Grad School Rivals (Chapter 4)

*All characters are 18+*

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Sunday, September 4th, 6:44AM

Sitting down at the pew, waiting for Misael to show up. I was nervous. I was fidgeting. Julia, the elderly lady, sat next to me again. “How are you, sweetie? How was your week?” She was so sweet. My anxiety faded away while talking to her. I told her I was waiting for my friend. Who was still not here, and it was nearing 7AM. I checked my phone to see if he had texted me, but he had not. He probably slept in. It’s fine. Mass started. It was about 10 minutes into Mass when suddenly I saw Misael sitting down next to me. He looked at me and whispered, “Ran late, sorry.”

After Mass, Julia introduces herself to Misael, then says, “You showed up late.” And Misael said, “Overslept, sorry.” “You owe this little cutie a coffee,” Julia says and winks at me. “Yeah, of course, want to get coffee?” He asks me. “Sure, thanks,” I reply. “Great, I want to go say hi to the deacon. I’ll be right back. It was nice to meet you, Julia,” Misael says as he walks away. Julia looks at me and asks, “He’s just a friend?” and I say, “Yes, he’s just a friend.” Then she adds, “Does he know that?” I nod but don’t say anything. I felt ashamed and embarrassed that she asked. She continues, “You two are cute.” I blush and don’t say anything. She says goodbye and to have a good week, and “Have fun, be safe, sweetie.”

Misael comes back to the pew, sits down, then says, “I am very sorry for being late.”

“No worries.”

“Let’s go get breakfast?”

“Yeah, sure, sounds good.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know…You pick, you know the area way better than me.”

We leave the church, and he says that the restaurant is only a few blocks away, so we can walk over there. But he says that he can drive if I don’t want to walk. We decided to drive, as it was warm and would only get hotter. We drive off, and he plays music. He asks what type of music I’m into. Turns out we have similar music tastes. We get to the restaurant. We sit down. The waitress asks what we want to drink, and we both order coffee. She comes back a few minutes later, dropping off two mugs of coffee. I instantly smell it and gleefully say, “So intoxicating.” He laughs and says, “You’re cute.” I blush. He smirks, “You know you are.”

We look over the menu, and I contemplate getting French toast, to which he says, “You should treat yourself.” But I say, “I can’t, too much sugar.” He says, “You’re fine, get the French toast.” The waitress comes back to take our order. I ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns. Misael ordered the same, but also ordered French toast. He smirked, saying, “They’re for me, not you.” I wink at him and laugh. The food arrived. We eat. I glance at the French toast, and he reminds me, “They’re mine…but if you ask nicely, I’ll give you a bite.” Instantly, I reply, “A bite of what?” Misael leans back into the booth and says, “So the real Luca is coming out now, let him shine.” I laugh and say, “Takes me time to come out of my shell.” “Glad you are,” he responded.

He gets a piece of the French toast and feeds it to me. I make eye contact with him, open my mouth, and take a bite. I see a spark in his eyes. We finish eating. The waitress brings the check, and before she places it on the table, he hands her his card. I say, “How much is my half?” And he says, “I got it, don’t worry.” “No, really.” And he says, “Luca, really, don’t worry about this.” He smiles. We leave the restaurant. He asks me, “Want to go to the farmers’ market? It’s a block away.” I agree, and we walk over. We walk around for a bit. We stop at a booth selling jewelry. Misael goes to the next booth, selling house plants. I’m looking at the jewelry when suddenly I feel a hand on the small of my back. It was a big hand, strong, firm. My heart races, almost leaping out of my chest. I turn around and see Brad. His hand still resting on my back, as it belongs there, another appendage.

“Oh, hi, Brad.”

“Good morning, Luca,” he says, smiling, with a sparkle in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m just looking around. I just had breakfast with Misael, my friend from church,” I say, pointing to Misael.

Misael sees us and waves. He smiles politely, but there’s a glint of guardedness in his eyes. He walks over and introduces himself to Brad, extending his hand. They shake hands and exchange subtle glances. They speak calmly, but daring each other, challenging each other to make the wrong move. I clear my throat,  “uh, so… it’s a nice day, but I need to get home before it gets warmer.” Misael says, “Ready to go, Luca?” And Brad says, “Yeah, it’s going to be hot today, we should hit the pool later.” I reply, “Dipping in the pool would feel nice, but only if there’s not a lot of people.” Misael smirks and says, “You can always come to my place, I have a pool.” Brad and Misael lock eyes. I bite my lip, caught between two hungry lions, each wanting the gazelle for themselves. Brad chuckles and says, “Must be nice having your own pool.” Misael laughs. The tension between them eases.

I look at Misael, saying, “I’m ready to go when you are.”

“I’m ready.”

“It was good running into you, Brad. I’ll see you later,” I say.

“Nice meeting you, man,” says Misael.

“See you around, Luca. And same bro,” says Brad.

Misael and I walk away towards the car. We pass by a coffee shop, and Misael asks if I want coffee before heading home. We go inside, order coffee, but this time, I beat Misael in paying. As the cashier gets my card, Misael says, “Wait, take my card, he can’t pay.” I laugh and tell the cashier, “No, use my card, I got this one.” I look at Misael and say, “You got breakfast, I’ll get this one.” “Okay, but savor this moment, it might be the only time you get to pay when you’re with me.” I chuckle. As we wait for our coffees, Misael wraps his arm around my waist. I melt into him, leaning in, saying, “Uh, a little close? Feeling handsy?” Misael grins, leaning down, resting his chin on my head, “Am I hurting you?” “Yes,” I say teasingly. “You seem to be enjoying it,” he responded, squeezing me. 

“Luca!” the barista calls out. I get the coffee and hand him his. I take a sip and say, “This is not oat milk.” I turn back to the barista and calmly tell them. They remake the coffee. This time it’s correct. Misael says, “You can be a little bossy, you know?” And I say, “I know what I want, and don’t take anything less.”

We head out and drive away. He walks me to the building door, and he wraps me in a hug. His tall and full frame envelops me. I feel my knees go weak. My chest hammers—I can’t believe how safe and warm I feel in his arms. He leans down and gently presses a kiss on my forehead. Absolutely melting under his body. My mind races, wondering if he knows how small and fragile I am now with him. “Can I see you again?” he asks firmly but softly.

I nod, my heart racing, my stomach twisting, looking up at him,  “Yes.” He tilts his head, eyes gazing at me, “I like that look you get when you’re nervous.” He kisses my cheek and says, “Friday, 8pm?” I nod and accept. I step inside the building, I glance back to see him watching me, that half-smile lingering, my stomach overfilling with butterflies.

 

Sunday, September 4th, 1:28PM

After the fun this morning, it was time to get to work on assignments. I had 6 articles to read by Monday. I powered through and read half of them. I felt exhausted. I decided to take a little break and relax. I sit down to watch TV. But my mind wandered into the wilderness of my insecurities. Everyone else seems so tall, so confident, like they’ve already conquered grad school, while I’m trying to breathe without tripping over my own feet. My hands are small and pale, my face is freckled with tiny constellations. I wish I were braver. I wish I could walk up to people and just talk, instead of rehearsing conversation in my head over and over and over, trying to get it perfect. I cannot believe that three guys are into me. And not just trying to get in my pants. Brad is strong, outgoing, and assertive—he commands any room. Aiden is fun and confident—like the spotlight on him at all times. Then there’s Misael, who is kind and calm—makes you feel safe just by being next to him. I felt even smaller, more fragile next to them. I wonder why they’re into me. What do they see that I do not? If I show them my real self, maybe they wouldn’t stick around.

I glance down at my legs, thin and pale, hairless. I guide my hand over my thighs, where the aftermath of trench warfare clings. My eyes fill with tears. I feel the jagged lines—reminders of the past. Of the times I’ve been weak, too silent to ask for help. It has been many years since these scars formed, yet the pain is still alive. I start to spiral, thinking that if Brad, or Aiden, or Misael saw me like this, saw these scars, how broken I am, they would surely leave me. Who would blame them? Who wants to be burdened by someone like me?

I wipe at my tears, trying to convince myself I’m overreacting. I tell myself I’m being dramatic, that scars are just scars, that they’re not the whole of me. But my chest tightens with every thought. I hate that I hide, that I shrink, that I feel too small, too fragile to be seen fully. And yet… a tiny part of me aches to be held anyway, to have someone see past the brokenness and still stay. To have someone brush my hair from my face, or rest a hand over mine, and silently say, *you are enough*.

Sunday, September 4th, 4:28PM

After finishing up all the articles, I looked over to the bookshelf I had yet to assemble. I FaceTime my dad to see if he can help me. He walks me through the steps, but I realize that I need a screwdriver. My dad said that he left one, but I need a different kind. My dad tells me to go to the hardware store, but I do not want to go outside; it’s stupid hot. My dad said he’ll order one and to call him back when it arrives. 

I texted Brad to ask if he has the type of screwdriver I need. He does, and offered to bring it and help me assemble the bookshelf. He arrives at my dorm, and he says, “Wow, you’re very clean. My place is a pigsty compared to yours.” We start assembling it and laughing as we fumble with the pieces. Brad’s hands are steady as he guides me, holding parts in place while I struggle to align them. His arm brushes mine. I tease him when he has to redo something. He looks nervous, speaking under his breath, “Come on, dude, be better.” He laughs it off. By the time the bookshelf is upright, my hair is a mess, and he’s all sweaty.

I try to pick it up, but he stops me. “Whoa there, don’t hurt yourself, tell me where to put it,” he says. I point to where I want it, and he picks it up with ease. He steps back, puts his arm around my shoulder, “Looks good, you did most of the work, I was just the muscle.” He winks and laughs. I bite my lip, heart racing. I thank him for helping me. I tell him that, as a thank you, he’s invited to dinner. His eyes sparkle with glee. He smirks, then says, “And after, we go dip in the pool, cool off?” “Maybe another day, I’m sure the pool is going to be full.” “So? We’re going just for us, not for them. Or what, you rather go to Misael’s pool?”

I freeze, don’t know how to respond. I stare blankly. “You spacing out on me, Luca?” Brad asks. I blush, “No…just wondering why you brought up Misael.” My stomach tightens waiting for Brad’s response. He leans close, with his deep, charismatic voice, “You know, I don’t like sharing your attention.” I laugh and say, “Sharing my attention?”

“Yeah, I don’t share.”

“Okay, well, I think I have plenty of attention for all my friends.”

He moves closer, putting his hands on my waist. His strong hands pressed on my slim waist. “I’m just a friend?” he asks. I push back, stand up straight, and say, “Yes, we’re friends, aren’t we?” as I wrap my arms around his neck. He leans in and whispers, “You are so beautiful. Would you go on a date with me?”

I freeze again. But I nod, saying, “Yes.”

He picks me up and twirls me around.