I could always tell what Dr. Fersan was thinking by the way her eyebrows moved. They were constantly moving, too. Up, down, up, down. It had only taken a few sessions with her to realize that the faster they went, the faster the gears inside her head were churning. Occasionally only one brow went up and often they both went down, leaving her with a look of concern or maybe slight disapproval. When I watched the slight changes in her expression, it felt like I was peering directly into her brain. Sometimes I caught myself mimicking her brows' movements, though I really didn't mean to. It was a reflex, completely involuntary--or maybe she'd found a way to use mind control on her patients. Maybe I was an experiment.

Or, maybe I was just a weirdo.

"Have you and your brother had a chance to talk since your outing the other week?" Dr. Fersan asked, flipping through my chart while I shook my head. She smiled pleasantly, though her eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. "Why do you think that is?"

"I've told you before." I picked at a hangnail that had appeared on my index finger, wincing as I tore off the sliver of skin. "We don't really get along."

"You mentioned that," Dr. Fersan said, jotting something down. "When you say you don't get along, do you mean--"

"I mean, we can't spend more than fifteen minutes together before I want to kill him." I paused, remembering the warning I'd been given at the start of our therapy sessions. "That doesn't count as something that you have to report to the cops, right?"

Dr. Fersan chuckled as she crossed something out. "Don't worry, if I reported everyone who said they wanted to kill a family member in passing, I wouldn't have many patients left." She fiddled with her headband, though her bushy curls refused to be tamed. "I only have to disclose serious threats. Otherwise, everything you say here is confidential."

"Gotcha." A bubble of blood had formed where I tore off the hangnail and I wiped it away on my jeans.

"Why do you think your brother makes you feel that way?" Dr. Fersan pressed on. I shrugged.

"No clue."

"Really?"

I glanced up and was unsurprised to see her eyebrows at full attention. This was the sort of information she loved to pry out of me, though I did my best to resist sharing the extent of my family's dysfunction. My mom probably would've fainted if she knew half the things I'd told Dr. Fersan and I always felt a little guilty for airing our dirty laundry. Although Fersan insisted that talking about the feelings I had for my family didn't mean I loved them any less, it sure felt like I was throwing them under a very fast moving bus.

"He reminds me of my dad, that's all," I finally said, and Dr. Fersan nodded.

"And why do you think that makes you uncomfortable?"

I looked at the clock that hung above the bookcase in the corner of the room and frowned when I realized I still had twenty minutes left. "It doesn't," I lied, cursing myself for allowing the topic to come up.

"It's alright if it does."

Drumming my fingers against my leg, I chewed resolutely on my tongue, willing the minutes to pass. When I didn't respond, Dr. Fersan said, "We can talk about something else--"

"My dad turns everything into a competition," I blurted, years of resentment bubbling to the surface in a single sentence. "Everything. Always. It doesn't matter what it is, it's like he expects us to fight to the death to be the best."

"Do you have any examples?"

I snorted. "I got a concussion playing football in middle school. It was minor but the doctor said I'd be out for at least two games--safety precaution, I guess." I grimaced as I continued, "My dad sent me to practice the next day."

Dr. Fersan couldn't hide the horrified disdain that flashed momentarily across her face. "I'm sure he didn't expect you to play."

"I don't really know what he expected, to be honest, but I doubt he would've said no if I'd jumped up and said I wanted to run drills." Ten minutes. "That's just the way he is."

"And," Dr. Fersan began carefully, "why do you think your father's personality has affected your relationship with your brother?"

"Because Michael would've been on the field practicing that day, no questions asked." I coughed. "That's just the way he is, too. My dad loves Michael because they've both got that--they have to win, no matter what it takes."

"And you don't feel like you share their level of competitiveness?"

"Me?" I shook my head before holding Dr. Fersan's gaze. "No, not at all. I don't need to win." I swallowed. "I'm just happy getting by."

--------------------------------------------------------------

Melanie texted me Thursday morning with instructions to meet her on the second floor of the philosophy department's library and to bring copies of the notes I'd taken during the week. Her message went on to mention that she'd booked a study room for us and that she'd try to get there a few minutes earlier than we'd agreed to meet in case I got lost. I responded that I'd see her later and then saved her number, realizing that Parker must have given her mine at some point.

Although her choice of where to meet left me puzzled at first, when I stepped inside Jefferson Hall, I no longer questioned her decision. Unlike the poorly lit twenty-four-hour library where most undergraduate students cranked out papers and pulled all-nighters, Jefferson Hall Library boasted high ceilings and massive windows that allowed rays of natural light to filter in. There were more rows of book stacks than I could count and long wooden tables separated the aisles. A few people looked up as I walked by, though I barely noticed their stares as I continued marveling at the decorations on the walls. In my entire life, I'd never once considered describing a library as being beautiful but that was the only way to describe this place. Beautiful, majestic even. It was the sort of setting that made me want to learn.

After checking my phone and realizing I had ten minutes left before I was supposed to meet Melanie, I took my time wandering up to the second floor, pausing to check out an old musket that was housed inside a glass case. In the back of my mind, I thought it was a little strange that we had a weapon on school grounds but the proudly displayed relic boasted an information card beside it. Apparently it had been used in the Revolutionary War, which presumably gave it enough historical relevance to surpass the university's policy of being a gun-free zone. I tapped on the clear barrier and then used the sleeve of my flannel to wipe away the fingerprints I'd left behind. When I turned around, I dropped my skateboard against the marble tiling and let out a startled yelp.

Melanie stared at me for a moment before bending over to pick up my longboard. She handed it to me and I took it, unable to stop my heart from pounding. "Sorry," she said, looking over the wooden bannister at the students studying on the first floor. Nearly all of them were staring at us and some shook their heads. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," I lied automatically, and Melanie smiled.

"I saw you walk by the room I reserved and I thought you might have missed it."

"No, I was just looking around." I swallowed, motioning at the exhibit that I'd been looking at. "I didn't even realize we had things like that at our school."

Nodding, Melanie moved to peer down at the antique firearm. She folded her bare arms across her chest and I noted that her shoulders were lightly dotted with freckles; they reminded me of the constellations that Parker and I had looked for when we were Boy Scouts. "There are a lot of cool things in this library."

"I've never been here before," I admitted, and Melanie turned to appraise me.

"I think that's probably true for most people," she said, her voice still low. "It's usually pretty empty, which is why I like studying here."

We stayed in front of the glass case for another minute before Melanie looked at the watch on her wrist. "Are you ready?" she asked, and I nodded as she led me down the hallway to a closed door. She opened it and stepped inside, holding the door for me while I stepped through.

"Thanks," I said, moving towards the table in the center of the room. I looked around while I slid into a chair, eyeing the textbooks and supplement guides that Melanie had stacked beside her planner.

Melanie took the seat across from me and I watched while she withdrew a leather pencil pouch from her tote bag. Placing it on the desk, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then met my gaze. It still surprised me to see how many different colors flecked her hazel eyes and, for a brief second, I could've sworn that she wore contacts.

"Are you ready for your quiz tomorrow?" she asked, pulling out a green pen and removing its cap.

I shook my head. "Not at all."

"Did you bring your notes?"

With a grunt, I reached into my backpack and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. "It got a little messed up after I printed it this morning." I pushed it towards her. "I couldn't find a folder."

"That's alright," Melanie said, smoothing the wrinkles from the heavily creased page. She looked it over and then frowned when she saw that nothing had been written on the back. "Do you have the rest?"

"What do you mean?"

"The rest of your notes," Melanie said slowly, and I shook my head.

"Those are my notes."

Not bothering to hide her reaction, Melanie's mouth fell open slightly as she looked between me and the paper in front of her. I couldn't decide if she looked more surprised or panicked. "For the entire week?" When I nodded, Melanie rubbed her forehead. "Scott..."

"I know, they're terrible," I said, trying to ignore the heat that crept up the back of my neck. "I'm sorry, I--"

"Don't apologize to me." Melanie opened a binder that she'd set in front of her and began to flip through the pages. "Your notes are there to help you study, so if you can honestly say that these are useful to you, then that's fine."

"They're not," I said, sinking into my seat. Melanie gave me a pointed look as she unclasped the binder rings and pulled out a stapled packet.

"I'm not surprised. Here," she said, handing me the papers that she'd taken out. "These are the notes from the unit you covered this week."

"Are you serious?"

She nodded. "I'm not going to do this for you all the time but since you're not a science major, I thought that you might be having trouble figuring out what you need to take down during class and while you're doing the reading." Flecks of dark gold circled her pupils. "You can use these as a template going forward."

I stared at the perfectly formatted information in front of me and mumbled, "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," Melanie replied, pulling her hair into a ponytail. "Sometimes all it takes to understand the material is a change in your study habits."

Although she was blunt, there was something uniquely comforting in the way she spoke, something that told me she genuinely wanted to help me do better. "So, now what?" I asked, clearing my throat.

Melanie leaned across the table so I got a whiff of her perfume. She smelled like flowers and vanilla. "Now we go back to whenever it was that the material stopped making sense and work from there."

"You mean day one?" I joked, but Melanie didn't laugh.

Instead, she reached for my textbook and nodded. "Day one it is, then."

The sun had set by the time we left the library and as we stepped into the brisk night air, I was filled with a newfound confidence in the material and a deep respect for Melanie. She'd answered my never ending stream of questions with patience and a smile. By the end of our session together, I completely understood why Parker liked her so much. Hell, I was well on my way to feeling the same.

Balancing books in her arms and her purse on her shoulder, Melanie said goodbye as soon as we reached the sidewalk but I called out for her to wait. She turned to look at me, a hint of bemusement in her expression. "I'll walk you home," I offered, holding my skateboard in my hand. Melanie opened her mouth to protest but I shook my head. "It's dark. It wouldn't feel right to let you wander around by yourself right now."

"I don't live that far from campus," Melanie said, obviously a little uncomfortable. She glanced back at the library. "Besides, I walk home by myself all the time."

"Well, you shouldn't," I said. She still looked torn. "I really don't mind, if that's what you're worried about. It's no trouble for me."

Melanie bit her lip. "Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

"Alright, then," Melanie said reluctantly.

We began walking across campus in silence, our shadows thrown by the streetlights that lined the sidewalk. "You dated my brother, right?" I asked after a while, and Melanie let a shoulder rise and fall.

"Not really." Even in the sparse lighting, I could tell that she was embarrassed. Her cheeks darkened. "We went out once."

"That's what Parker said," I mused, and Melanie gave me a funny look.

"Did he?" When I nodded, Melanie added, "Honestly, the whole thing was really awkward."

Curiosity got the better of me and I asked, "Why?"

"It just was," Melanie replied simply. "Fifteen minutes into dinner, we both knew that it wasn't going to work."

"So, what happened?"

"We finished eating, split the check, and went for beers instead of going to the movies."

"Oh."

"We're still friends--sometimes even good friends," Melanie continued, "but that's it."

I sensed a wave of tension pass between us and I regretted bringing the question up at all. Right when I was about to apologize, Melanie turned to me and smiled. "What about you?"

"What?"

"You said you have a girlfriend, right? Or did you say she's your ex now?"

"Gemma? Uh, well, she's something," I replied, and Melanie's grin widened.

"Complicated?"

"Guess you could say that."

Nudging me with her elbow, Melanie teased, "Isn't it always?"

She didn't wait for me to answer, instead changing the subject to ask me about what life was like in the frat. "Parker always makes your parties sound like so much fun," Melanie said, and I nodded, reminded of the fact that I needed to make sure the pledges knew how to set up for the weekend's events.

"They are." I tugged at my backpack's strap. "We're having a 1920s party on Saturday, if you want to stop by."

Melanie laughed, the sound ringing through the otherwise still air like a church bell. "I'm twenty-four," she said when I turned to look at her. "I'm pretty sure that it's no longer socially acceptable for me to get drunk with a bunch of eighteen-year-olds in my free time."

"You could say the same thing about me. I'm turning twenty-three next month," I pointed out, but Melanie still shook her head.

"It's different," she said, though she didn't bother to elaborate on what the difference was.

I switched my skateboard to my other hand and shrugged. "Well, let me know if you change your mind."

"Sure," Melanie replied, but the way she said it told me not to hold my breath.

We lapsed back into silence but as we neared the edge of campus, she looked at me again. "It was really nice of you to offer to walk me home."

"Any time."

"I don't know many people who would do that for someone they barely know," she went on. "It almost gives me hope."

"About what?"

"Oh, just..." The streetlight illuminated her blush again. "That the world still has nice guys in it. You and Parker--you two are a rare breed."

Her comment made me pause. After a beat, I asked, "You think?"

Melanie nodded slowly. "I know."

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A/N: Happy New Year and happy update from Rome! I had a few minutes to post before heading out for a late dinner so I hope that you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought and if there were any typos. :) I have sketchy internet on my phone here so I plan on responding to all comments after I get back to the States on the 17th. Thanks for reading! <3