Chapter 63 Lottie
Monday comes bright and early.
I wake before my alarm, blinking up at the ceiling as awareness settles in. For a moment, I just lie there, letting the quiet stretch around me.
Then I realize—
I feel good.
Not just rested. Not just awake.
Light.
There’s a kind of energy humming under my skin, steady and warm, like something inside me has finally clicked back into place.
A slow smile spreads across my face.
I push myself up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, stretching until my back pops softly. Even that feels good. Easy. Like my body isn’t fighting me for once.
I move through my routine without dragging my feet—showering, dressing, bundling up against the cold—and before I know it, I’m stepping outside into the crisp morning air.
The cold bites immediately, sharp and unforgiving, but it doesn’t bother me the way it usually does. If anything, it wakes me up even more.
I head straight for the cafeteria.
Inside, warmth greets me along with the low hum of conversation and the clatter of trays. It’s familiar, grounding. I grab a plate and load it up—more than usual, I realize distantly—then scan my card and make my way to my usual spot.
The table by the window.
Tucked into the quiet corner overlooking the quad.
I like this spot. Always have.
It gives me space.
I shrug off my layers and settle in, picking up my fork as my gaze drifts outside. Frost dusts the ground, students crossing the quad in bundled clusters, their breath visible in the cold air.
I take a bite, chewing slowly.
There’s a lot on my mind.
Mostly him.
Okay—definitely him.
Patrick.
Just thinking his name makes something warm settle in my chest. He takes up an unreasonable amount of space in my thoughts, but I’m not even annoyed about it anymore.
If anything, I lean into it.
But not everything in my head is… easy.
Sandy lingers there, too.
Not her, exactly. More the way she’s been acting.
Quiet.
Distant.
It’s wrong. Unsettling in a way I can’t quite explain.
I frown slightly, pushing my food around my plate.
I wonder if she’ll still be tripping like she was on Friday. Maybe she just needed space. Maybe something happened, and she hasn’t figured out how to tell me yet.
Because I cannot deal with Silent Sandy.
I’m too used to her voice—constant, energetic, filling every gap—for this sudden silence to feel normal.
It doesn’t sit right.
I shake my head, pushing the thought away before it can take root.
One thing at a time.
I finish eating and gather my things, bundling back up before stepping outside again. The cold hits harder this time, biting through my layers, but I push through it, crossing the quad toward my building.
Inside, warmth wraps around me again. I peel off my coat and scarf, take my seat, and open my notebook just as class begins.
And for once—
I focus.
Really focus.
I listen. I follow along. I take notes—actual notes, not half-finished scribbles or disconnected thoughts. Everything clicks in a way it hasn’t in weeks.
Maybe longer.
A small smile tugs at my lips as I write.
It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Knowing Patrick is mine.
Knowing we’re on the same page—maybe not about everything, but about enough.
Enough to make this work.
Enough to move forward.
I exhale softly and keep writing, my pen moving steadily across the page.
By the time class ends, my notebook is fuller than it’s been in a long time.
I sit back for a moment, looking over everything I’ve written.
A quiet sense of pride settles in my chest.
What if I stay like this?
Focused.
Present.
Will I climb back to where I was?
Bring my GPA back up?
Midterms definitely didn’t help—my scores weren’t great. Not terrible, but not where they should’ve been.
But finals…
If I ace my finals, I can fix it.
I will fix it.
I just have to stay on top of everything.
And for the first time in a while—
That doesn’t feel impossible.
Because I’m not constantly distracted anymore. Not stressing over where I stand with him, over what we are, over whether this is real.
That part feels… solid now.
Stable.
The rest?
How we handle things if this comes out—professionally, academically—
That’s still uncertain.
Still something we’ll have to figure out.
But the difference now is—
I’m not facing it alone.
We’ll handle it together.
And somehow, that makes everything feel possible.
My first two classes passed in a whirlwind.
It’s almost disorienting how fast they go by.
I’m taking notes—actual notes—the kind that fill pages instead of leaving scattered fragments behind. I’m following along, engaged, asking myself questions, connecting ideas.
It feels… right.
Like I’ve finally snapped back into place after drifting for weeks.
By the time those classes end, I feel wired—like I’ve downed a couple of energy drinks and don’t know what to do with all the energy buzzing under my skin.
And then—
It’s time for Patrick’s class.
The moment I step through the door, my body reacts before my brain can catch up.
I start walking straight toward him.
Like there’s a string tied between us, pulling me forward.
Like we’re magnets snapping into alignment.
He looks up just in time to see me coming—and gives the smallest shake of his head.
Subtle.
Barely noticeable.
But I understand immediately.
Not here.
Not now.
I veer off mid-step, redirecting myself toward my seat like that was the plan all along.
My lips twitch faintly.
Because the second I saw him, every thought about keeping this under wraps just… vanished.
I settle into my seat and arrange my things, deliberately keeping my movements slow and controlled.
I risk a glance at him—
Just one.
And then force myself to look away before it turns into staring.
He starts teaching.
And just like earlier, it’s easy to focus.
Maybe too easy.
I love the sound of his voice—the cadence, the way he explains things—so listening comes naturally. My pen moves quickly across the page, capturing everything I can.
Still…
I’m aware of him in a way I can’t shut off.
Every movement.
Every shift.
Every time his gaze sweeps the room, I feel it like it might land on me and stay there.
The class ends far too quickly.
I’m not ready for it to be over.
But everyone starts packing up, chairs scraping, conversations picking up.
I stay seated for a moment longer, watching him gather his things at the front.
Waiting.
The second he moves toward the door, I snap into motion.
I shove my things into my bag, barely bothering to organize them, and hurry after him.
I catch up just outside the classroom.
Without thinking, I brush my fingers lightly against his.
The contact is brief.
Barely there.
But it’s enough.
A familiar rush of tingles spreads through me, sharp and electric.
I close my eyes for half a second, savoring it.
He gasps softly.
And I smile.
I love that I can do that to him.
“I’ll text you later,” I murmur, keeping my voice low.
A flush spreads across his skin almost instantly, coloring his cheeks and creeping down his neck. He nods slightly, not trusting himself to speak, before continuing down the hall toward the exit.
I watch him go for just a second—
Then turn and head toward chemistry.
It takes me a moment to realize something’s off.
Sandy isn’t beside me.
She didn’t catch up.
Didn’t fall into step like she always does.
A small frown forms as I push open the classroom door.
She’s already there.
Sitting at her desk.
But not like usual.
She’s leaned as far away from my side as physically possible, her body angled toward the opposite edge of the desk.
Avoiding me.
I let out a quiet sigh and make my way over, dropping into my seat.
I glance at her from the corner of my eye.
She doesn’t look at me.
I hesitate.
Then decide to try anyway.
“Hey,” I say lightly. “How have you been?”
She sighs.
Soft.
Annoyed.
Then shakes her head, turning slightly away from me like even facing me is too much.
The message is clear.
She doesn’t want to talk.
My chest tightens slightly, but I don’t push.
Not yet.
I turn my attention to the front as the professor starts teaching, forcing myself to focus, to take notes, to stay present.
But it’s harder now.
Something’s wrong.
And I can feel it.
The second the bell rings, I don’t hesitate.
I gather my things quickly and stand, stepping directly into Sandy’s path before she can slip away.
“We need to talk.”
My voice is low.
Firm.
She exhales sharply, like this is the last thing she wants to deal with.
“Okay, fine,” she says. “Let’s talk.”
I gesture toward the door, and she moves around me without another word, heading outside.
I follow a step behind, my mind racing, trying to figure out what to say.
What I missed.
What changed.
We step out into the quad, the cold air hitting immediately. I pull my scarf tighter around my neck as we walk over to a tree and stop beneath it, the branches rattling softly above us.
I turn to face her.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “You’ve been weird since Friday.”
She looks at me like I’ve just said something completely ridiculous.
“I’ve been weird?” she echoes. “What do you call what you were doing in the professor’s office?”
My stomach drops.
“What are you—”
My phone chimes.
The sound cuts through everything.
I pull it out, frowning slightly as I unlock it.
Patrick.
\[Lottie, have you told anyone about us?\]
My heart skips.
I type quickly:
\[Only my parents and my brother. Why?\]
The response comes almost immediately:
\[Someone told the dean. He wants to have a meeting with me tomorrow about my ‘sexual misconduct with a student.’\]
My breath catches.
\[What? No. My parents or my brother wouldn’t have told anyone.\]
And then—
It clicks.
Slowly.
Horribly.
My head lifts.
Sandy is watching me.
Studying me.
Like she’s trying to gauge my reaction.
Something cold settles in my chest.
I look at her fully now.
And glare.
“What did you do?”