10. Alex

ALEX

THEN – FRESHMAN YEAR – JANUARY

I ’m stuck here in the library, locked in an epic battle with my arch-nemesis: Advanced Calculus.

At least I’ve got a date lined up this weekend. I know, me, Alexandria Ford, going on a date. I was so excited when Eric asked me out, but to be honest, the closer the date gets, the less excited I feel.

It’s also not normal to wait nearly three weeks for a date, right?

I’m telling myself it’s just nerves. Tara says that everyone feels weird before a first date, but I can’t tell if that’s true or if she’s just trying to reassure me.

I bury my nose in my textbook, trying to ignore how close Freddie is sitting. The UMS library hums around us, a weird mix of stressed-out whispers and the click-clack of laptops. Outside the massive windows, the sun is setting behind the mountains, painting everything in gold.

It’s annoyingly beautiful, mocking me.

I stifle another groan as I glare down at my textbook, feeling utterly defeated. These equations have to be messing with me. I’m half-convinced they’re rearranging themselves every time I blink, like some kind of numerical Weeping Angels taunting me from the page.

“These numbers are conspiring against me,” I mutter, erasing what must be my millionth attempt. My poor eraser’s thinning, probably plotting its escape from my relentless grip.

A presence looms over my shoulder, and I glance up to see Freddie peering down at my scribbles. His wince is less than reassuring.

“Here, let me,” he offers, sliding the book toward him. “You just need to…”

As Freddie talks me through it, his explanation flows in this calm, steady rhythm, like he’s casting a spell of clarity over the jumbled mess of numbers and symbols. Slowly, they start to make sense, each one clicking into place like gears in a machine. A smile spreads across my face despite myself. It’s almost infuriating, how easily he makes sense of it all. If he weren’t so genuinely kind about it, I’d probably hate him just a little.

“Thanks,” I say, hoping my smile doesn’t betray the swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs, turning back to his own work. I peer over, curious. Oh boy. His dinosaur sketch looks less Jurassic Park and more “chicken having an existential crisis.” It’s hilariously awful and somehow endearing at the same time.

“Wanna trade?” he says, his grin as self-deprecating as ever. “I’ll solve your math if you make this look less like existential poultry.”

I laugh, leaning in to get a closer look at his drawing. Big mistake. The moment I’m close enough, his cologne hits me—a warm, woodsy scent, like a forest after rain. It’s grounding, and entirely too appealing. I clear my throat, leaning back quickly, mentally reciting the periodic table to rein in my wandering thoughts. We’re just friends, Alex. Friends. F-R-I-E-N-D-S.

“So,” Freddie’s voice breaks through my internal lecture, pulling me back to the present. “One term in—still loving Environmental Science? Even with all the math?”

“Are you kidding? It’s amazing!” I gush, then immediately wish I could dial it back. Play it cool , Alex. But Freddie’s actually listening, his head tilted in that way that makes me forget how to be cool. “I mean, it’s not just the stuff people think—it’s not all trees and rocks and whatever. It’s about actually doing something, you know?”

The words tumble out before I can stop them. “We’re literally watching the world burn, Freddie. Climate change, pollution, deforestation—somebody has to step up. And okay, yes, the calculus part is kind of killing me, but?—”

“But you color-code your notes and ace it anyway,” he teases, and my stomach definitely doesn’t flip at the fact that he’s noticed my study habits.

Stop that, I tell it sternly.

“I just…” I take a breath, suddenly needing him to understand. “Everyone thinks I’m naive, but the GSRI is doing real work, you know? Renewable energy, sustainable cities—actual solutions. Not just talking about change, but making it happen.”

The words pour out faster now, like they always do when I talk about this. But Freddie doesn’t look bored or patronizing. He’s watching me with something that looks almost like... admiration?

“The GSRI summer internship isn’t just any program,” I explain, pulling up their website on my laptop. “They only take twelve students nationwide. Last year, they developed a new method for phytoremediation that’s being implemented at three major mining sites.” I scroll through the pictures of previous interns, all looking impossibly professional in their GSRI lab coats. “Plus, their grad program is basically a fast track to actually making change happen. Their alumni are working for the EPA, running environmental consulting firms, advising Congress on climate policy. I mean, the GSRI’s research has led to three major environmental protection bills in the last decade alone.”

“You’d look good in one of their lab coats,” Freddie teases, but he’s looking at the screen with interest.

I scowl at him, ignoring the pace my heart has picked up.

“That’s actually really cool, Alex,” he says softly, and I have to look down because the genuine warmth in his voice makes my chest tight. “You really believe you can change things.”

“I have to.” My voice comes out smaller than I meant it to. “If we all just sit around doing nothing…” I trail off and finger the small leaf pendant at my neck, Emma’s face flashing through my mind.

Emma, who might still be here if more people cared about our planet. Emma, who dreamed of living sustainably, who was so excited about her off-grid cabin and well water. Emma, who trusted that the water was safe because no one warned her otherwise. Emma, who died because some huge company decided profit margins were more important than proper safety protocols.

I push those thoughts aside. This isn’t the time or place for that conversation.

Instead, I force a smile at Freddie. “Anyway, enough about my save-the-world complex. How about I help you make that T-Rex look less like a confused chicken?”

Freddie laughs, the tension broken. “Please do. I’m pretty sure my dinosaur is an insult to both art and paleontology at this point.”

“The vertebrae should curve like this,” I explain, tracing an arc in the air. “Think gentle slope, not rollercoaster.”

Freddie’s forehead creases as he hunches over his sketch. The tip of his tongue pokes out slightly—a quirk I’ve noticed when he’s concentrating hard. It’s endearing in a way I’m not ready to examine too closely.

A sharp ping cuts through our quiet bubble. Freddie’s eyes dart to his phone, his lips curling into a smirk that makes my stomach clench.

I catch a glimpse of the screen.

You up?

Ew . Brianna. Of course. Freddie’s current female friend. I called her a girlfriend once and Freddie told me firmly that he didn’t do girlfriends.

My eyes roll so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. Real subtle, Brianna. About as discreet as a foghorn in a library.

Freddie’s thumbs fly over his phone screen, his infuriating grin growing wider with each tap. Something twists low in my gut—a feeling I stubbornly refuse to name.

I tear my gaze away, forcing my attention to a group of girls by the coffee cart. They’re laughing, leaning into one another’s personal space with an easy, effortless confidence that feels miles out of reach. They toss their hair, their smiles carefree and open, like they belong in every room they enter. My stomach tightens.

A couple strolls past, fingers intertwined, eyes only for each other. Heat creeps into my cheeks as I wonder what it feels like to be wanted like that, touched like that—openly, without reservation.

Tara’s told me a hundred times that my expectations are way too high for a first time. But I don’t want it to be random or just to “get it over with.” I want romance, connection—someone I can trust, who actually cares. Someone who isn’t just passing through.

But sometimes, in moments like these, I wonder if I’m just being naive. Maybe I should just find someone cute at a party and be done with it, like everyone else seems to.

Then I remember Eric. Mr. Perfect-On-Paper, who looks like he stepped out of a 1950s yearbook with his clean-cut style and steady, warm smile. He’s got this whole nerdy-chic vibe that somehow works for him, and I know he actually cares about things. A smile tugs at my lips. Eric, who gets fired up talking about renewable energy, who volunteers at the animal shelter, who listened when I went on a tangent about carbon footprints and didn’t even blink. Eric, who made me feel like I was the most interesting person in the room, not just someone to pass the time with.

Maybe he’s the one.

I should be thrilled—this could be my chance. Finally, maybe I’ll understand what everyone else seems to get, stop feeling like I’m on the outside, looking in. But then why can’t I stop glancing at Freddie from the corner of my eye? Why does my heart do this ridiculous little flip every time he laughs at whatever’s on his screen?

“Earth to Alex,” Freddie’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. He’s looking at me, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “You okay there? You look like you’re solving cold fusion in your head or something.”

I force a smile. “Just thinking about… amphibian mating rituals.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. But thankfully, he doesn’t push.

“Right,” he drawls. “Well, if you’re done planning frog orgies…” He smirks at my obvious discomfort, and I feel my face go red as I focus on the fossil drawing in front of me.

I sneak one last look at him. He’s still grinning at his phone, completely oblivious to the turmoil he’s causing.

I take a deep breath, sitting up straighter. Eric. Date. This weekend. A guy who actually cares about what I care about. This is the right direction.

I clear my throat, attempting a casual tone. “So, uh, how’s it going with… Bethany, was it?”

Freddie glances up, amused. “Brianna,” he corrects, without the slightest hint of annoyance. If anything, he looks entertained by my slip.

“Right, Brianna.” I nod, as if I hadn’t scrolled through her Instagram at least a dozen times, wondering what he saw in her. “Things good with you two?”

Freddie shrugs, maddeningly nonchalant. “She’s all right.”

All right? That’s it? That’s all he has to say about the girl he’s glued to his phone over? I bite back a hundred questions, wanting to shake him, to pry some deeper answer out of him, to understand what “all right” means in this context.

Instead, I just nod like I get it.

“Cool, cool,” I say, wondering if I sound as fake as I feel. “That’s… nice.”

Freddie gives me an odd look, like he’s trying to figure something out. For a heart-stopping moment, I think he’s seen right through me. But then he just shrugs again.

“Yeah, it is,” he says, starting to pack up his things. “Anyway, I should get going. Thanks for the dinosaur lesson, Lexie.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me alone with my textbooks and my tangled emotions. The library suddenly feels too quiet, too empty. I feel abandoned, which is ridiculous. We’re just study buddies. He has no obligation to stick around.

Still, the feeling gnaws at me. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull out my phone and open my conversation with Eric. My thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment before I type out what I hope is a subtly flirty message.

Hey, Eric! Looking forward to our date tomorrow. I was thinking about that vegan place you mentioned. I’m definitely in the mood for something hot and spicy Any recommendations?

I hit send, then immediately start second-guessing myself. Is it too subtle? Not subtle enough? I mean, “hot and spicy” could just be about food, right? But the smiley face adds a little something… doesn’t it?

The response comes quicker than I expected, making my heart leap. But as I read Eric’s reply, that leap turns into a slow deflation.

Hello, Alex. I’m looking forward to our date as well. Regarding spicy dishes, the restaurant has an excellent dal curry that’s quite fiery. However, if you’re sensitive to capsaicin (it doesn’t agree with my mother), I’d recommend starting with their mild tomato basil soup. It’s important to know your spice tolerance to avoid digestive discomfort.

I blink once. Twice. It’s a perfectly nice response. Thoughtful, even.

But where’s the playfulness? The hint of flirtation? Did he completely miss my attempt, or is he deliberately keeping things strictly about the food? The mention of “digestive discomfort” is certainly not sexy.

Before I can stop myself, I imagine how Freddie might have responded. He’d have probably picked up on the subtext and commented that he couldn’t wait for a hot and spicy night and that he’s preparing me a surprise for dessert.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge thoughts of Freddie. Eric is great. He’s smart, he cares about the environment, he’s exactly the kind of guy I should be excited about. So what if he didn’t pick up on my subtle flirting? That’s not everything.

But as I turn back to my calculus homework, I can’t quite shake the nagging feeling that maybe I’m just not cut out for this. Dating. Flirting. I’m left wondering if I should have been more direct or if I shouldn’t have tried to flirt at all.

I groan quietly and let my head rest on my textbook for a moment.

Great.

Now I have two things to be frustrated about: partial derivatives and my failure at subtle communication. Somehow, the math seems like the easier problem to solve.