“I just think the question is much broader than what we’re discussing.” Professor Parker nods for me to continue. “I think when people ask what came first, the chicken or the egg, it’s referencing instinct versus a learned action.”

“Such as?” he asks, raising his eyebrows as his head tilts slightly to the side, making me wonder if I’m grossly misinterpreting the question.

“I think certain fears are instinct—like how infants fear being placed on their backs with their stomachs exposed. Instinctively, they know they’re more susceptible to being injured because their vital organs are accessible.”

“Okay, fear.” He nods. “What else?”

“Breathing.” Another voice behind me speaks out.

Professor Parker looks to me and I squirm with unease.

“Not exactly. Breathing is an instinct, but it’s a physical instinct. It’s something our bodies are wired to do, like creating cells or our hearts beating. You can’t stop it or really control it other than for a few brief moments when you focus on it. So it’s along the same theory, because instincts you can’t control. I’m more referring to things outside of the body.”

“Okay so fear is an instinct, are all fears?”

“Of course not,” I reply instantly.

“Fear is fear. How can you be taught to fear something?” the brunette behind me asks.

I feel my chin tilt as I look to her. “How are you taught to hate? Fear is a powerful emotion, but people can influence you to fear things that you didn’t know to fear. We’re born to fear certain things for self-preservation; it’s natural and instinctual. However, there are many fears simply from not understand things, or from differences amongst beliefs or physical appearances. They’ve always existed in one form or another. Historically they led to wars and horrible acts of violence, like the Salem witch trials or the killing of scientists because it was against religious beliefs or the holocaust. These fears still exist, but now it’s more targeted to either sell materials or for political advantages.”

“Okay, so let’s go back to the instincts. What else is an emotional instinct?”

“Love,” I respond, earning a few snickers. “It’s been proven that when you’re born, your first love is your mother. Although you can’t communicate with her, or understand most of the interactions, you have an instant bond and love that you share with her—a dependency.”

Professor Parker looks at me with dark brown eyes gleaming with a look of excitement and pride. “Welcome to Philosophy, Ms. Bosse.”

The next morning I find myself heading to the track on campus. I haven’t been running since I’ve been in San Diego, and my muscles and mind are feeling slightly restless from the physical withdrawals.

Being six a.m. on a Saturday, the place is practically barren. I drop my bag and begin stretching as I flip through my playlists.

The outside world turns off as I begin to jog, feeling my muscles loosen up, falling into the familiar pattern.

I run for over an hour, pushing myself to the point my lungs feel the familiar lick of pain and my legs are slightly numb and wobbly. Taking a long pull from my water bottle, I wipe my face before taking a couple of deep breaths. A group of girls pass by, followed by an older man that is wiry and confident in his stride. The girl behind him catches my attention. I watch for a second longer because she’s running fast, as if someone’s chasing her. She rounds the corner, and I notice her head turn to look over her shoulder, as though she really expects to see someone in her wake. I scan behind her through the crowd of girls and catch sight of a guy with bright neon green and black sneakers that has a practiced form and a good pace. Nearly instantly, a girl wearing a bright purple outfit that makes her look like she should be at a gym, rather than a track, begins to speed up. Whether to show off, or just to push herself I’m not sure, but I sit and watch for a few moments before packing my things up and heading home.

The next week passes quickly as we get used to the routine of classes and a schedule for the first time in a few months.

I find myself at the track the following Saturday, still unable to sleep past six. I insert my earbuds and set off, working my muscles and disappearing into an existence of breathing and soft melodies.

Finishing, I gather my belongings and rest my hands on my head to open my lungs for more air.

“You keep quite the pace.” I turn my head slightly, my eyes still trained down, and see the familiar neon green and black tennis shoes I’ve seen nearly every morning the past couple of weeks. My eyes travel up to his face where he wears a giant grin that displays a single dimple on his right cheek and perfect white teeth. He’s undoubtedly attractive, with a golden tan and eyes that are nearly as dark as mine, and for some reason he seems a bit familiar, but I can’t place him.

“Sorry?” I don’t know why I just apologized, I heard what he said.

“You’re fast,” he says, running a hand over his hair in a movement too similar to Max to go unnoticed. I smile casually and sling my bag over my shoulder to indicate my departure. He’s fast too, though I have no intention of admitting that to him.

“So, I heard there’s a coffee shop around the corner. They’re supposed to have killer bagels. You want to check it out?”

I tighten my grip on my backpack and take a step back. “Sorry, I have plans with my boyfriend.”

“Alright, well I’ll see you later,” he says. The grin on his face doesn’t falter at the mention of boyfriend. I nod once and turn on my heel and head back to my apartment.

“I don’t want to look like I’m heading to prom,” I instruct Kendall as she begins setting to work on my hair in preparation of a black and white themed party we’re attending tonight. Kendall grins and begins twisting and pinning sections of hair as she asks about how things are going, and I start discussing my favorite subject: Max.

Kendall shares about Jameson, and then the subject of classes comes up as she’s curling her hair into large waves. I’d told her about Nate being in my Philosophy class and had listened to her psychoanalyze Max’s response to finding out. It’s not surprising when she asks for an update on how things have been going with Nate.

I shrug nonchalantly; there isn’t much to report.

“You know you don’t have to hate Nate because I do.” Kendall starts out slowly. “I mean, we both know he’s a total douche, but you don’t have to hate him for me. If you want to tell Max the history there, it’s fine.”

I nod. “I know,” I reply quietly, fiddling with a makeup brush to prevent admitting Max already knows. I think most everyone we went to school with knows that Kendall and Nate hooked up and that he dumped her the following day.

“Hey you want to go shopping tomorrow? I need some new running shoes. This morning my right one started making a terrible popping sound.”

“You went running on a Saturday?” she asks, her face twisting into a frown as her forehead creases. “Were you the only person out there?”

I laugh at her disgust and watch as she sprays another wave into place. “One of the very few. I think a guy was trying to hit on me. He was kind of hot. I was thinking I could get his name for Shelby since I know she hasn’t dated anyone since she and Emilio broke up.”

“Ace, you don’t set someone up with a guy that hits on you. It’s weird.” I laugh at her expression and shrug.

“It’s not like we have a history. He asked me for bagels.”

“Yeah, but obviously he was interested in you, so imagine if he does begin dating her and the two of them hang out with us. Wouldn’t that be weird? I can’t imagine Max taking it well.”