Everyone’s bundled up in heavy jackets and scarves, covering their faces and hiding who they are. I

wouldn’t be able to recognize anyone out there even if I did know them. The fact that I don’t makes it

even worse. Like I’m a stranger on campus. I have to laugh, because it’s basically the truth. The only

one on campus that I can even claim to know at this point is Rizzo, and no matter that he came to visit

me in the hospital, I know that being on campus is going to be completely different. I know that here

he’s Rizzo, and a messed-up Nick Keller doesn’t have any place in the world of Rizzo.

The cab pulls up in front of one of the dorms, one I’ve never lived in before. Between Doc’s

recommendation and the University needing to shuffle people around at the semester break, I’ve been

moved into a different room, a different building. I pay the cab driver from the cash that my mom had

dropped off along with some more of my things, and head up to my new room. When I get there, I find

all of my old things already there, thrown into haphazard boxes. I wonder who got to sort through it all.

Cops? University administration? My family? I’m sure Rizzo would’ve said something by now if it’d

been him.

Even though it’s a different room, it still smells like a dorm. Like people and books and microwave

food and a mixture of dirty and clean laundry floating in from the hallway. Other than the boxes and the

standard dorm room furniture, the room is empty. I start with making the bed, putting on the clean,

recently washed sheets that I find in the bag from mom. When it’s done, I sort of want to just crawl in

and never look back out, but I know that I shouldn’t, that it’ll be hard to get moving again if I stop. It

doesn’t make it any easier to ignore the temptation, though.

It takes me a few hours to unpack and sort through everything. Most of it I don’t need. Most of it I

don’t even want. It’s all just reminders of a person that I don’t want to be any more. Someone that I

can’t be, if I want to actually have a second chance. There’s a part of me that wants to be someone

better than that guy, and even if I doubt most of the time that I can do it, even if I think that it’s only a

matter of time before everything goes totally ass-up again, I have to try. Even though I know that trying

will just make it harder when I eventually fail again.

If. Not when. Shit, it’s hard to think positive.

I have the clothes that my mom dropped off - jeans and soft shirts in soft colors, everything washed

before she left it there, just like the sheets were, so that everything smelled like laundry and not the

stores. I never saw her when she stopped by, probably just long enough to drop the bags and leave

again, but I figure the fact that they didn’t still have the tags on was a good sign, like she was putting at

least some effort into it. Like maybe there’s still hope there for us. Maybe with a few years I can start to

fix that part of my life too.

But that’s looking too far ahead. One step at a time, just like Doc told me.

I take a good bunch of my shit to the trash, dumping more black clothing and fishnet and eyeliner

than I even realized I had. It’s not easy, but it’s therapeutic, and I can’t help think that Doc might be

proud of me for it. I’m a little proud of myself, to be honest. And I can breathe a little easier once it’s

gone. The room looks pretty empty, only a few things hanging in the closet for me to wear, but I’ve

gotten used to the hospital and how clean it always was. So it’s strangely comfortable. And as cheesy as

it sounds, it looks like the room of a guy that I might like to be. A little boring still, it could maybe use

something on the walls, but it’s getting there.

It’s getting there.

***

Going to class is interesting. It’s… Well, it’s a lot different when you’re sober all the time. It’s a lot

different when you actually go all the time. Doing the reading and the homework helps too. Things

make sense, and it’s easier to follow the professor.

I’d better watch out. I might actually start to like school.

Well. Shit, if I’m being honest, though, there is a problem. I had to rearrange my schedule when I got

back, because of last semester. I pretty much failed all my classes, and there’s some other stuff I have to

make up too. And when things got moved around, I lost my theater classes. So I’m stuck with core

requirement classes, which is actual work, and I don’t have anything in my major to off-set it.

And I’m obviously not in the play any more. I doubt that Jeff will ever let me be in a play at

Woodhaven again.

I have a feeling it’s going to make for a long semester, and a lot of work. Especially since the

administration has put me on some sort of special academic probation. But if I can get through the next

few months and pass all my classes, then I think I might just be able to eventually make it to graduation

too.

***

I have no hobbies.

This, I know, is tragic and sad. But it’s true. I’ve been back for just a few days, been to all of my

classes at least once. They take up a good chunk of my time, and studying and doing homework does

too. But despite the fact that I’ve apparently become a huge school-dork in my quest to survive and not

fail completely, there’s still time left over that I’m having trouble filling. Doc said it’d probably be a

problem, gave me all sorts of suggestions and shit, and that I should call her if it got too hard, but

whatever. I’m trying to tell myself that I’m just bored.

But it’s not just that. Because I also want a drink.

God, I want a drink so bad that I can almost taste it. I got home from class, and it’s a Friday

afternoon, and people are already starting to party for the weekend. And me? For the first time since I

got back, I really want to be out there with them. Partying and hooking up, and shit, I haven’t gotten laid

in months. Not since Rizzo stopped asking last semester and started ignoring me, and we’ll just ignore

how pathetic that sounds. I think about calling him, but it’s weird now that I’m back on campus. I’ve

only seen him from afar, really, and I’m not quite sure what we are here. What I am sure of is that I

can’t call him about this. And I shouldn’t have to. I should be able to get through this on my own.

But this is too much for me to handle today, and I don’t know why it’s so bad right now. I haven’t

had to do this yet, and I feel guilty about interrupting her Friday, but I call Doc’s emergency number,

apologizing even as she picks up the line, but she talks over me, telling me that it’s alright and trying to

get me to stop rambling at her.

Her voice makes it easier for me to breathe, and I’ll never tell that to anyone because it sounds so

stupid. But it’s the truth.

“Get out of your room, Nick. You need a change of scenery, especially on the weekend.” That’s her

advice. Which is great, but Woodhaven’s not a huge campus, and to be honest, there’s a limited number

of things to do.

There’s always the cafe though, and caffeine is one of my “allowable” addictions, so it seems like

the best solution for the moment. I head out of the dorm, grabbing the latest edition of the school paper

on the way. If nothing else, I can make fun of the articles in my head.

***

I never used to go into the cafe on a Friday night, always at some party or another, so I never realized

that it’s actually open on Friday nights. It’s pretty full when I push my way through the door, school

paper shoved into the pocket of my coat along with hands that I can barely feel because I didn’t think to