Steadfast and Fervid

Every time the bus screeched to a bumpy stop, Catherine held her breath. This was it: she was here. After an entire year of late nights and extra shifts at the coffee shop, penny pinching, and skipping meals with her family, she had made it.

She had drafted her text message when they exited the highway, hovering over the “send” button right until this moment.

"Made it to school."

Before it could slip out of her sweaty hands, she pocketed her outdated flip phone. The standing patrons gathered their bearings and shuffled around just long enough to make way for the lucky minority of guests that had claimed seats earlier in the ride, including Cat.

She shrank in on herself as she squeezed past the elderly man that had accompanied her for the better half of the thirteen-hour ride and quickly seized the handle for her duffle bag that hung from the overhead compartment.

“Hey, watch it!” one of the standing men cried as her duffle brushed past him.

She muttered an apology, but his response was quieter and far nastier, containing some not-so-friendly racist terms she chose to ignore in favor of rushing off the bus. Everyone else she hit with the fifty-pound bag was much kinder than Mr. Socks-with-Sandals, though the bus driver nearly shut its doors on her before she could leave.

“Oh, a college kid! I thought she was homeless,” a teenager said to her mother as the doors squeaked open again.

Couldn’t blame them on that assumption. Who else carried their life in a backpack and duffle bag and rode the bus for hours on end? Plus, after so long on a bus, she probably smelled pretty ripe. And her hair…

Cat jumped the last step to land on the sidewalk. Though they were still at least two miles away from the ocean, the air still held a salty aftertaste in its smog. The buildings behind her were taller than the ones at home, at least three stories high, and speckled with mold and stains.

Her father had said the place smelled like fishy sewage when they toured the college, but Catherine thought it smelled like a home away from home.

Bay City University: a school with over fifty thousand students, one of the highest dropout rates in the state, and a plethora of majors to choose from to go with their relatively cheap student housing prices. She nearly didn’t apply, but her mother insisted.

Her mom had said, “Kitty-Cat, you didn’t work so hard for nothing. Go where you want to. Make us proud. Get out of here and don’t come back.”

Cat had watched all of her friends and family members try to get out of Culosa…but with an unemployment rate of more than twenty-five percent, it was hard to get out, and even harder to stay out.

All through high school, her mother urged her to work hard and find a new home. Maybe it wasn’t her dream initially, but after hearing it repeated over and over again for four years, Cat eventually adopted it as her own.

And so after a million times of reassuring everyone that this was what she wanted, the family—her parents, surviving grandparents, and her little brother—banded together to raise enough money for tuition for two whole semesters. That was more education than anyone in her family had ever gotten. She wasn’t going to waste it.

While Cat’s intestines wrestled violently in her stomach, she hoisted her duffle bag onto her shoulder and headed inside the clay and brass gates of the old mission.

Orientation had granted her a slight sense of direction in this half-neo-Mexican-style campus. It was just a month ago when she met random incoming students, played irrelevant games, opted not to sign up for clubs, and got a dorm room. From the tour, she knew her building, Casa del Sol, was near the West Quad, closest to the sports complex and not too far from the main dining hall.

Her roomie, who she didn’t get to meet for more than a minute, had insisted they had a great view of the race track and pool from their window.

It was probably the cheapest building available because it had yet to be renovated and was popular with the newer athletes, who partied and smelled bad. She didn’t mind so much. Her floor was a mixture of guys and girls, but she was on the side with the girls’ bathroom.

And—was it Hannah or Harriet?—her roomie had said that they were above the party floor, so they would be able to sleep at night. Being paired with a sophomore had its perks.

Cat’s stomach pain only intensified after her first college dinner of chicken nuggets and tater tots. Nerves, she figured. Tomorrow, she’d report in to get her work-study assignment as a barista at the coffee shop.

And from there, she’d work twenty-four hours a week in exchange for her dorm room and an extra eighty-eight-dollar weekly paycheck for food. Everything was perfectly calculated and planned…but the anxiety didn’t lessen.

That night, as she curled into her bed in the half-empty dorm, Cat couldn’t stifle the memories of orientation. Would tomorrow be like that? Name games, boring presentations, snotty rich boys?

God, she hoped not. She wouldn’t be able to survive if so.

ONE MONTH AGO

“All right!” the peppiest blonde called. “Welcome to orientation! I’m Rebecca, and I’ll be your hostess for the next few hours. Just confirming—group number twenty-three, right?”

As she scanned the group in front of her, her eyes landed on Cat.

Catherine nodded despite the urge to hightail it to the nearest bathroom and hide. She was the shortest in her group, as usual, but also the one that dressed the nicest. Everyone else was so casual.

Did wearing a dress and tights make it look like she was trying too hard?

One guy next to her wore a plain T-shirt that looked like it barely fit him in all the right places. He clearly wasn’t paying any attention to anything with the thousand-yard stare like that, so Cat let herself appreciate how tailored his jeans were too. Custom, purposeful.

Naturally tan with sandy hair and a physique that matched an actor in a cologne commercial. Maybe she wouldn’t run and hide in the bathroom quite yet.

Rebecca the orientation leader continued, “Great! My list says I have—and please let me know you’re here when I call your name—Jeffrey, William, Catherine, Josephina, Caroline, Xavier, and JP?”

Everyone gave the appropriate response upon hearing their name, except for JP in the tight shirt, who corrected her to “Peter is fine.”

As she went to mark her clipboard, Rebecca lit up. “Oh, wait! It says your birthday—?”

He immediately interrupted, “Do we go that way?”

It was the first time he looked at their orientation leader. She handled it with grace, though, and responded with a quiet nod. He began toward the direction he pointed, and she abandoned her question in favor of shepherding everyone into the closest classroom.

The room was older, one of the non-renovated ones based on the scent of colored pencils and mothballs. It was probably the carpet, which had seen better days and curled in on itself along the edges. Cat lowered herself to one of the eight chairs in a circle and began to examine the people in her group.

“Let’s go around and introduce ourselves. Name, transfer or freshman, major. Okay?” Rebecca lowered herself to the last chair, closest to the wall with the chalkboard. “I’m Rebecca, I’m a junior, and a child development major.”

She gestured to the skinny guy next to her.

“Xavier, transfer, chemistry.”

Next, a colorfully dressed Latina. “Josephina, or Josie, transfer, and dance major!”

The petite redhead beside her exploded. “Oh, you’re a dance major? Me too! Caroline, freshman!”

Josie beamed. “Oh, that’s so cool! Hi!”

“Let’s continue,” Rebecca interrupted, gesturing to the guy in flip-flops beside Caroline.

“I’m William, I’m a transfer, and I’m a marketing major.”

Then the guy beside her, a dark-skinned, younger-looking man with an impressive beard. Did all guys get handed out Rogaine when they graduated?

“I’m Jeffrey, freshman…and I’m undeclared still. Maybe finance.”

Cat tried not to freeze and let out a shaky breath. “Catherine, or Cat, or whatever, and I’m a freshman, and I’m, uh, still undeclared.”

That wasn’t so bad. She now looked at the guy sitting next to her, the guy in just the tight T-shirt and jeans. Easy on the eyes.

“Peter, transfer, and math major…for now. Thinking of changing to kinesiology.”

Oh, he had dimples.

Cat smiled and asked, “Like PE?”

It was meant to start a conversation, but this seemed to annoy him, and he turned to her with an expression that looked as pleasant as his tone. “No. Like kinesiology.”

“O-kay.” Cat rolled her eyes. Guess it was too expensive for him to have a personality.

Rebecca chirped, “Um, okay! A game! You’re going to be meeting a lot of people, and it can be really daunting. So I made a game called Assumptions that hopefully will help you remember everyone’s names.

“Here’s how it goes—we each take a turn, looking at everyone, and say one positive assumption about their personality. Like this: Xavier, I assume you’re very bright because you have a difficult major. Now Xavier says an assumption about me, then I move on down the circle. Make sense?”

The group shifted in their seats, some quite a bit more excited than the others. Catherine wasn’t entirely sure this was a great idea, considering how assumptions were, but…well, it was worth a shot. It would be nice to see what people thought of her with first impressions.

Xavier cleared his throat. “Okay, Rebecca. I assume you’re… I don’t know, um…responsible.”

“Great start. Let’s keep going, keeping with the theme of positive personality traits. Josie, I assume…”

Most of Rebecca’s words were drowned out by the sudden buzzing thoughts listing all the positive traits Cat could think of in quick succession to try and prepare for her own turn.

“Catherine, or Cat,” Rebecca called, stealing her attention. “I assume you’re really personable!”

Oh! That was really nice. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. She smiled. “Um, Rebecca,” she started with uncertainty, “I assume you’re very—excitable!”

“That’s been said already,” Grumpy Gus Peter beside her muttered.

“Sorry.” A little diminished, Cat continued, “I mean, um, enthusiastic.”

“Great!” Rebecca seemed pleased enough and continued, “Peter, I assume you’re very well rounded.”

But apparently, based on Rebecca’s stare, Cat did not do a good job of hiding her expression of disagreement.

“With the balance of math and physical science,” she clarified.

Peter didn’t miss the exchange; he suppressed a scowl but seemed to shake it off. “Thanks. Rebecca, I assume you’re…uh, perceptive.”

Pft. What a way to make it about himself. Perceptive, after a compliment? Really?

When Catherine checked around the group for their reactions, no one else seemed to catch how arrogant that answer was. But the game continued.

A lot of these words were shallow, transferable terms one might find on a resume. Organized, prepared, and eager. When Catherine took her turn, she paced herself, speaking slowly.

To buy herself time, she used far too many word fillers, but she was desperate. She settled on assuming people were leaders, coordinated, passionate, neat, charismatic, and… Well, now that she got to Peter, she hesitated.

It was a sting to her chest every time someone complimented Peter. She wanted to call him hardworking, but someone already had. Smart? Already said.

All of the resume-building words were used by the time it was her turn to say an assumption about him. And she couldn’t say what she really thought… Arrogant. Snobby. Smelled like old money.

His shoes weren’t even scuffed. He was a prep who thought he was better than everyone else, obviously. But none of that she could say out loud. “Peter,” she started slowly. God, what word? Blond. Uh. Green eyes.

No, that was all physical. Strong? He had to be, if he was into fitness—and his shirt collar looked like it was choking his tree trunk of a neck.

His arms weren’t bad, either. Or maybe his shirt was just too tight. He spent so much money on designer jeans, he couldn’t afford more fabric for his shirt, so—frugal, in a twisted sense?

“I, um…I assume you’re…” Tall? Not physical! “I assume you’re…um…”

Her hesitation was starting to get awkward.

“I assume you’re stern.” That wasn’t such a bad word, but Rebecca looked like she was about to correct her, so Cat continued, “I mean stern in a good way. Like serious. About school or…”

God, how was she supposed to compliment a wet blanket when he just stared at her like he’d rather be anywhere else?

Rebecca cleared her throat. “Do you mean studious?”

“Yes! That’s the word. Yes. Studious.”

When Peter finally turned to her, his patience had clearly stretched thin. “Mmm. Catherine… I assume you’re…”

“It gets really hard at the end when everyone’s gone so many times,” Rebecca interrupted nervously. “Works better with fewer people.”

The group let out a courteous chuckle for her. She must have sensed the struggle. And the growing tension that built like a slow-burning fire.

But Peter and Cat still stared at each other, unsmiling. Peter, leaning his elbow on his leg, just kept staring, looking up and down at her, judging. She almost couldn’t stop her scowl.

She could only imagine what was going through his head. She knew she looked like she was trying too hard, with her dress and everything, or that she was stupid if she thought PE and kinesiology were the same thing—which she didn’t! She just wanted to start a conversation.

He looked to the ceiling now, as if praying for some sort of ability to be a decent person and say any random compliment, before he settled on spitting out the word. “I assume you’re talkative.”

Catherine bit back a retort by pursing her lips, forcing her scowl into a smile, and turning to Rebecca. Talkative. Really?

“Rebecca, I assume you’re very quick to think on your toes,” Cat said without a moment to waste.

The room seemed to let out a collective breath.

“And you, Catherine, I assume you’re passionate!” Thank God that was over. No one even caught her on the repeated word. But Peter still had to go.

When he started out, he moved a lot faster than she did, better rehearsed. He pulled out near synonyms, ridiculous thesaurus entries. Reliable. Trustworthy. Real original. Words he didn’t bother to waste on someone as talkative as her.

He let out a heavy sigh before he came back to Catherine. “Catherine, I assume you’re very…opinion…” Opinionated? “I mean, you’re very… Your opinions are…important to you.”

She raised her brows, staring him down. That was what he was going with?

“Personality traits,” Rebecca reminded weakly from the sidelines.

“I mean—presumptuous. Or—partic—”

“And you, Peter,” Cat interrupted. “I assume you’re judgmental. Judgy. Or, sorry, particular about people.”

He spat out a sarcastic laugh and said, “Oh, you’re just a delight, aren’t you?” He very nearly smiled for the first time since orientation started. Rebecca’s call to order went ignored. Time to take off the gloves.

“You’re a fuckin’ cakewalk.”

“Classy.”

“Oh, get that stick out of your ass—”

“BATHROOM BREAK TIME!” Rebecca shouted now. Cat jumped in her seat. “Men’s is down the hall to the left, women’s to the right! Let’s go, five minutes! Let’s go!”