Page 6 of How We Began

“What?” My exclamation slipped from my mouth with me unable to hold it in.

“History girl.” He winked and walked into the room next to mine, just a towel around his waist.

I dropped my shampoo bottle on my big toe and now have an enormous bruise.

There’s a boy in the dorm… that one.

19th September

#fountainpen

The fit guy from yesterday sat behind me in class again, constantly tapping his toe on my chair leg.

We haven’t actually spoken properly yet, but I’m pretty sure the toe tapping is some form of Morse Code. I can’t officially look at his face because it’s too painfully gorgeous. I also can’t stop thinking about his abs and that teeny tiny towel wrapped around his hips. How did I end up in a dorm with someone like that? I mean, I don’t want to be perversely derogatory about a member of the opposite sex but… Oh my god. You could write a sonnet about that face… and those abs.

Anyway, so the Popstar smelling blonde from yesterday took the seat next to his as her own. Fair play to her. Early birds and all that.

He tapped on my shoulder in Ancient Rome and asked if he could borrow a pen. I only had my fountain pen to hand, so I said, “I only have a fountain pen, can you write with one of those?”

What sort of question is that? What sort of moron can’t write with a fountain pen?

“Oh I’m sure I’ll manage.” His eyes did this dancing thing and the skin dotted with freckles crinkled slightly, and I realised I was staring way too hard in a creep stalker, run for your life, she might lock you in a basement kinda way.

“God, I’m sorry.” There was no way to make myself seem normal, so I just blabbered on. “I had a dream last night about fountain pens and how not everyone can write with one.”

Someone should’ve stopped me talking. I wanted to crawl into a hole, but the words just kept coming.

“Uh, right?” He reached out and took the pen from my mortified grasp.

“I mean, I wasn’t dreaming about you asking to borrow my pen. Or dreaming about you at all.”

Meredith shook her head and then shifted her chair away from mine, like the worst wing-woman ever.

But I’d have run away from me too if I could.

21st September

It’s been a full week of lectures and honestly, it’s slightly more difficult than I expected. You actually have to do reading and stuff to prepare for the lessons, and once you are there you’re expected to take part (which sucks). I wish someone had told me this before I’d enrolled.

I’ve always loved reading—my boxes of books give that away. Turns out that I’m an amateur reader. I just like my books to sit there looking pretty, ready for me to dip in and out of as I fancy. The reading lists accompanying the course outlines that were jovially given out by the crazy lecturers are enough to make even a hardened reader weep.

Every time I get called on in class, I go bright bloody red. Not helped by the fact that yesterday, during our lecture on Ancient Rome, I suffered a coughing fit. The girl sitting on the other side of me— Emma, I think her name is—sympathetically offered me her bottle of water which I chugged down. This stopped the coughing, but resulted in a very loud and impossible to disguise burp.

There was a loud laugh from the chair behind me. Ben’s chair.

Speaking of, on top of all the actual work I have to do, I’ve created an awkward issue with Ben without even talking to him, which is an achievement. Top marks, Delilah. If the circumstances were different and less mortifying, I’d be proud of my effort levels.

I just can’t look at him. Definitely can’t talk to him, which is crazy. I’ve never had any issue talking to other human beings before.

There are only a few of us doing single honours History, so we are always together. When there’s a slight break between lectures and seminars, everyone goes and grabs a coffee from the cafeteria downstairs that always smells of baked beans and cabbage. I can’t talk because Ben is there and I’m stuck mute, so I spend a lot of time staring at my feet and stirring the awful coffee.

Why can’t I talk to him?

What’s wrong with me?

I open my mouth and nothing.

Meredith thinks it’s hilarious, and she’s not that subtle. I heard one guy ask her if there was something wrong with me.