In the midst of my 2:30 M/W Art History course, my eyes grazed upon an innocent text on the laptop screen of the girl sitting right in front of me: “What do you want from QDOBA, babe?” My heart skipped a beat.
Every class I fell for him harder. His silly little jokes, his outdated memes, his texts asking if she could give him a ride home. By the end of the month, he wasn’t just her boyfriend, he was ours.
Before class I change my outfits seven times just in case he’d drop her (us) off to class. I’d watch her screen closely to figure out what bar we’d be meeting at. And when he sent her their Vegas formal booking confirmation, I got my own room next to theirs because I knew he was allowed to invite only one person. (It’s fine, I know he has no control over Greek life’s outdated monogamous standards.)
Recently they’ve (we’ve) been discussing their (our) plans for housing next year. They’re looking at a cute, little one-bedroom on Lemon and I’m so excited! While she’s on Zillow during class, I’ll be on Amazon looking for a California King bed.
