Hadley: And the sky is blue.
Me: If he reported me, my whole team would pay for it. The soccer team already hates us.
Hadley: Hence why you torment the freshmen?
Me: Torment has such a negative connotation. It’s some light hazing. If we didn’t do it, they’d feel forgotten and unseen.
Hadley: Do you buy your own bullshit?
Me: Always.
Hadley: What’s your major?
I grin wider than I should as she prompts our conversation to continue.
Me: Business management. What about you?
Hadley: PR and marketing.
I press the phone icon beside her name, bored with texting, and slightly desperate to hear her voice. It rings three times before she answers, her voice warm and quiet. “If you ridicule me, so help me.”
“Were you considering not answering?”
“I had my phone on silent. I was getting a snack and had to wait until I was back in my room to answer so I wouldn’t wake Hannah.”
I glance at the phone, realizing it's past midnight. I should be asleep. “Why did you choose PR and marketing?”
“My family owns a development company, and when my parents retire, they want me to fill my mom’s role and meet with clients and builders and do community outreach. She doesn’t have to do a ton of public speaking, but when she does, it’s pivotal and important. She has big shoes to fill.”
“Do you want to do it? Work for your parents, I mean.”
“I know it sounds lame, and probably like I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I do. I love the company. It’s all I know. They started the business in our house and nearly everyone who works for the company has been there for at least a decade. My brother and sister both work for the company as well as my brother’s wife.”
“But not your brother-in-law?”
“He’s an eye doctor.”
“And he doesn’t know where babies come from?”
She laughs, the sound throaty and muted. I wish I were there to see it. “Right? Apparently, they only sent him to medical school to learn about pupils and corneas and eye-related stuff.”
“You know getting out and finding things that scratch that itch might help you get over your fear of public speaking. The Camden Cookie Run is this Saturday. Maybe getting out and acting ridiculous in front of a group of people could help.”
“The Camden Cookie what?”
“Camden Cookie Run. It’s a big deal.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” she says.
“That’s because you hang out with Katie, and she hates college traditions and anything that smells even distantly elitist.”
“Is it elitist?”
I scoff. “It gives off the vague scent.”
She laughs again. It feels precariously rewarding, making me think of that itch she mentions and understanding it explicitly because her laugh feels like my scratch. “What is it?”
“You run to a shop downtown that makes a ton of cookies for the event, and you have to scarf down cookies and then run back to campus, and the first person to cross the finish line wins.”