Straight to Hell and Back [Flashback]

Straight to Hell and Back [Flashback]
I frowned at the open page in front of me. A long paragraph about the principles of public space in contemporary architecture looked like some demonic chant copied straight out of a 13th-century Latin manuscript. And the worst part? This was for a theory class.
Me. Theory. Like trying to make someone who just wants to sketch windows and build maquettes sit through a lecture on philosophy.
“If I read one more paragraph, I swear I’m going to design a house without doors. Let everyone get lost,” I muttered, flipping the page.
“I think that already happened with your model last week,” Sebastian shot back from across the table, not even looking up from his book. “People could get lost just by staring at it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Funny. If I remember right, my model got an A. Meanwhile, Professor Jeffron asked if you were color-blind or just sadistic.”
Sebastian finally looked up, smirking. “At least I didn’t nearly burn down the studio last semester.”
“That was an unexpected chemical reaction.”
“That was a hairdryer, Gretta.”
Before I could chuck my book at his head, a very tempting idea, a loud cough cut us off.
The librarian stood two tables away, eyebrows raised, wearing the kind of look that could get us expelled. “Library, not a marketplace.”
I gave her a sheepish smile, then promptly grabbed the thick book beside me and smacked Sebastian on the head with the hardcover.
“Ow! Damn it, that’s reinforced concrete!”
“Perfect match for your thick skull,” I said sweetly.
We finally had to abandon the table after too many death stares from other students. Outside the library doors, Sebastian was still whining about the “intellectual assault” I’d committed.
“I’m reporting you to the dean. This is clearly oppression.”
“Go ahead. Make sure to include a recording of you practically snoring while reading about private space theory.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I was meditative.”
“You were practically dead.”
We walked out toward the campus plaza ... and that’s when I saw him.
Reagan Milano.
Sitting on a long concrete bench, one leg lazily crossed over the other, holding a water bottle like he was auditioning for a commercial. His jersey jacket was pushed up to the elbows, showing veins that had no business being that distracting. His hair was a mess, but the cinematic kind of mess, like he’d just rolled out of bed in a way no mortal could pull off.
Damn.
Sebastian instantly perked up, waving like a golden retriever spotting its owner. “Reagan!”
He bounded over, clapped Reagan on the shoulder, and started chatting. I couldn’t hear what about... probably their project, or the upcoming football game, or how insufferable I’d been at the library.
Reagan didn’t look at me. But I knew he knew I was there. The subtle shift of his shoulders. The way his mouth tilted a fraction of a second too quickly at something Sebastian said.
I took a deep breath, tucked my hair behind my ear, and turned away. Naomi and Joy were waiting at the corner café, probably with wilted salads and fresh gossip.
What I needed was tea. Maybe vodka. As for the jersey boy the menace on that bench? He could go up in flames first.
::::
I found Joy and Naomi by the café window, both with quinoa salads and avocado toast that looked as depressing as it did healthy.
None of us actually ate healthy, but somehow salad always felt like a quick fix for our life choices.
“I thought the library swallowed you,” Joy said as I slid into the chair. “Or Sebastian dragged you into another debate about brutalism.”
“I nearly killed him with a reinforced concrete book,” I muttered, pulling the chair closer.
Naomi sighed dramatically. “Please, no murder talk before lunch.”
I stole a roasted potato wedge off Joy’s plate. “You know he’s basically the perfect prototype for academic homicide, right?”
Joy raised a brow. “You know who really needs therapy, right?”
“Sebastian,” I said smoothly.
“You,” Naomi and Joy corrected in unison.
I just shrugged.
The conversation flowed easily, from the annoying professor who shredded Joy’s design three times in a week, to Naomi’s pharmacy senior admirer who was, in her words, “way too fragrant for a normal human being.”
“I swear he bathes in essential oil diffusers,” she said, making us laugh.
“You and Reagan,” Joy said, slowly stirring her lemon tea. “Where did you two go last night?”
I leaned back. “Straight to hell and back.”
Naomi narrowed her eyes, curiosity glowing. “So... did you kiss?”
“Wow. Zero to a hundred real quick.”
Joy smirked. “Your face was red when you got home. And Naomi swears she saw you on his bike.”
“Naomi’s a stalker,” I said flatly.
Naomi just shrugged, all innocent. “I was passing by. Not my fault you looked like you were in some edgy rom-com montage.”
I covered my face with both hands. “One of you please reboot my life. With a sledgehammer.”
Joy suddenly said, “Let’s go to the salon. Right now. Both of you look like you need a life reset.”
“Excuse me?” I frowned.
“Gretta, this isn’t about your hair. It’s about a power move. We change the vibe. Keep life from predicting us.”
Naomi nodded, her blonde hair catching the sunlight. “Exactly. Look at me. Blonde equals freedom.”
I arched a brow. “Blonde equals expensive.”
Joy was already on her feet. “Come on. Just this once, G. Let’s celebrate the semester with an impulsive decision we can regret in a week.”
I didn’t know why I said yes. Maybe because I’d burned through all my energy fighting with Sebastian. Maybe because my cheeks still warmed when I remembered Reagan’s voice saying, Goodnight. Dream about me, obviously.
We ended up at Joy’s favorite salon, a place thick with hairspray fumes and low beats of early 2000s pop. Naomi made a beeline for the manicure station, Joy launched into a consultation about caramel highlights.
And me... I just stood in front of the big mirror.
Staring at my reflection. My dark brown hair half-tied and messy. My eyes tired from too many late nights. And behind me, a poster of a blonde model with a stare that seemed to whisper, ‘You could start here.’
“I know that look,” Naomi said from across the room. “That’s the ‘I’m not sure, but I’m curious’ look.”
Joy chimed in from under her salon cape. “Do it, G. Life’s too short for safe hair colors.”
I kept staring at the mirror. Trying to picture myself blonde. Would I look like I was out to steal someone’s boyfriend? Would Reagan even—
Shit.
“If I regret this, I’m suing you both,” I finally said.