2. Alex

ALEX

THEN – FRESHMAN YEAR – SEPTEMBER

I shove open the bathroom door, desperate for a moment of peace from the chaos outside. The excited chatter fades, replaced by the buzz of fluorescent lights and the steady drip of a leaky faucet. Ah, the soothing sounds of college plumbing.

I square off with my reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back at me is a stranger—contact lenses instead of my usual glasses, and hair that, for once, doesn’t look like I just rolled out of bed and thought, meh, this’ll do. It’s like a scene from a 90’s rom-com where the girl removes her glasses and ponytail, and suddenly, everyone realizes she’s a smoke show.

Except, I’m not under any delusion that I’ve had some crazy transformation over the summer. But I do feel a little more confident. New look, new me, new start—or so the inspirational posters in my mom’s office keep insisting.

“You’ve got this, Alex,” I mutter, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from my sweater. The name still feels foreign on my tongue. I’ve always gone by Ally—a name Emma picked out for me when we were kids.

I don’t feel like Ally anymore, or maybe, I just don’t want to be her. So, I made the executive decision over the summer to go by my full name—Alexandria. A name I’d only ever heard in two places: the doctor’s waiting room or when my mom was particularly peeved at me—usually for forgetting to call Great-Aunty Sue to thank her for my birthday card.

“Alexandria, I didn’t raise you to be ungrateful, did I?” she’d say in a tone that could make babies cry.

And, of course, I’d pick up the phone faster than you could say family guilt trip and have a painfully slow 20-minute chat with Great-Aunty Sue about her neighbor’s marigolds. Riveting stuff, really.

Taking a deep breath that does nothing to calm my nerves, I brace myself for social interaction. It’s only my second day here, but my first chance to dive into some real, college-level science. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little excited.

Okay, maybe a lot excited.

But don’t tell anyone—I have a reputation as a cool, disaffected freshman to uphold. As I open the door, the wall of noise hits me.

A group of students cluster near the lecture hall, laughing and chatting like they’ve been here forever. I linger on the edges, feeling like Pluto—on the outskirts of the solar system, and definitely not invited to the planet party.

I tug at the hem of my UMS hoodie, letting the oversized navy fabric swallow me whole. The university’s mountain logo is embroidered in silver thread on the chest—three peaks nestled together, with a tiny pine tree tucked into each valley. The design is simple but perfect, like the Rocky Mountain view from campus. The hoodie itself feels like a wearable hug, its fleece lining worn to cloud-like softness from countless washes.

“Hey there! Environmental Science?”

I nearly jump out of my skin. Standing next to me is a girl who looks like she raided Elle Woods’s closet—all pink frills and a smile so bright it’s hard not to feel welcome.

“Uh, yeah,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. Shit . Off to a stellar start.

“Great! I’m Tara,” she chirps, apparently unfazed by my awkwardness. “Wanna sit together? Safety in numbers, right?”

For a moment, I consider making a run for the hills—or at least the safety of the back row. But something about Tara’s enthusiasm makes me pause.

“Sure,” I hear myself say. “I’m Alexandria.”

“Cool name!” she comments. “Mind if I call you Alex?”

“Uh…yeah, that’s cool.”

Okay, so forget my earlier decision. I’m going by Alex now. Decided by Tara, my new… friend?

As we claim our seats, Tara asks, “So what made you choose Environmental Science, Alex?”

I take a breath. “I want to make a difference,” I say, my voice growing stronger even as my brain screams, Abort mission! “Get into the Global Sustainable Resources Institute program, help change the world. You know, the usual.” I brush it off like it’s not the life goal that’s driven me for the last decade.

I brace for the eye-roll, but Tara surprises me.

“That’s amazing!” she gushes. “GSRI is, like, super competitive, right?” I nod. It’s why I put everything else aside in high school. I needed the best grades to get into this college to increase my chances. University of Mountain Springs has a reputation for sending students directly to GSRI. It’s an unwritten rule that UMS students have a better shot at the program. Outdated, maybe, but I couldn’t take my chances elsewhere.

“You’ve gotta be committed to aim for that.”

I’m about to get defensive before I realize her tone isn’t mocking—she sounds like she might even admire me. I purse my lips and nod. “What about you? Why’re you here?”

She laughs self-deprecatingly. “Great question. I’m still figuring things out. My mom’s pushing me toward academia, you know, family legacy and all that.”

I nod, but I don’t really know. My parents never pushed me toward their career paths. My mom would always say, “We all choose our own way, darling, and whatever it is, it’s the path you need to be on,” or something equally cryptic that a certified life coach would say (or as she calls herself, a holistic guidance practitioner ). Her parenting style revolved around “letting me explore the world” and offering advice in quotes that, at 12 years old, felt like I’d need a code breaker to understand.

“But really, I’m more interested in the hands-on stuff,” Tara continues. “I love the idea of paleoenvironments—understanding past climates to predict future changes. Or maybe something to do with groundwater. I’m pretty good with numbers, and I heard that hydrogeology is full of numbers.”

As we chat, I’m surprised to find the conversation flowing easily. Tara’s bubbly exterior hides a brain that could give Einstein a run for his money.

By the time the professor arrives, I’m shocked to realize we’ve been chatting for over 15 minutes. And not once did she glance around for someone more interesting to talk to.

The lecture hall falls silent as the professor takes the podium, his silver hair and crisp suit a stark contrast to the sea of casual student attire. His presence commands attention, and I find myself sitting up straighter, pen poised over my notebook.

“Good morning, class,” he begins, his voice smooth and commanding. “I’m Dr. Victor Reeves, and I’ll be lecturing today on the economics of environmental policy. I don’t typically lecture at the freshman level, but some folks at the university decided it’s important for the kids to get to know all of the academic staff from day one.” His tone makes it clear he doesn’t quite agree.

“He looks like he’s here for a Marvel villain casting call,” Tara whispers.

I suppress a giggle, slapping a hand over my mouth.

“Now,” he continues, a slight smirk playing on his lips, “who can tell me why, sometimes, the most environmentally friendly decision…is to do nothing at all?”

The room erupts in confused murmurs. My hand twitches, eager to rise, but I hold back. Instead, I scribble furiously, determined to grasp every nuance of his argument before I challenge it.

Dr. Reeves launches into his lecture, seamlessly weaving economic theory with environmental science.

By the time the lecture ends, my head is spinning with thoughts and ideas. Dr. Reeves made some compelling arguments for big oil, I suppose. But no matter how logical he makes it sound, I’ll never support an industry that treats our planet like a disposable coffee cup.

As we file out of the hall, Tara turns to me, her eyes wide.

“I get major creep vibes from that guy,” she says, shivering. Her frilly pink top is a stark contrast to my funeral-chic hoodie.

She hooks her arm through mine like we’re old friends, not two strangers who met three hours ago. I stiffen for a second, then relax.

Human contact won’t kill me. Probably.

“Same,” I agree, my brain still reeling. “He spent more time contradicting himself than making sense. One minute it’s ‘save the planet,’ the next it’s ‘who wants to intern for Big Oil?’“

Tara nods vigorously, her curls bouncing. “Right? I’m this close to dropping the class and taking up underwater basket weaving instead.”

“Mood,” I mutter, surprising myself.

“Ooh, idea!” Tara’s eyes light up. “We could totally ditch his next class and get coffee instead. You know, for our mental well-being.”

I laugh. “Tempting. But I’m pretty sure ‘Serial Class Skipper’ isn’t the college legacy I’m aiming for.”

Tara pouts, and suddenly I’m aware of how effortlessly gorgeous she is. Her blonde hair is shiny and perfectly curled. She’s slim but with some nice curves. Meanwhile, I’m over here looking like a protractor with anxiety.

“Lunch?” Tara chirps, yanking me out of my pity party. “I’m free now if you are.”

I check my watch—11:55. “Yeah, I’m good until 2:00.”

“Perfect! My brother swears by this place called Sushi Palace. You in?”

I hesitate, then blurt out, “Are you sure you want to have lunch with me?”

Tara freezes. “Alexandria! Duh. That’s what friends do.”

Friends .

“Hey,” Tara says, her voice softening. “I get it. I used to be super shy too.”

I wince. Is my social ineptitude that obvious?

But then Tara grins. “Want to know my secret weapon?” She leans in close. “Confidence is like a muscle—fake it until it gets strong enough to be real. Trust me, one day you’ll realize you stopped pretending months ago.”

I feel my eyes fill up. Shit . Damn hormones. Can’t someone be nice to me without me wanting to cry?

“Now,” Tara says, linking our arms again, “let’s go demolish some sushi and plot world domination. Or at least figure out how to survive Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Oil Tycoon without losing our last brain cells.”

The University of Mountain Springs sprawled across the foothills like its own miniature city. Red brick buildings with solar panel roofs stretched in every direction, a deliberate blend of century-old architecture and cutting-edge sustainability. The Environmental Sciences building stood apart, its living wall of plants cascading down five stories of gleaming glass and recycled steel. Students lounged on the lawn between classes.

“Did you know UMS was one of the first universities to commit to carbon neutrality?” Tara asked as we walked. “My brochures wouldn’t shut up about it. Apparently, they generate forty percent of their own power through solar and wind.”

I nodded, already familiar with the stats. It was one of the reasons I’d chosen UMS—that and their strong connections to the legendary Global Sustainable Resources Institute program. Over 60% of the GSRI intakes were students from UMS. Something about their environmental science program being tough enough and with the right focus for the GSRI candidates.

Sushi Palace turns out to be a hole-in-the-wall joint that looks like it was decorated by a drunk sailor with a penchant for origami. But the smell wafting out is enough to make my mouth water.

“Trust me,” Tara says, catching my skeptical look. “My brother Troy swears this place is better than anything he had in Japan.”

We slide into a cramped booth, our knees bumping under the table.

“So, this paragon of culinary wisdom,” I say, trying to channel my inner ‘fake it till you make it’ confidence, “what’s his deal?”

Tara rolls her eyes, but her smile is fond. “Troy’s a sophomore here, studying Environmental Engineering.” I raise my eyebrows, impressed. “He’s basically perfect,” she sighs. “Aced everything technical in high school and can do no wrong in anyone’s eyes. Especially my parents, who are so pleased they birthed a golden child. I love him to bits though.”

“Sounds like he and I might get along,” I manage. “You know, if I can string two sentences together without malfunctioning.”

“Oh, you’d be fine. Troy’s like a golden retriever on caffeine—enthusiastic about literally everything. He once made friends with a lamppost because it ‘looked lonely.’“ She makes air quotes.

I choke on my green tea. “You’re kidding.”

“Hand to God,” Tara says solemnly, then breaks into giggles. “Okay, so he was a little drunk at the time, but still. The point is, he’s good with people.”

Hearing about Troy and Tara makes my heart ache. They have the kind of sibling bond I’ve always wanted—the kind Emma and I tried to create. I push the thought down before it can show on my face.

Over incredible sushi, Tara tells me more about why she chose UMS. She could’ve gone anywhere—Oxford, yes, the Oxford —even courted her, which she mentions with an eye roll. But watching her brother thrive here during his first year made her realize something: sometimes happiness matters more than prestige. So, she turned down her offer and her parents’ Ivy League dreams and secretly accepted UMS instead.

By the time we’re fighting over the last cucumber maki, I’m laughing more than I have in years.

“I was terrified about today,” I admit. “Figured I’d end up eating alone while reading.”

Tara’s face softens. “Well, tough luck. You can read at home.”

I grin.

“So,” Tara leans in conspiratorially, “my brother’s hosting a party tonight—nothing huge, I promise, just at their place a little off-campus. Want to come?”

My stomach flips. A party. I don’t want Tara thinking I’m a loser, but the thought of it terrifies me. Then I remember my “new me” mantra—I came to college to do exactly this kind of thing. To live a little.

“Sure,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray my nerves. “Sounds fun.”