Saturday hits and campus is a madhouse. Move-in day at UCLA feels like someone kicked an anthill—parents are everywhere, wrestling with suitcases and futons, freshmen trying (and failing) to look unfazed, RAs shouting into the chaos with clipboards and strained smiles.
Mom's determined to help me settle in, and honestly, I let her. Sometimes surrender is the easiest way out.
My roommate, Stella, is already there. She's tall, Black, with box braids and a lineup of color-coded textbooks glinting on her desk. Pre-med, of course. Within minutes, she's already pinned up an anatomy poster and made me feel like I'm rooming with someone who came out of the womb with a five-year plan.
"Communications, right?" she asks, mid-poster hang.
"Yeah."
"My cousin does social media for a living. Says it's brutal."
I just nod. "Probably."
She plops down on her bed, gives me an appraising look. "Nervous?"
"A little."
"Same." She grins. "But hey, we're here. We made it."
Mom's at the door, phone out, determined to document every awkward moment for posterity.
By the time she finally hugs me goodbye, it's nearly lunchtime. Stella and I grab food at the dining hall, where everyone's locked in that weird first-day patter: where are you from, what's your major, did you play a sport, blah blah blah.
I'm halfway through a burrito that tastes vaguely like regret when I see him—Liam. He's across the quad, in a huddle of guys who look like they're auditioning for a beer commercial: backwards caps, new sneakers, loud laughs.
My heart skips.
Stella clocks the situation. "Friend of yours?"
"More like the opposite."
She raises an eyebrow. "Ex?"
"Yeah."
She makes a sympathetic face. "Gotta love the odds."
"Right?"
Liam spots me. For a split second, he looks thrown, but then his smile snaps back into place. He says something to his crew and heads over.
No, please, not now.
Stella leans in. "Want me to rescue you?"
"It's fine," I lie.
He stops just a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, wearing that same cocky smile I used to find charming.
"Avery. Hey."
"Liam."
His eyes flick to Stella, back to me. "Didn't expect to see you today."
"It's move-in."
"Yeah. Makes sense." He shifts his weight. "How's it going?"
"Fine."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
The silence feels like wet cement.
He rubs his neck. "I just… wanted to say—"
"Don't."
He looks confused. "Don't what?"
"Don't apologize. Don't explain. Don't pretend."
His jaw tightens. "I'm trying to be decent."
"You missed your chance when you hooked up with my sister."
Stella lets out a low whistle.
Liam's face goes red. "That's not—"
"Don't care." I grab my tray, stand up. "Have a good year."
I walk away before he can say another word.
Stella jogs to catch up. "Holy shit. That was cold."
I wish I could feel as tough as I sounded. My hands are shaking.
But I keep it together.
That night, I'm doomscrolling when Madison's story pops up—her and Liam, golden hour perfect, her laughter staged, his arm around her like they're selling something. my favorite person 💕, the caption reads.
I wait for the old ache to hit.
It doesn't.
I take a quick screenshot, stash it in a folder labeled "Receipts." Then I move on.
Parker's profile is still private, my follow request still floating in limbo. That's fine. I can wait.
I pull up his class schedule—Intro to Media Psychology, M/W at 10 am. I add it to my calendar.
A couple days later, Madison's at it again:
Madison: heard you ran into liam
Me: yep
Madison: he said you were rude
Me: cool
Madison: grow up, avery
I leave her on read.
Madison: you can't avoid us forever
Me: not trying to
Madison: then why are you being like this
Me: i'm not
Madison: bullshit
I set my phone aside. She calls—decline. Calls again—decline.
Madison: answer your damn phone
Me: no
Madison: what's with you
Me: nothing
Madison: you're cold. weird.
Me: i'm busy, madison
Madison: with what
Me: school
Madison: you haven't even started
Me: prepping. unlike some people
Madison: you're acting weird
Me: you've mentioned
Madison: because it's true
I ignore her. She sends a voice message—I don't bother playing it.
Then she sends a photo: her and Liam in his dorm, tangled on his bed, both grinning like this is some kind of contest.
Caption: miss you already 😘
She wants to get under my skin.
I zoom in—messy sheets, textbooks, some band poster, and… a picture frame, turned facedown on his desk.
I know what's in there.
A photo of us, from what feels like a different lifetime.
He didn't toss it.
I say nothing.
Instead, I open my notes app and update my list.
Make him notice me—done. Step into his world—first class, Monday. Show I'm more than a kid. Make him want me. Let Liam see it.
One more:
Let Madison realize she never had the upper hand.
My phone buzzes again.
Madison: you're seriously not going to answer?
Me: nope
Madison: pathetic
Me: if you say so
Madison: he doesn't even think about you anymore
Me: good for both of us
Madison: he's moved on
Me: so have i
Madison: to what? you're alone
I actually smile.
Me: enjoy him while he lasts, madison
Madison: what does that mean
Me: nothing. just—college boys aren't famous for loyalty
Madison: he's not leaving
Me: okay
Madison: what is your problem
Me: no problem. just living my life
Madison: liar
Me: think what you want
Madison: you're still obsessed
Me: i'm really not
Madison: then stop being such a bitch
Me: you're the one blowing up my phone, madison
She goes silent.
I wait. Five minutes, ten.
Finally, her last word:
Madison: whatever. stay bitter
I don't answer.
I just put my phone down and check Parker's profile.
And there it is. He accepted my follow.
My pulse jumps.
I scroll his feed—books, a campus sunset, a conference. No selfies, nothing personal, captions barely longer than a sigh.
He keeps things close. That just means I'll have to work harder.
I flip through my own photos, deleting anything too staged, too high school. I want something real.
I prune my feed, strip away the fake, keep what matters.
Then I post: my desk, books, laptop, coffee.
Caption: new chapter.
No fluff. No hashtags.
The likes start trickling in. Zoey's first, naturally.
Zoey: LOOK AT YOU ALL SCHOLARLY
I laugh.
And then I see it: Ethan Parker likes my post.
My heart stumbles.
It might not mean much.
But it's a start.
And right now, that's enough.