Noel

The weather during February and March pelts my mental health. It's gloomy and rainy. My shoes are always muddy, and we don't see the sun for two weeks straight.

SADD, seasonal affective disorder depression, sets in, saps my energy. My mind borders the condition it was in post-accident. With the shitty weather, I'm isolated on campus. Music is my only saving grace. For a while, I'm booked twice a night every weekend.

But music can only do so much.

When I'm alone, I'm engrossed in memories. Even when I'm sleeping. I don't suffer from nightmares—those are expected. I can deal with them.

What I can't handle are the dreams. The ones that show me alternative routes. Ones driven by bravery and the ability to stand up to my father. In the end, the survivor doesn't have to deal with fatalities. Or pain. That family is still living the lives they deserve.

Those are the worst. They make me realize what I took away. How much I took away.

Shaking my head, I chew on the eraser of my pencil, glancing down at my notes.

We're five minutes into class. Kinsley still isn't here. This is the first time I've beaten her to class. Usually I'm the one who's late. When I walked in, it was weird to see the table void of Kinsley's notebooks and coloured pens.

I continue to chew on the eraser as I glance around the classroom. Convincing myself she's sick of me and sat at the back of the class would be easy... If I hadn't already looked around the classroom.

While the professor drones on and on about today's lesson, I try to take detailed notes. Half my mind is focused on the whiteboard. The other is wondering where Kinsley is.

Twenty minutes later, she arrives. She mumbles her apologies to the professor as she scurries across the classroom. Within no time, she's shrugging off her army style jacket and unloading her books next to me.

I side-eye her, fighting off a smirk. Cole will never believe Kinsley was late to class.

After she's unloaded the contents of her backpack, I poke her in the arm with my pencil. "Forget to set your alarm?" I whisper.

She shoots me an annoyed glare, gesturing to the whiteboard. My eyes flick to the whiteboard, where nothing has been written for a few minutes now. The professor is droning on and on about a specific topic. If she doesn't write anything on the board, it's not important.

I turn back to Kinsley, cocking an eyebrow.

Her light, cyan-blue eyes glimmer with something fierce. She looks like she's ready to throttle me.

"She's lecturing," I note. Sarcasm bleeds from my voice. "I'm not stupid."

"Yes," Kinsley nods. "And you're not paying attention."

A smile tugs at my lips. Fighting sarcasm with sarcasm is always enjoyable.

"No shit," I drawl, poking her again. She scowls at me. "I was wondering where you were. You've never been late for class. What happened? Is everything okay?"

Kinsley ignores my questions. "Reverting to your previous sentence, you are stupid if you don't think Professor Cooke will not test us on this. It's still course content, whether she writes it on the board. Not paying attention is stupid."

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. "Says the one who was late."

Kinsley scowls again, twisting her lips to one side in disgust. The shimmery gloss on her lips sparkles under the fluorescent lighting.

"Cat got your tongue?" I tease.

"My God," she whispers, pinching the bridge of her nose. "If I tell you, will you shut up?"

I prop my cheek on her fist, flashing her a beaming smile. "Yes. And, I will give you my notes. The ones you missed in the first twenty-five minutes of class."

She glances at the watch on my wrist. Her jaw twitches. "Timing me, were you?"

A strand of Kinsley's golden hair is out of place. It slipped free of the elastic holding her messy bun up. My hand itches to tuck it behind her ear, but I know I can't. Kinsley made it clear she doesn't want romantic gestures. Something tells me she'd see that as a romantic gesture.

"Uh-huh," I smirk. "So where were you, Miss I'm-Always-On-Time?"

Kinsley sighs, flipping open her notebook. The gel pen she's using today is hot pink. I find it funny how childish she can be, considering how serious she is.

"I was discussing options with the head of the program. Finding a place to stay over the summer for my field work portion is difficult. I can't figure out where to study a mammalian species during the summer. Everywhere I look, they're either not interested or are already supporting a student."

It's rare to see Kinsley unorganized and frazzled. Her shaky hands and how she's tapping her pencil are concerning. Not that I can blame her for being anxious. Field work is much of our final grade. For both programs. Kinsley needs to find a place before this semester ends. Where it'll be easy to study animal behaviour and...

Hold on a second.

Back on the farm, the basement has been recently renovated. It's meant for someone who can help Gramps while I'm attending school. During the summer, it's never occupied. I'm usually there during the summer. Kinsley could work with the horses. I could work with the cows. It's a win-win.

I nudge Kinsley. "Hey."

She ignores me.

I nudge her again.

Releasing a frustrated sigh, Kinsley turns to face me. "What?" she whisper-yells.

"Come to the farm this summer. With Cole and I. The basement was renovated. It has a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and a small living room. Not much, but it's up for rent this summer. Cole can move into the spare room in the main house. If you stay, you can work with the horses or cows. Whichever you please."

Kinsley gapes at me. "You're joking."

The flatness of her voice causes me to frown. "No. I'm not joking, Kinsley. It's a genuine offer. You're struggling. I'm being a friend."

"No," Kinsley replies. Her voice is hard and final. She turns back to the whiteboard, jotting down more notes.

Her short response stings. What the hell is her deal? I'm offering her a solution.

"Why not?" I ask.

She tosses her gel pen down and turns to me. Her face screams livid. "First, I can't afford to pay rent. No job means no money, which means I'm not qualified to pay rent. Second, I don't want to spend the summer here. Returning home to Winnipeg is my goal. I want this field work to be done before July. Finally, just no."

Just no.

"What the hell kind of reason is that? Just no."

"Noel. Just drop it, okay?" She sounds exasperated, but I still feel the need to urge her on.

"You don't need to pay rent. Gramps will understand you staying on the farm is for educational purposes. Trust me. He'll be lenient."

She shakes her head, picking up her pen. "I can't."

"C'mon, Kinsley," I press. "We'd have fun. Cole's staying this summer. We could introduce you to the country side of Alberta."

"Will you drop it already?" she snaps, raising her voice.

Professor Cooke stops mid-sentence, directing her gaze at us. "Noel. Kinsley. Is there a problem?"

A light blush spreads across my cheeks. God, they have not called me out in front of the class for years.

"Nah," I reply. Appearing confident isn't difficult. I'm mortified underneath, though. Even as I glance at Kinsley, my gut is twisting and turning. "We're good, right?"

Kinsley is gripping her pencil so hard her knuckles are white. "We're fine," she grits out. "Sorry for the interruption. It won't happen again."

Professor Cooke nods, turning back to the whiteboard. She writes more notes.

I try to settle back into the lesson, but Kinsley's reaction is too distracting. That's the most emotions I've seen—rude or not. Honestly, I'm a little pissed, too. She has no excuse for being rude. Christ, all I did was offer her a solution.

After ten minutes have passed, I nudge Kinsley again. Her glare is like daggers.

"What?" she hisses.

"Look," I say, keeping my voice low. "You've flat-out denied me. I understand. But if you come up with nothing before the semester ends, the offer still stands. If staying for free bothers you, we could arrange some work at the farm for you. Feeding chickens or some shit like that. Sound good?"

Kinsley directs her gaze to the whiteboard. "I'll think about it," she mutters.

Disappointment douses my hope as I turn to the whiteboard. Her tone of voice is enough. She will refuse the offer. I'm a fool for thinking she'd take it. Kinsley prefers to work on her own.

I glance at her again. Instead of looking annoyed, she looks disassociated. It's no surprise. Regularly, she looks disassociated. The first time I noticed it was when I saved her from being run over by a bike.

It shouldn't feed my curiosity, but it does.

Kinsley is cold and antisocial. She doesn't like to take risks. And she always looks haunted; like something is weighing on her shoulders. Something happened to her. Whatever it was, it shook her world. It placed her in the position she's now in.

My heart aches for me. She's missing out on living life. All I want to do is break down her walls and help her figure it out. But I don't think I'll ever be able to.

This woman is bulletproof on the outside—even if she's shattered on the inside.