Despite my initial reaction, it would've been a lie for me to say that ending things with Gemma didn't hurt at all. I missed her—some days more than others—though this was the first time that breaking up with her didn't leave me feeling like the world was crumbling around me. For the most part, I was doing alright; part of me even appreciated the fact that instead of worrying about pleasing Gemma twenty-four-seven, my brain now had time to think about other things.

Other things, like wondering how to rekindle my slightly-more-than-friendship with Melanie. If my thoughts still drifted to Gemma on occasion, they turned to Melanie at least four times more often. She'd started responding to my text messages again, which I counted as a victory even if she was only sending one or two word replies. It was better than nothing, and after weeks of silence, even a simple "Yes" or "No" from Melanie made my heart do somersaults. I hadn't asked her to start tutoring me again; I knew that she'd probably agree if I did, but I didn't want our first face-to-face interaction since my date dash to take place in the library. I wanted it to be special somehow, though that seemed easier said than done. I couldn't think of how to approach her to hang out, and I was ashamed to admit that I'd turned to watching terrible romantic comedies on TV to get inspired. Honestly, I didn't understand how or why anyone paid money to watch the damn things in theaters. The moral of the story always seemed to be that attractive people end up together, no matter what. The end. Cue tears. Roll credits.

For some reason, I didn't think that Melanie wanted me to stand outside her window with a boombox or to write her an email every day for a year. No, both seemed like pretty ridiculous options, which was why I went with my safest bet: asking Parker to put in a good word for me.

I caught him on my way to class one morning and plopped down beside him at the table as he shoveled eggs into his mouth. He glanced at me without pausing to swallow, instead adding a slice of toast to his bursting cheeks. "Hey," I said, and he nodded his greeting in return. "What's up?"

He gave me a look as he shrugged, obviously sensing that I wanted something from him. Without waiting for him to respond, I continued, "Do you think you could do me a favor?" He didn't react. "Would you mind talking to Melanie for me?"

Parker stared at me for a moment and then chased his breakfast down with orange juice. "No," he said, shaking his head.

"No, what? No, you don't mind, or no, you won't talk to her?"

"The latter," he replied, dragging his fork across his plate to capture flecks of scrambled egg.

"Why not?"

"You and Gemma just broke up."

"So? You didn't seem to mind when I hung out with Melanie while Gemma and I were still hooking up."

"I know," Parker admitted, folding his arms across his chest. He chewed on his lip while he chose his words. "Actually, to be honest, it has less to do with you and more to do with Melanie."

"What do you mean?"

He lifted one shoulder up to his ear. "She told me to stop meddling."

"I'm not asking you to meddle," I protested. "I'm asking you to, you know, just help me get back into her good graces."

"That's the definition of meddling."

"Well, then be subtle."

"She'll know."

"How?" I demanded, reaching for his untouched yogurt cup and peeling back the lid. Parker gave me a withering look as I grabbed a spoon from the tray of utensils that rested on the table's center.

"She's smarter than both of us, you prick." He sighed as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Plus, you just stole my last coconut yogurt; why would I do anything for you?"

Through a mouthful of creamy goodness, I replied, "Want it back?"

Parker just looked at me with disgust. "Definitely not." He paused. "I'm not getting involved with this."

"You keep saying that."

"Because I'm serious."

"Fine, I get it. Thanks a lot," I mumbled, not bothering to push in my chair as I got up and walked away. I left him the half-eaten pot of yogurt out of spite.

My sullen mood lasted through my first two classes of the day, and took an even further downturn when I checked my phone as I skated back to the house a few hours later. I swiped to ignore the various email notifications that had popped up on the screen, but paused when I realized that Sophie had messaged me during my last lecture. She rarely sent me texts unless it was to ask where Parker was or what reading had been assigned, so I was surprised to see her name in my inbox.

I was even more shocked when I opened her message and read, What are you wearing today?

Confused, I worded my response cautiously. I'd tell you, but I wouldn't want Parker to get the wrong idea about us.

Within thirty seconds of pressing Send, an incoming call from Sophie lit up my phone. "You freak," she said when I answered. "Did you seriously think that I was hitting on you?"

"Of course not," I replied, though there was a part of me that was grateful for her swift denial. "It was a joke."

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Whatever."

"Anyway, why do you care about what I'm wearing?" I asked, swerving to avoid a gaggle of ballerinas standing outside one of the art department's dance studios.

"Because I'm trying to decide if I should wear a suit to class or not."

"Why would you wear a suit?"

There was a long pause before Sophie spoke again. "You're kidding, right?"

"Um." I racked my brain, trying to figure out what I was missing. "No?"

"Our presentation is in an hour."

"What presentation?"

"For Business Negotiation," she said slowly. "You know, that assignment that's worth half of our grade?"

I swore so loudly that a high school student touring the campus with his family spun around to gape at me. Despite the heat that crept up my neck, I ignored their slack jawed stares and sped up in order to make it to the upcoming intersection before the light turned red. I cruised through the crosswalk as the Don't Walk signal began to flash. Running my free hand through my hair, I asked, "Our presentation isn't really today, is it?"

"Oh my God. Scott!" Sophie chided me. "I reminded you in class last week, remember?"

"Vaguely," I admitted, kicking myself for spending the past ten days in a self-absorbed fog.

Another lengthy silence came over the line. "Does this mean that you didn't finish our slides either?"

"No," I said quickly, grateful that—for once—I hadn't procrastinated on an assignment. "They're done."

Sophie sighed, and when she spoke again, she sounded more relieved than irritated. "Thanks again for putting those together."

"No problem."

"I know I haven't been much help, but I really didn't think that I'd be traveling as much as I have been this semester."

"Don't worry about it."

"Okay," she said. "Well, I'll see you in a bit."

I pocketed my phone after she hung up, realizing for the first time since leaving class that I was starving. It was after twelve-thirty, which meant that all of the food served at the house for lunch would likely be gone. It was the Law of the Frat: He who is late to mealtimes eats nothing at all.

I left my skateboard in the foyer of the house when I arrived, disappointed by the silence that filled the hallway outside the dining room. Vultures, I thought to myself as I surveyed the barren buffet table. A lone turkey wrap remained on one of the platters, though a distinctive pattern of teeth marks told me that someone had already taken a bite. I sighed. No matter how hungry I may have been, there was no way that I could stoop that low.

As I turned to leave, the smell of something sweet caught my nose's attention. I sniffed twice, trying to place the aroma; the air smelled like burnt vanilla and brown sugar—cookies! A perfectly acceptable alternative to the faux-healthy meal I'd missed out on.

Stomach growling, I eagerly followed the scent to a lone plate in the kitchen. Steam rose from the golden edges of the tasty treats and I glanced around, checking to make sure that no one was watching me. Ordinarily I would never eat someone else's food without asking first but I was starving and I only had an hour before my presentation. I needed to get my suit on, trek back to campus, and review the slides that I was responsible for reading. I figured that if I stuffed my face with a few cookies, I'd be able to last through my class and I wouldn't have to waste time stopping somewhere for lunch. With another furtive look towards the door, I reached for a cookie and held it up to my nose, sniffing it once. As I took the first bite, I tried to convince myself that it was possible that the house's chef had put them out, which everyone knew made them fair game.

The cookie had a sweet aftertaste that I couldn't quite place but I liked it, whatever flavor it was. I took another cookie, and then another. By my fourth I was actually feeling pretty content but that didn't stop me from biting down on a fifth. I probably would've kept going if I hadn't heard the faint sound of someone whistling as footsteps approached the kitchen. Panicked, I stuffed the half-eaten cookie into my back pocket, prepared to deny my involvement if their owner turned out to be less than thrilled about sharing.

When the kitchen door swung open a few seconds later, Andy stared at me for a long moment and then glanced at the noticeably reduced number of cookies on the plate. "Shit," he said, walking over to the countertop where they rested. Guilt settled into my chest. "Did you eat these?"

"I'm sorry," I said automatically, hating myself for being terrible at lying. It didn't take much for me to cave under pressure. "I only took a couple."

"Yeah, how many?" Andy asked. He sounded insistent so I shrugged and decided to round down.

"Maybe three."

"Shit," Andy said again. He ran a hand through his ginger mop and then looked at me again. An awkward pause filled the room and then, without warning, he doubled over laughing.

Guilt turned to panic. "What?" I stepped closer to him. "Did you poison them or something?"

He simply shook his head, unable to contain himself long enough to answer. Despite his laughter, I could see an apologetic expression settle over his face as his gaze shifted between the cookies and my stomach. I was getting annoyed by that point, so I gave his shoulder a hard shove. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I demanded.

Andy held his hands up and gently pushed me back. Despite his best efforts, I could see the corners of his mouth still curved into a smile as he asked, "How did they taste?"

"Huh?"

"Did they taste funny at all?" He picked a cookie up from the top of the remaining pile and broke it in half. With his tongue, he licked the inner edge before nibbling on a corner. "Oh, not bad."

"Andy, what are you talking about?"

"My friend," he replied with mock solemnity, motioning at the plate. "You just ate three of what I consider to be my culinary masterpiece."

"Huh?"

"Do you know what went into these cookies?" He didn't wait for me to answer. "Besides the standard boring ingredients, my passion, sweat, and tears can be tasted in every bite. I added a bit of nutmeg to give them some zest, some cinnamon... And seventy-five grams of marijuana-infused butter."

"You've got to be kidding me." I felt the color drain from my face as his words sank in. "Five."

"Excuse me?"

"I ate five," I cried, and Andy made a face.

"I thought I made more than this," he mused before shaking his head. "Well, you greedy pig, I hope your next class isn't important because in about thirty minutes, you are going to be high as a kite."

I'd sprinted from the room before he finished his sentence, taking the stairs two at a time as I barreled down the corridors towards the main bathroom. I knocked into someone on my way, barely able to remember to mumble an apology. I flung the first stall door open and dropped to my knees before leaning over the toilet's porcelain mouth and ramming a finger down my throat. Pressure filled my head until I thought my skull might burst as I gagged and sputtered but nothing came up other than thick globs of spit.

I heard someone come through the bathroom door, followed by Parker's surprised laugh. "Bulimia's not a good look for you," he said.

"Screw you," I said, voice cracking as I heaved again. "I ate Andy's pot cookies--"

"Oh, Jesus." Parker sighed. "Great, now I have to deal with a judicial hearing."

"Aw, come on, Parker," came Andy's whine. I hadn't even heard him come in. "You said I could--"

"Woah, no, I didn't. What I said was that I was happy to have a don't ask, don't tell policy. As long as you didn't wave it in front of my face, I wouldn't write you up for having weed—and whatever else—in the house."

"But--"

"Guys," I said, shooing them away with my hand. "I really can't do this with you standing there."

Andy made a noise that sounded like a mixture of disapproval and disgust. "Gross, man. And, by the way, thanks for getting me in trouble because your fat ass decided to eat my food."

"Don't try to blame Scott for this, asshole."

A knock came from the bathroom's doorway. "What's going on? Is Scott alright?"

Sophie.

I groaned, terrified of what she'd say when she realized what was going on. "Don't hate me," I said as I reached back and pushed the stall door closed. I felt it swing open again slightly and heard murmurs come from the trio outside.

"Is Scott sick?"

"No, he's stoned," Parker replied.

"What?"

"I bought a cookbook online," Andy said, sounding a little sheepish. "101 Uses for Cannabutter. Scott, uh, turned himself into my guinea pig."

"This is so lame," I said, spitting into the toilet bowl. For a split second I thought about resting my head against the seat but then remembered where I was. I gagged at the thought and leaned over expectantly, though still nothing came up. I heard the stall door open further and then felt Sophie's hand on my shoulder. From the corner of my eye, I could see her crouching down beside me in the cramped space.

"It's okay," she said with a surprising gentleness in her voice. "I can do the presentation alone."

"I can't skip it; I need the grade."

"I'll think of something." She paused. "It might be easier if you use two fingers."

"Really?"

She stood up, backing away. "Yeah, or a toothbrush."

There was a long pause in the room while everyone, including me, turned to stare at Sophie. Parker gave her a funny look as he nudged her with his elbow. She blinked a few times until understanding dawned on her. "Stop looking at me like that," she muttered to Parker. "I know I have a lot of problems, but that's definitely not one of them."

He nodded despite looking skeptical, and I gave my puking efforts one last shot before sitting back on my hands and staring up at the ceiling. "Now what?"

"Enjoy the ride," Andy said, and without looking at him, I slammed the stall door closed in a futile attempt to block out the world and his maniacal laughter.

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

Unlike Andy and some of my other friends in the house, I hated the feeling of being high. I hated the way that time felt like it had stopped and how nothing seemed to move around me. I hated how my thoughts would drift to pointless things and in my stupor, I'd think that I understood the secrets of the universe. One-plus-one didn't just equal two—it also made yellow. I felt brilliant until the drugs wore off, at which point I always realized just how dumb I really was. On top of that, pot made me paranoid beyond belief—paranoid that people were watching me, that they knew. What if someone called the cops, or worse, my dad? Instead of calming me down or helping to slow my thoughts, from the moment Andy's cookies took effect, I felt like I was on the verge of a panic attack.

I knew that I was sweating buckets when I made it to class, though I had no memory of giving my presentation. I didn't remember standing up in front of my classmates or stammering over my name. Sophie later assured me our professor had believed the excuse she'd given him to explain my semi-comatose state. According to her, I'd had a bad reaction to allergy medication that I'd been prescribed—a claim that no one would've accepted if it had come from someone other than her.

I couldn't remember getting home either, but someone must have led me upstairs and tucked me in because when I woke up to pounding on my door hours later, I'd somehow managed to trade my suit for sweatpants and a faded shirt. Still groggy, I pushed my sheets back and stumbled to the door. My eyes were painfully dry and I squinted at Mattie as his figure filled my doorway.

"Whaddya want?" I asked, hoping I looked sufficiently miserable so that he'd feel guilty about waking me up.

Mattie raised an eyebrow. "Someone's here to see you."

"Tell him I died," I grumbled. I started to close my door again but Mattie stuck his foot out to stop me.

"Her."

"What?"

"Your visitor is very female."

I frowned. "Who is it?"

"That cute redhead you took to our date dash—"

For the second time that day, I didn't wait to hear the rest of what my friend had to say, instead tearing down the hallway while trying to get my hair to lie flat. I slowed down slightly as I reached the stairs, checking to make sure that I wasn't wearing the sweats with a noticeable hole in the crotch area. Although relieved to see that I'd picked a pair suitable for company, I was still slightly dismayed that the ones I had on featured a giant mustard stain on my thigh. I licked my thumb and tried to rub it away before realizing that all I'd accomplished was making it look like I'd wet myself.

Win some, lose a lot, I thought as I stood at the top of the landing and looked down to see Melanie waiting near the bottom step with her arms folded across her chest. She held a plastic bag in her hand and it rustled when she turned to stare at me. She smiled and I gripped the railing tightly while I struggled to remember how to walk.

"Hey," I said softly when I finally set foot on the floor of the main entrance hall. "What's up?"

Melanie licked her bottom lip as she unfolded her arms, hesitating before extending the bag that she'd been holding in front of her. She shook it slightly as a hint that I should take it. "Parker said you were throwing up earlier."

"No way." I couldn't stop myself from breaking into a grin as I surveyed the bag's contents. Crackers, a pack of Tums, and two bottles of Gatorade—an obvious care package, and a thoughtful one at that. "You didn't have to."

"I know, but it sucks to get sick so close to finals." Melanie studied me for a moment. "Plus, you look terrible, so I'm glad I did."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome."

Unable to stop smiling like an idiot, I pretended to read the label on the antacids before clearing my throat. "Seriously, thank you."

"Yeah, well..." She swallowed, her eyes nervously darting around the room. "I thought I might as well give you your Christmas present now, too. You know, um, in case I don't see you before you leave for break—"

"You got me something for Christmas?" I echoed in disbelief. I promptly bit down on my tongue to make sure that I wasn't dreaming and winced when I confirmed that this was really happening.

"It's nothing special," she said quickly as she reached into her tote bag and pulled out a neatly wrapped gift. I knew it was a book before she gave it to me and I promised myself that I'd read it, no matter what it was. "You might already have it."

"I probably don't," I said reflexively. "I don't read much."

"Oh, right." Melanie stared resolutely at the ground. "I mean, if you hate it, you can probably exchange it for... I don't know, a magazine or something. I kept the receipt—"

"I don't need the receipt." Melanie met my eye while I turned the present over in my hands. "Uh, but I didn't—"

"Don't worry," Melanie said, guessing what I was about to say, "I didn't expect you to get me anything."

"Well, shit," I replied, "that makes me feel even worse."

"No, don't," she said, placing a hand on my forearm. It felt like my skin was on fire, and when I looked down, she pulled away. "I wasn't expecting one."

She trailed off and I wondered if she could sense that I wanted her just as badly as the night we'd almost kissed—the night I'd almost kissed her, anyway. I took a half-step closer to her and then paused, telling myself not to do anything that might scare her off.

"We're having a party on Friday," I blurted after a brief pause. I stuck a hand into my pocket and crossed my fingers. "It's the last one of the semester—you should come."

"I don't think—"

"I miss you," I said, and I could've sworn that Melanie's eyes widened slightly. "And I think it'd be a lot more fun if you were there."

She gave me a funny look. "What about Gemma?"

I held her gaze as I swallowed. "We broke up."

Before she could reply, Parker came bounding down the stairs, shooting me a knowing look. "Oh, wow, hey, you made it out of bed," he said with obviously fake surprise. "You feeling better?"

"I guess," I mumbled, still staring at Melanie, though she looked away to smile at Parker.

"Are you ready?" she asked, and our friend nodded.

"As ready as I can be," he replied, and then for my benefit, he added, "Melanie's helping me pick out a present for Sophie."

"I see," I said. "What are you thinking?"

"I have no clue," Parker admitted, patting his front pocket where I knew he kept his wallet. "But we agreed to a budget, which is a huge relief."

Melanie nudged him with her elbow. "How much?"

"Two hundred."

Melanie's face brightened. "I can work with that." With a small wave, she said to me, "See you later, Scott."

I nodded, but before she and Parker could make it to the front door, I called out after her, "So, you'll be there Friday, right?"

Glancing briefly over her shoulder, Melanie replied with a small smile, "Maybe."

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

A/N: After a month of studying 12-16 hours every day, I'm happy to report that 1) I'm back and 2) I'm done with my first year of law school! I wanted to post so I apologize if there are any typos. I'll read through this update again later to make any corrections. Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for your patience/support! ❤️❤️