the containers wherever I last put my one and only water bottle. After about a minute of glaring at the piles of things that can hold liquid, I grab a water bottle from Lucas’ pile, fill it with some of Hunter’s protein shake and hope it’s a hangover cure. I don’t mix it well enough and it’s clumped-up and chalky, but it’s at least a liquid, and also kind of a food. My keys are where I left them last night when I saw Lucas and Hunter out; still in the door, which is closed but not actually locked. I decide I’d rather die than try to find my goddamn watch, and stumble out of the door, locking it behind me.

It’s five in the morning and Aurora is beautiful. Nobody’s up but me and the sun, which hasn’t yet crested over the distant mountains. There’s a mist in the air, hanging in clouds of fog around the university campus, clinging in humid waves to my skin. I breathe the cool air in, out, squint against the dawning sun. I wish, briefly, that I was dead so that I wouldn’t have to do this. Then I start running.

It’s never enjoyable at first. I’m still hungover and bone tired. My limbs don’t want to move and my gait is all over the place. It takes a few minutes for my legs to warm up. My head starts to clear and my eyes adjust to the sun. My hair is whipping about my forehead, and the air is cool and clean.

This is the part of running that I love. It’s why I do track.

My first year at Aurora U had been insane. I had gone here on a track and field scholarship: it was the only way I was going to afford college. Thankfully for me, I’m pretty fucking good at track. I’m best at long distance running, but I’ll give most of the guys who do the long jump a run for their money and I can throw a javelin a long fucking way. I’ve only been here one year, but I place higher than most of the guys here and I know they know it. Probably why I’m not great friends with any of them. I know I intimidate them. Thankfully, I’ve at least got Hunter and Lucas watching my back. They might not be track, but they’d probably be better at it than my teammates anyway. I know they feel the same about their teammates, too.

I’ve