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Either the English language failed her, or Mar was dumber than she'd like to admit.

Her gaze shifted between the unreadable textbook in front of her and the PowerPoint accompanying Professor Townsend's lecture. The blonde beauty at the front of the class seemed to be speaking a language that morphed into a strange stream of vowels and sounds that barely resembled English—epoxide reactions, nucleophilic substitution—eliciting a frustrated "What the hell?" muttered under her breath.

None of it was registering.

None of it made sense.

Her eyes squinted at the large screen as though it would help, but her brain barely comprehended it. Finals loomed around the corner and she was just as lost as she'd been on the first day of class. Staying after class was out of the question, especially when she didn't even know what she didn't understand.

Uncle Logan was right. A 76 was too much to hope for. At this rate, she'd happily settle for a 69. That was a D, right? She could pass with a D, couldn't she?

A thin layer of sweat formed on her forehead, evidence of the mental gymnastics she was forcing on herself. Finally, she glanced over to the girl beside her, whose beautifully adorned nails tapped impatiently on the table.

"Hey, um, do you get what she's saying?" Her voice barely rose above a whisper. "I'm so lost."

The girl's nails stopped. A wry, hopeless grimace was all the answer she needed.

"I've been lost for the past few classes."

Crap. She sucked in her lower lip, teeth gnawing anxiously at the flesh. With the way things were looking, passing seemed like a distant dream. Would she have to retake this class? The thought sent a shudder of fear through her body, goosebumps rising on her arms. Ugh, she hoped not. Anything but that. She'd practically move into the tutoring center if she had to.

The girl's rhythmic tapping of the once again captured her attention. This time, her gaze fixated on the white-tipped nails adorned with glittering gems. A compliment teetered on the edge of her tongue, escaping before she could restrain herself. "They're so pretty."

The tapping ceased abruptly. The girl looked up, and once again, Mar realized her thoughts had slipped out. Crap.

"Oh, um. Your nails. They're so pretty." She couldn't imagine herself pulling off something like that.

Confusion flickered across the girl's face, transforming into gratitude. Her smile mirrored the brightness of her voice. "Thank you! By the way, I love your outfit. I meant to say it earlier, but it looks so cute and comfy."

In an instant, her problems were forgotten. The simple-minded girl smiled at the compliment, both cheeks dimpling deeply. But of course, the girl was simply being nice. Why else would she compliment her?

Unlike the girl before her, Mar was anything but fashionable. With a wardrobe almost consisting wholly of black and beige sweats and workout clothes, it was impossible to be. Even today, it was the same.

She wore a baggy black hoodie paired with soft sweatpants and white running shoes. The pockets were adorned with silver rhinestones, the sole embellishment of her otherwise unassuming ensemble. However, the girl standing before her? It would be easy to believe it if someone claimed she had stepped straight out of a magazine.

Her hair cascaded down her back in lengthy, dark twists, naturally complementing her petite, heart-shaped face. The skillfully applied makeup enhanced her beauty, accentuating her chestnut complexion even more. Mar couldn't resist marveling at her beauty; she resembled one of her mother's former model friends, those supermodels of the 90s she saw splattered across magazines. She radiated glamour.

Mar had never experienced a sense of prettiness quite like this, not like the mother she'd only met depicted in photographs and certainly not like the captivating girl in front of her.

In anything, she'd always thought she'd looked strange and uncanny.

Mar possessed her mother's long, raven hair and deeply set feline eyes framed by sparse brows. Her full lips tinged with a rosy hue, but her cheeks sat high with her father's high, angular cheekbones and his sharp, defined jawline. She couldn't escape the unmistakable touch of androgyny that defined her features, nor the intimidating aura that effortlessly radiated from her, making the very friendly girl practically unapproachable.

If there was a reason she hadn't made any friends so far, her resting bitch face was definitely it. Who'd want to be friends with someone who looked like they hated everyone and everything?

Nonetheless, she accepted the compliment; it was a rare bright spot in her otherwise stressful day. "Thank you," She beamed, her eyes lighting up. "I like your outfit too." It was something she, once again, could never pull off herself, her nagging self-esteem chimed promptly.

The air shifted, overshadowing their looming threat of failing the class. Loren turned her focus, entirely abandoning the lecture altogether. "I can't believe we've been sitting here for so long and I never introduced myself. I'm Loren, but you can call me Lori."

"Don't worry about it," Mar responded with a smile, "It's, uh, not like I've been the friendliest either. I'm Mar."

"Yeah, I know," Lori admitted, a sheepish smile gracing her lips. "Um, I saw you and your brother in a magazine on campus. Miguel, right? The soccer player. It was a little intimidating, I couldn't bring myself to talk to you, but you're actually super sweet."

Mar winced at the reminder. She knew she shouldn't have agreed to that magazine shoot with Miguel, but he had persistently begged her. Her twin brother always sought to include her in the glamorous life he was building for himself, even is she wasn't interested. She only gave in because it was a magazine feature her mom had once been a part of. It made her feel close to her.

"Ah, yeah. I don't, um, I don't usually do those." She admitted. And, she never would again. It wasn't like her, and it didn't suit her.

"Alright, don't forget to study for your midterms." The professor's calm voice interrupted her train of thought, bringing their attention to the front of the room. "Shoot me an email or stop by during office hours if you need help."

Students began shuffling out of the space as if the room had caught fire. Mar stayed put, patiently waiting until the class was deserted to approach the professor. She half-expected Lori to leave, but to her surprise, Lori turned in her seat.

"Hey, there's a party tonight at Sigma House. You should come, practically everyone will be there. I know you'd have fun."

Was Lori inviting her out? To hang out outside of class? She blinked, staring a little too long. Was she...was she actually making a friend?

She nodded calmly, whipping out her phone, playing it cool, pretending that she got invited to parties all the time. Keep it together, Mar.

"Yeah, sure, that sounds cool." She hoped Lori couldn't hear the way her voice lifted with excitement.

"Great! Let me get your number, and I'll text you the details."

As they exchanged contact information, she could almost hear the trumpets of heaven. This was it. Finally, she would have the college experience she had seen in the movies. She was on the path to making friends of her own, outside of sports; things were changing, and it was glorious. Maybe she'd even get a boyfriend.

As soon as she finished the thought, Declan popped into her head like a bad omen. Her face soured immediately. Why the hell was she thinking about him at such a great moment? They weren't even friends anymore.

But she didn't have time to think about it. Lori tucked her phone away, hiked up her bookbag, and waved her goodbyes. "See you later!"

"Later!" She grinned, turning with giddy excitement. But with a swing of her arm, all her belongings fell onto the floor, scattering in the walkway. "Shit."

No one bothered to help as she crouched down, grabbing her things. By the time she finished, she had heard the door firmly shut. She grimaced. Great.

Now the professor was gone, and she couldn't ask questions. Annoyed at her clumsiness, she sat briefly, closing her eyes.

When were her office hours again?