Page 75 of Zero Confusion

Joel made an indignant noise and went back to flipping through the pages. It was amusing to watch him take everything about this class personally. Zach still had to suppress a smile whenever he remembered the day they learned about commodity fetishism and the scandalized look on Joel’s face as he argued that his love for designer T-shirts was not a fetish. It took Zach Googling non-sexual fetish and forcing Joel to read it for him to calm down.

After another half an hour had passed—as unproductively as expected—Zach checked the time. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

Joel’s gaze snapped toward him, a flicker of worry crossing his face. “Want me to come?”

The concern warmed his heart. He hadn’t been too much fun lately, and he wouldn’t blame Joel if he pulled back, but his friend was intent on making sure Zach was okay.

Did they make a gift basket that said Thanks for sticking by me through my mental breakdown? Depressed twenty-somethings were such an underrated consumer base.

“Nah, I’m good. Gonna go home, inhale some ramen, and get started on the final paper.”

Joel scrunched his face in distaste. “I can’t believe we have to write an essay on our own consumer habits. Like…is this marketing or therapy?”

Zach slung his bag across his shoulder with a grunt and patted Joel’s perfectly-arranged messy hair. “Let’s go out this weekend. We’ll drink until you forget how easily sexy commercials can manipulate us.”

Joel perked up at the prospect, and they walked out of the library together, splitting up in the parking lot. Zach’s bike had gotten a flat tire last week, and he hadn’t bothered to fix it, so Joel offered him a ride home. Zach waved him off. He was in no hurry to get back to his lonely apartment, and a leisurely walk on a sunny summer afternoon sounded perfect.

The tree-lined sidewalk was wide enough that Zach didn’t feel bad about blocking anyone as he ambled along. Joggers and power walkers flashed past him with bright smiles, making exercise look easy and fun, and he wondered if he should take up running.

Then he remembered the running shoes he bought at the start of sophomore year—how they smelled of new rubber and early mornings, and how he had such lofty plans for an active lifestyle. He’d imagined himself jogging every day and winning marathons.

The brightly colored sneakers disappeared under the bed sometime around Thanksgiving, never to see the light of day again. In the end, waking up at dawn and dragging his groggy ass outside wasn’t his vibe. He was all about slow, languid walks that didn’t exert too much energy.

A loud bark startled him. He spun around to find an older woman calmly walking toward him, unbothered by her five dogs tugging wildly in every direction. She kept pace, letting the leashes weave a chaotic web around her. Each dog wore neon green booties, from the tiny Chihuahua to the imposing German shepherd. The sight was so perfectly absurd that Zach’s hand instinctively slipped into his pocket, reaching for his phone to take a picture. He snapped about twenty as the procession trotted past, trying to get every dog into the frame.

His thumb hovered over the share icon on the cutest photo of the bunch. For so long, anything amusing or interesting had gone straight to Miles without a second thought. That impulse was still there, stubborn as ever, but now he hesitated, locked in a battle between habit and reality. On the one hand, it would be weird to ghost someone only to send them a dog picture some weeks later. On the other, it was a really adorable picture.

After a few seconds of internal struggle, he sent it to Jerry. The need to share ebbed, but he still wished he could have shown it to Miles.

Back when he’d made his grand escape from Montana, he’d known it would hurt, but he hadn’t fully understood the depth of that pain. It was the little things that stung the most, the small reminders of Miles that made him realize how much he’d leaned on his existence without noticing. They used to text constantly about everything and nothing at all—stray thoughts, stupid memes, half-formed observations. It had been a quiet rhythm in his life, a heartbeat he never noticed until it was gone.

What was he supposed to do now?

As he reached his building, he glanced up and down the block out of habit. It was silly, yet a small, stubborn ember of hope in Zach’s heart refused to go out.

Alas, the street was empty.

The front door was wide open, propped up by a small rock. The neon blue Please keep the door closed!!! sign reminded Zach to feel guilty about waltzing inside without having to rifle through the bag for his keys, and after a moment of hesitation, he shut the door behind him. The neighborhood was safe, but he’d feel like shit if someone’s apartment was robbed because he’d been too lazy to clean out his bag.

Trudging up the stairs, he was glad he didn’t have the bike weighing him down. Still, he needed to fix it soon, and a patch kit wouldn’t do it this time. He needed to buy a new tire. Which wouldn’t be too expensive, but it meant going into a bike shop. Last time he’d gone, he managed to get stuck with the most pretentious bike technician who had somehow managed to take a mode of transportation and make it his entire personality.

His phone vibrated in his hand, interrupting his thoughts. Jerry had replied with a laughing emoji, giving Zach a tiny boost of dopamine.

Someone cleared their throat above him, and Zach’s head snapped up to see the source.

For a split second, he thought his brain was playing tricks on him. He blinked hard, trying to recalibrate, expecting the vision to vanish.

It didn’t.

Miles was still there, leaning against his apartment door and glaring down at him.

Zach looked back at his phone, thoughts spiraling out of control. He had so much to say, it was hard to know where to start. Panicking, he brought up the dog picture and sent it to Miles.

It was the best he could do right now.

Miles’s phone pinged, and while he was busy pulling it out of his pocket, Zach slipped past and unlocked the door.

“That’s cute.” Miles chuckled. “They match.”