Chapter 1

The college was total chaos that day. People hauling folders, frantic moms asking where the protocol office was, way too hot for all those clothes, and that typical smell of a new hallway mixed with sweat and cheap perfume. Constant chatter, laughter, papers dropping on the floor, a bunch of young folks trying to act like they knew what they were doing. I was standing there in line, and that’s when I noticed her.

She was right in front of me, impatient, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She had this almost angelic face, the kind that makes you look twice to make sure it’s real. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a casual bun, with some lighter strands and the tips faded to a soft pink — you could tell they’d been way more vibrant once.

She was wearing ripped jeans at the knees, a black t-shirt with the name of a band I’d never heard of, and a pair of boots that looked like they’d traveled the world. On her back, an old backpack, all scribbled on, covered in stickers, ribbons, and paint — like every mark told a piece of who she was.

Every now and then, she’d check her phone and frown, waiting for a message that never came. The bun would slip a bit, she’d fix it absentmindedly, take a deep breath. She wasn’t talking to anyone, but she seemed like a storm was raging inside her. And there I was, standing behind her, not able to explain why it was so hard to look away from that girl.

“Fuck, man… what a goddamn line! Shit, this crap never moves?” she griped out loud, loud enough for three people to turn their heads.

I laughed without meaning to. At the same time as I loved that she’d started talking, I was impressed by how many curse words she crammed into such a short sentence.

“It’s a pain in the ass too,” I replied, trying to keep the chat going. “They’ve had everything written out since results day about what to bring, but folks show up without docs and hold up the line.”

She snorted, crossed her arms, and shook her head in a silent “you’re right.” I took the opening:

“What major?”

“Psych,” she said, with a quick smile that could disarm anyone.

“Oh, me too! Nice to meet you, I’m Violeta.”

She made this half-cocked expression, part shy, part cocky, like she wasn’t sure yet if she’d like me or not.

“Leticia,” she replied, shrugging. “But you can call me Lelly.”

The conversation died right there. Her phone seemed way more interesting than me. It buzzed, vibrated, lit up, and she’d laugh to herself every now and then, typing fast with both hands. I stared off into space, trying not to look out of place.

The hallway was unbearable. The AC couldn’t keep up, the heat stuck to your skin, and the mix of voices made this constant hum. That kind of spot where nobody really knows what they’re doing, just follows the line hoping they don’t miss a document. There was the noise of printers up front, the click of pens, and a staffer yelling “next!” with almost professional patience.

After about twenty minutes of waiting, they called her name. Lelly muttered a barely audible “finally,” fixed her bun, and went. I watched as she walked to the window, her body light, steps quick, that mix of impatience and confidence only someone twenty can pull off. Soon after, they called mine too, and I went to another desk, right next to hers.

While I filled out the forms, our eyes would cross every now and then. She looked distracted, drumming her fingers on the table while waiting for the lady at the window to type. When I finished, I still saw her arguing about a crumpled document. I smiled to myself.

I left a few minutes earlier and hung out in the shade near the main exit, watching the bustle, checking out the place where I’d be studying. Freshmen posing for pics with their parents, a group of upperclassmen messing with newbies making them shout their majors in unison, and someone hawking homemade popsicles from a cooler. That’s when I saw her again. Lelly was coming down the stairs with her backpack slung over one shoulder, earbuds wrapped in her hand, and that same rushed vibe, like she was in a hurry but didn’t know where to.

She laughed at my silence and called out again, like she was tugging me by the hand.

“So, flower name, you really gonna head out the front of the college?”

“Flower name?” I thought, surprised, annoyed, and a little impressed. Her boldness came with a smile that disarmed you.

“Uh, why not?” I replied, pretending to play it cool.

“The upperclassmen are all out there, you’ll go home covered in paint, dummy. Come on, follow me. Let’s bail from here.”

“Bail what?” I arched an eyebrow.

“Bail. Split, get outta here, vanish. Hit the street… you in?” she explained, twirling the earbud cord around her finger.

I watched as she led the way, walking like she knew exactly where she was going. We went through hallways I’d never seen, stairs that went up and down without rhyme or reason, switched buildings, took an old elevator — I didn’t even know if we were allowed — and came out a side door straight into an almost empty garage. No security, no signs. Just the distant noise of campus and the smell of gas.

“You must’ve switched majors, right?” I said, laughing. “You know this place inside out.”

She shrugged, a little embarrassed.

“My ex goes here.”

The answer caught me off guard.

“Your ex?” it slipped out before I could stop it.

“Yeah. I came to this shitty college because of her. Then the bitch dumped me. Sucks, huh? Go ahead, say it — I was an idiot.”

“Aw, that sucks,” I replied, trying to sound sympathetic, even though I thought the choice was totally clueless. Who picks a college for a girlfriend?

She let out a short, kinda bitter laugh, and changed the subject out of nowhere:

“So, you heading out? Wanna grab a drink?” she nodded with her chin toward a dive bar tucked around the corner from the garage.

I eyed the place. Small, grimy, with bent metal tables and a faded awning. Further down the main avenue, I knew there were the “real” bars, the ones everyone talked about, packed with students. That’s where I wanted to be. But just thinking about the hazing and the chance of going home splattered in tempura paint killed the vibe.

“Sure, that spot works,” I said, giving in.

“Good call, flower name. Let’s go before some upperclassman shows up.” She flashed a light smile and led the way.

And I followed, wondering at what point a registration line had turned into the start of a story I had no clue where it was headed.

“You can just call me Violeta,” I said, trying to be polite so she’d know I didn’t like the nickname.

She gave me this sassy look while waving one finger to flag down the guy who served the tables.

“You really like your name that much?”

“I do. What’s the problem?”

“Old lady name if I ever heard one.”

I laughed at her sass and let it slide. The bar had something different about it. Took me a second to clock it: on the walls, LGBTQIA+ flags, rainbow on one, bi on another, a stylized pink triangle on an old poster. Over the counter, a chalkboard sign: “Here, nobody has to explain shit.”

“This bar? Do students come here too?” I asked, lowering my voice.

“Not a ton, this spot’s just for hookers and dykes. I’m a dyke, what about you?”

“Wouldn’t ‘lesbian’ be the politically correct term?”

“I can already tell you’re one of those Twitter whiners!” she said, laughing as she checked her phone again and unfolded some chairs for us to sit. “Lesbian’s for outsiders. We call ourselves dykes, but you gotta have some closeness for that, right?”

I looked around. Metal tables, some wobbly. An old jukebox blinking, blasting 90s rock out of nowhere. In the corner, a couple of girls sharing a vape. In the other, two guys playing dominoes like they were at home. Behind the counter, the owner — gray hair in a ponytail — lifted her chin at Lelly in a silent hello.

“Hey, Ms. Zeca,” Lelly smiled. “Bring the usual.”

“For your friend too?” the woman asked, sizing me up kindly. “I’ll get it right over.”

“So, flower name… Violeta. You really like it?”

“I do. It was my grandma’s name.”

“That makes sense,” she laughed, easy. “Shit, my bad.”

Since I didn’t want to say anything, I stayed quiet, and she went back to her phone while we waited for the beer.