8. Alex

ALEX

THEN – FRESHMAN YEAR – DECEMBER

I ’m huddled in the back corner of the student center cafeteria, nursing my third hot chocolate of the day. Outside, snow is falling in thick flakes, turning campus into something straight out of a winter wonderland postcard. I’ve just finished my voluntary lab work with Professor Bam and convinced her to let me shadow her for the rest of the year.

The Environmental Sciences lab is my favorite place on campus. Unlike the sterile white labs in the Chemistry building, ours is a colorful chaos of ongoing experiments. Growth chambers hum along the back wall, housing everything from native grass species to soil samples from contaminated sites. The whole room smells of earth and green things, with an underlying hint of whatever someone spilled last week.

Tara sits across from me, demolishing a mountain of sushi despite the bitter cold outside. She’s unbothered, her focus entirely on her food, while the cozy hum of the café muffles the harshness of winter just beyond the glass.

“Look at this,” I say, sliding my laptop across the table. The GSRI website fills the screen, showcasing their latest project—a revolutionary water filtration system set to transform mining communities across the country. “This is what I want to do. Not just study environmental problems, but actually solve them.”

Tara reaches across to squeeze my arm, her eyes warm with encouragement. “You will.”

“The acceptance rate is under two percent,” I admit, swallowing the weight of that statistic. “And that’s just for the summer internship.”

She grins. “Good thing you’re in the top one percent of stubborn environmental warriors.”

I can’t help but smile back.

“So,” she says, mid-bite of a California roll, “you and Freddie, huh?”

I slump in my chair with a groan. “Not this again. We’re friends, Tara. Just friends.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone suggests she’d sooner believe in the Loch Ness Monster. “That’s why you’ve been joined at the hip for weeks now.” She punctuates her words by pointing a chopstick at me in mock accusation.

“We have not,” I protest, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as my brain unhelpfully serves up a mental reel of late-night study sessions, long debates in crowded coffee shops, and whispered arguments in the library that got us shushed by the librarian. When did Freddie start taking up so much of my life?

Tara leans in, chopstick still poised, nearly spilling her soy sauce. “Troy says Freddie’s a player, you know. Like, Olympic-level player. Gold medal in breaking hearts.”

I stir my hot chocolate with more force than necessary. “Troy should mind his own business,” I mutter, ignoring the slight twist in my chest. “Besides, I know about Freddie’s... reputation. It’s not like that with us. Men and women can be friends, you know.”

Tara nearly chokes on her rainbow roll, trying to suppress a laugh. “Oh, I know they can. I just doubt that you two are.”

I roll my eyes so hard I half expect to see my own brain. “You’re being ridiculous. Freddie and I are just... compatible. Intellectually,” I add hastily, as Tara’s eyebrows climb skyward.

“Oh yeah?” she challenges, leaning across the table with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Then why do you get all smiley and weird every time he texts you?”

Almost on cue, my phone buzzes. It’s Freddie, sending me a text about something ridiculous a professor said today. I bite my lip to stop myself from grinning.

“See!” Tara crows, loud enough to make a group of freshmen at the next table jump. “That’s your Freddie face!”

“No, it’s not,” I protest, feeling my cheeks flush. “And even if I did like him that way, which I don’t, it doesn’t matter. Freddie’s not interested in anything serious, and neither am I. I’m here to save the planet, not get caught up in... complications. Freddie’s just a study buddy. A tall, annoyingly charming study buddy.”

You’re over-explaining, Alex. Stop digging.

Tara looks unconvinced but mercifully shifts topics, launching into a hilarious breakdown of her latest Tinder disaster—complete with gym selfies and an array of unsolicited dick pics.

“Tara, I really, really don’t need to see it again.”

“But it’s so freakin’ bendy!”

“Yeah…” The image flashes in my mind—bent at an improbable angle.

“It’s practically a right angle!” she exclaims, and we both tilt our heads in unison, scrutinizing the screen like it’s a bizarre science experiment.

“What’s at a right angle?”

I whip my head around so fast my hot chocolate sloshes. There they are—Troy and Freddie, effortlessly weaving through the crowded cafeteria as if they own the place. Troy strides ahead, while Freddie trails with that infuriating half-smile that could disarm anyone in a ten-mile radius.

Their squad is like a recruitment poster for “The Avengers of Hotness,” each member embodying a different brand of attractiveness. Freddie, Ethan, Alfie, and Troy—it’s objectively unfair. They’re all the kind of gorgeous that makes mere mortals forget basic motor functions.

Ethan’s got the golden-retriever charm, with strawberry blonde hair and a grin that could light up all of Colorado. Muscles ripple under his flannel, and you’d almost swear he was engineered in a lab. Troy is the clean-cut golden boy, sharing Tara’s perfect blonde hair, blue eyes, and a blinding white smile that probably glows in the dark. Alfie isn’t really my type, but he’s got that brooding bad-boy look that has half the campus—men and women—writing his name in their notebooks.

And then there’s Freddie. Tall, dark, and so ridiculously handsome he should come with a warning label. Messy dark hair, a jawline like carved stone, and hazel eyes that seem to change color with the light—it’s cosmically unfair. But it’s not just his looks. There’s a magnetic pull to him, a crooked smile that makes you feel like you’re the only person he’s speaking to.

Not that I notice. Or care. I’m just, you know, making scientific observations. For... environmental purposes. Studying the habitat of Freddie Donovan in his natural cafeteria ecosystem.

I sink lower in my chair, feeling like the human equivalent of a recycled paper bag in a field of high-definition roses.

Be kind to yourself, Alexandria. Mom’s voice, gentle and reassuring, sounds in my head like an optimistic GPS system.

Fine. Maybe I’m more of a dandelion in a field of roses. There. Positive self-talk. You happy, Mom?

Tara jolts, tossing her phone into her lap with a look of horror. “Top ten things you don’t need your brother to know: the angle of your latest Tinder conquest.”

Troy, thankfully, catches her panic and mercifully doesn’t press the question. Good call, Troy—no one wants to explain the math behind that particular picture.

“Hey, nerds,” he says, sliding into a chair. “Is the library on fire or something?”

Tara rolls her eyes so hard I worry they might get stuck. “That joke wasn’t funny when Dad said it, and it’s not funny now.”

“You wound me, little sis.” Troy clutches his chest in mock agony before eyeing her sushi. “You gonna finish all that?”

“Try it and die,” Tara says, brandishing a chopstick like a tiny samurai sword.

Freddie drops into the chair next to me, much closer than necessary. His cologne—warm, rich, a mix of vanilla and leather—fills the air between us, a heady, intoxicating scent that shouldn’t be allowed in public.

“Hey, you,” he says, nudging my shoulder. “Miss me?”

“You wish,” I retort, ignoring the way my heart does a little somersault. “Friends don’t miss friends after, like, two hours. That would be crazy.”

Oh god.

Tara snorts at my obvious deflection, and Troy’s too busy checking out the volleyball team three tables over. Men . Their talent for selective observation should be documented in scientific journals.

Freddie quirks an eyebrow, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk. “Sounds like someone’s been thinking about me.”

I sputter, my face heating up. “I—what? No! I mean, not like that.” He keeps looking at me, and in my panic, I blurt out, “Pal.”

Pal? PAL?

Troy, apparently done with his strange routine of staring at the volleyball team, spins his chair around. “So what’s the plan for this weekend? Please tell me we’re doing something other than watching Ethan strike out with every woman on campus.”

“Um, hello?” Tara waves her hands at him. “We’re going home this weekend. Mom’s birthday?”

“Oh shit, right!” Troy’s face lights up. “I need to start the cookies tonight. You know how Mom gets if I don’t bring enough.”

Something warm and kind of achy spreads through my chest watching them. For all their bickering, there’s something so sweet about Troy, campus heartthrob, getting excited about baking cookies for his mom.

Troy reaches for a piece of sushi.

“Hey!” Tara swats at his hand. “Hands off! Just because you’re having a cookie crisis doesn’t mean you get my lunch.”

“I’m helping you! If you eat all this, you’re gonna feel sick,” Troy argues.

Freddie turns to me, those ridiculous hazel eyes sparkling under the fluorescent cafeteria lights. “I’ve got a shift at the gym Saturday, plus some personal training clients, but I was thinking maybe a late-night study session after? That Environmental Ethics midterm is going to kill me if I don’t start prepping.”

My roommate Piper’s voice echoes in my head—something about a party at the Alpha Phi house. I should probably go. Make new friends. Be social. Stop spending every weekend buried in books with Freddie.

But then he does that thing where he runs his hand through his hair, and suddenly, I can’t remember a single reason why I’d want to be anywhere else.

“Yeah, I’m free,” I lie.