Undeclared

Chapter One: Westbridge

Hi, my name is Daniel Reyes. I’m 19 years old.

I go to Westbridge University. If you look it up, it’ll tell you about “community” and “opportunity” and a bunch of other words that sound better on a website than they do at eight in the morning when you’re trying to find your lecture hall and your phone is at 3% battery.

I got lost on my first day.

Not in a dramatic, life-changing way. Just the kind where you walk in circles for twenty minutes pretending you know where you’re going, checking your map every few seconds, and hoping no one notices. Everyone else looked like they had somewhere to be, like they’d already done this before.

I kept thinking: *They all know something I don’t.*

I still think that, actually.

I live in Dorm C, third floor, room 317. The hallway always smells faintly like laundry detergent and something burnt, which I’m pretty sure is coming from the communal kitchen no one knows how to use.

My roommate is Ethan.

The first thing he said to me was, “You look like you got lost,” which wasn’t exactly wrong, so I just kind of laughed and said, “Is it that obvious?”

He shrugged. “First week. Everyone looks lost. Some people are just better at hiding it.”

That made me feel a little better. Not a lot. But enough.

Ethan doesn’t seem like the kind of person who gets lost. He moves through everything like it’s already familiar to him—like he belongs here without having to prove it. People talk to him in the hallway. He remembers names. He says things like, “We should go to that,” and actually means it.

On the second night, he asked if I wanted to go to a party.

I said, “Maybe,” which is what I always say when I mean “probably not.”

He looked at me for a second, like he was trying to figure out if I was serious. “You don’t have to, but it might help. First week and all. You kind of just have to show up to things.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

I didn’t go.

He came back around one in the morning, louder than usual but not drunk enough to be embarrassing. I pretended to be asleep, but he still whispered, “You should’ve come, man. It was fun.”

I almost said something back. I almost asked what it was like, who was there, and if he had a good time.

Instead, I stayed quiet.

That’s kind of my thing, I guess. Thinking about saying things and then not saying them.

Classes started the next day. I sat in the back of every lecture, even when there were empty seats closer to the front. It’s easier that way. Less chance of being called on, less chance of people noticing you don’t really know what you’re doing.

In my intro psychology class, the professor asked everyone to introduce themselves to the person next to them. Just name, major, and where you’re from. Simple.

When it was my turn, I said, “Hi, I’m Daniel. I’m undeclared. I’m from San Diego.”

The girl next to me smiled and told me her whole plan for the next four years in under a minute. Internship, grad school, everything mapped out like she’d already lived it.

I nodded like I understood.

I didn’t tell her that I picked “undeclared” because every other option felt like lying.

I didn’t tell her that I still feel like I’m waiting for something to click.

I didn’t tell her that there are things about me I’ve barely said out loud, even to myself.

By the time I got back to the dorm that afternoon, Ethan was already there, sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone.

“How were classes?” he asked.

“Good,” I said automatically.

He glanced up. “Just good?”

I shrugged, dropping my bag on the floor. “I mean, they’re classes.”

He laughed a little. “Fair enough.”

There was a pause after that. Not awkward, exactly. Just… unfinished.

He looked like he was about to say something else, then didn’t. I sat down on my bed and pretended to check my schedule, even though I already had it memorized.

I could feel it then, that weird awareness of him being in the room. Not in a bad way. Just… there. Like everything felt slightly more noticeable.

The way he tapped his fingers against his phone.

The way he leaned back against the wall.

The way he said, “Hey,” a second later, like he’d decided something, “a bunch of people from my classes are grabbing food later. You should come.”

I hesitated. Not long enough for it to be obvious, but long enough that I felt it.

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay.”

He smiled, like that settled it. “Cool.”

And that was it. No big moment. No dramatic decision.

Just me saying yes to something small.

But even as I said it, I could feel that other layer underneath everything—the one I don’t talk about. The one that notices too much.

The one that’s already making this more complicated than it should be.

Because it’s not just that I don’t know how to be here yet.

It’s that I don’t know how to be here… around him.