Catherine clutched her long-outdated phone in one of her hands, squeezing so tightly that if it wasn’t a flip phone, it might have cracked. This was it: She was here. After an entire year of late nights and extra shifts at the coffee shop, penny-pinching and skipping meals with her family, she made it.

As the bus came to a screeching halt, its standing patrons made way for the lucky minority that nabbed seats earlier in the ride, including Cat. She shrunk in on herself as she squeezed past her elderly man that accompanied her for the better half of the thirteen-hour ride, and quickly seized the handle for her duffle bag that hung from the overhead compartment.

“Hey, watch it!” one of the standing men cried as her duffle brushed past him. She muttered an apology, but his response was quieter, and far nastier, containing some not-so-friendly racist terms she chose to ignore in favor of rushing off the bus. Everyone else she hit with the fifty-pound bag was much kinder than Mr. Socks-with-Sandals, though the bus driver nearly shut its doors on her before she could leave.

“Oh! I thought she was homeless,” a teenager said to her mother as the doors squeaked open again. Couldn’t blame them on that assumption. Who else carried their life in a backpack and duffle bag, and rode the bus for hours on end? Plus, after so long on a bus, she probably smelled pretty ripe.

Cat jumped the last step to land on the sidewalk. Though they were still at least two miles away from the ocean, the air still held a salty aftertaste in its smog. The buildings behind her were taller than the ones at home, at least three stories high, and speckled with mold and stains. Her mother said the place smelled like sewage when they toured the college, but Catherine thought it smelled like a home away from home.

Bay City University: a school with over fifty-thousand students, one of the highest dropout rates in the state, and a plethora of majors to choose from to go with their relatively cheap student housing prices.

Her father didn’t want her to move this far away, not with Papa getting so old. But her mother all but begged her to at least apply.

“Kitty-Cat,” she said, “you didn’t work so hard for nothing. Go where you want to. Make us proud. Get out of here and don’t come back.” Cat had watched all of her friends and family members try to get out of Culosa...but with an unemployment rate of more than twenty-five percent, it was hard to get out, and even harder to stay out. All through high school, her mother begged her to work hard and find a way out. Maybe it wasn’t her dream initially, but after hearing it repeated over and over again for four years, Cat eventually adopted it as her own.

And so after a million times of reassuring everyone that this is what she wanted, the family--her parents, surviving grandparents, and her little brother--banded together to raise enough money for tuition for two whole semesters.

Well, that was more education than anyone in her family ever got. She wasn’t going to waste it.

While Cat’s intestines wrestled violently in her stomach, she hoisted her duffle bag onto her shoulder and headed inside the gates of the old mission.

Orientation granted her better footing in this half-neo-Mexican-style campus this time around. It was just a month ago where she met random incoming students, played irrelevant games, signed up for classes and a dorm room. She knew her building, Casa del Sol, was near the South West Quad, closest to the sports complex and not too far from the main dining hall. Her roomie, who she didn’t get to meet for more than a minute, insisted they had a great view of the race track and pool from their window.

It was probably the cheapest building available because it had yet to be renovated, and was popular with the newer athletes, who partied and smelled bad. She didn’t mind so much. Her floor was a mixture of guys and girls, but she was on the side with the girls’ bathroom. Not so bad. And--was it Hannah or Harriet?--her roomie said that they were above the party floor, so they would be able to sleep at night. Being paired with a sophomore had its perks.

Cat settled into her dorm before her roommate even arrived. She didn’t have much, but her duffle contained enough collapsible fabric cubes to organize her clothes and supplies. She didn’t anticipate to completely unpack by sunset, so when she threw her duffle on the top shelf of the shared closet, the oddest loneliness washed over her without warning.

She was alone. For the first time ever. And, this was the first day of move-in, so she might be alone for the next few days. What if she hated it here? What if no one liked her? What if she failed and ruined any and all of her chances of having an actual future?

Cat’s stomach pain only intensified after her first college dinner of chicken nuggets and tater tots. Nerves, she figured. Tomorrow, she reported to get work-study assignment as a barista at the coffee shop. And from there, she’d work 24 hours a week in exchange for her dorm room and an extra $88 weekly paycheck for food. Everything was perfectly calculated and planned...but the anxiety didn’t lessen.

As she curled into her bed in the half-empty dorm that night, Cat couldn’t stifle the memories of orientation. Would tomorrow be like that? Name games, boring presentations, snotty rich boys? God, she hoped not. She wouldn’t be able to survive if so.

“Alright!” the peppiest blonde called. “Welcome to Orientation! I’m Rebecca, and I’ll be your hostess for the next few hours. Just confirming--group twenty-three, right?”

Catherine nodded despite the butterflies in her stomach telling her to high-tail it to the nearest bathroom and hide. Looking around at the group she stood amongst, she was the shortest, as usual, but it also seemed like she might have been the youngest. Everyone looked so much older in college. This was a group of transfer students, it seemed. Everyone was dressed so casually. She was the only one wearing a dress. Did she look like she was trying too hard? One guy just wore a plain t-shirt that looked like it barely fit him in all the right places. Staring at him was a nice distraction from her sudden insecurity. If there were more guys like him around--tanned, slightly stubbly, strong bones--college would be a breeze.

“Great!” the blonde continued, “My list says I have--and please let me know you’re here when I call your name--Jeffrey, William, Catherine, Josephina, Caroline, Xavier, and JP.” Everyone gave the appropriate response upon hearing their name, except for JP in the tight shirt, who corrected her to, “Just Peter is fine.” When Rebecca confirmed the required amount of people she was supposed to have in her group, she waved for everyone to follow her into a classroom with eight chairs arranged in a circle. Catherine tried to get a better look at everyone in her group by being one of the last ones to enter the room, but the guy in front of her, Jeffrey, was too tall to see over. Or she was too short.

The room was older, one of the non-renovated ones, and smelled like colored pencils and moth balls. It was probably the carpet, which had seen better days and curled in on itself along the edges. Cat lowered herself to a chair, and began to examine the people in her group.

“Let’s go around and introduce ourselves really quick. Name, transfer or freshman, major. Okay? We’ll go clockwise.” Rebecca lowered herself to the last chair, closest to the only bare wall that didn’t have any desks shoved out of the way. “I’m Rebecca, I’m a junior and a biology major.” She gestured to the skinny guy next to her.

“Xavier, transfer, chemistry.”

Next, a colorfully-dressed Latina. “Josephina, or Josie, transfer, and dance major!” The petite redhead beside her exploded.

“Oh, you’re a dance major? Me too! Caroline, freshman!”

Josie exploded with excitement. “Oh that’s so cool! Hi!”

“Let’s continue,” Rebecca interrupted, gesturing to the guy beside Caroline.

“I’m William, I’m a transfer, and I’m a marketing major.”

Then the guy beside her, a dark-skinned, younger-looking man with an impressive beard. “Jeffrey, freshman...and I’m undeclared still. Maybe finance.” Did all guys get handed out Rogaine when they graduated?

Cat tried not to freeze, and let out a shaky breath. “Catherine, or Cat, or whatever, and I’m a freshman, and I’m, uh, still undeclared.” That wasn’t so bad. She now looked to the guy sitting next to her, the guy in just the tight t-shirt and jeans. Easy on the eyes.

“Peter, transfer, and math major...for now. Thinking of changing to kinesiology.” Oh, and he had dimples.

Cat turned to look at him, cocking her head to the side. “Like PE?” It was meant to start a conversation, but this seemed to annoy him, and he turned to her with an expression that looked as pleasant as his tone: “No. Like kinesiology.”

"O-kay,” she relinquished, shaking her head. Touchy, touchy. Well, couldn’t have looks and personality. That wouldn’t be fair.

“Um, okay! A game!” Rebecca chirped. “This is a game to help remember names. You’re going to be meeting a lot of people, and it can be really daunting and confusing. So I made a game called Assumptions that hopefully will help you remember everyone’s names. Here’s how it goes--we each take a turn, looking to everyone, and say one positive assumption about their personality. Like this. Xavior, I assume you’re very bright because you have a difficult major. Now Xavier says an assumption about me, then I move on down the circle. Make sense?” The group shifted in their seats, some quite a bit more excited than the others. Catherine wasn’t entirely sure this was a great idea, considering how assumptions were, but...well, it was worth a shot. It would be nice to see what people thought of her with first impressions.

Xavier cleared his throat. “Okay, Rebecca. I assume you’re...I don’t know, um...responsible.”

“Great start. Let’s keep going, keeping with the theme of positive personality traits. Josie, I assume….”

Unfortunately, Cat spent so much time thinking up assumptions for other people, she could hardly pay attention to what everyone else was saying.

“Catherine, or Cat,” Rebecca called, stealing her attention. “I assume you’re really personable!” Oh! That was really nice to say. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. She smiled.

“Um, Rebecca,” she started with uncertainty, “I assume you’re very--excitable!”

“That’s been said already,” Grumpy Gus Peter beside her muttered.

“Sorry,” Cat continued, “I meant, um, enthusiastic.”

“Great!” Rebecca seemed pleased with her efforts, and turned to the Grumpy Gus beside Cat.

“Peter, I assume you’re very well-rounded.” Catherine couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow at Rebecca, who caught her. “With the balance of math and physical science,” she clarified. Peter didn’t miss the exchange; he suppressed a scowl, but seemed to shake it off.

“Thanks. Rebecca, I assume you’re...uh, perceptive.” Pft. What a way to make it about himself. Perceptive, after a compliment? Really? When Catherine checked around the group for their reactions, no one else seemed to catch how arrogant that answer was. But the game continued.

A lot of these words were shallow, transferable words one might find on a resume. Organized, prepared, and eager. A hard worker. When Catherine took her turn, she paced herself, speaking slowly. She hadn’t thought of the second words for everyone, now that they had already really complimented each other once. To buy her time, she used far too many word-fillers, but she was desperate. she settled on assuming Xavier was a leader, Josephina was coordinated, Caroline was passionate, William was neat, Jeffrey was a great salesman, and… Well, now that she got to Peter, she hesitated. While people were looking at her, being kind and calling her such sweet words like fun and thoughtful, she drowned out their talking by trying to find something nice to say about Peter.

It was a sting to her chest every time someone complimented Peter. She wanted to call him hard-working, but someone already did that. Smart? Already said. All of the resume-building words were used by the time it was her turn to say an assumption about him. And she couldn’t say what she really thought…. Arrogant. Snobby. Smelled like old money. His jeans were definitely not cheap, his shoes weren’t scuffed. He was a prep who thought he was better than everyone else. But none of that she could say.

“Peter,” she started slowly. God, what word? Blonde. Uh. Green eyes. No, that was all physical. Strong? He had to be, if he was into fitness--and his shirt collar looked like it was choking his tree trunk of a neck. His arms weren’t bad, either. Or maybe his shirt was too tight. He spent so much money on designer jeans, he couldn’t afford more fabric for his shirt. “I, um… I assume you’re....” Tall? Not physical! “I assume you’re...um….” Her hesitation was starting to get awkward. What was a nice word for stern? That wasn’t such a bad word. “I assume you’re stern.” Rebecca looked like she was about to say something, so Cat continued. “I mean stern in a good way. Like serious. About school or....” God, how was she supposed to compliment a wet blanket when everyone else took all the generic, positive words?

Rebecca cleared her throat. “Do you mean studious?”

“Yes! That’s the word. Yes. Studious.” When Peter finally turned to her, his patience had clearly stretched thin.

“Mmm. Catherine…. I assume you’re….”

“It gets really hard at the end when everyone’s gone so many times,” Rebecca interrupted nervously. The group let out a courteous chuckle for her. She must have sensed the struggle. And the growing tension that rose like a slow-burning fire. But Peter and Catherine still stared at each other, unsmiling. Peter, leaning his elbow on his leg, just kept staring, looking up and down at her, judging. She almost couldn’t stop her scowl. She could only imagine what was going through his head. She knew she looked like she was trying too hard, with her dress and everything, or that she was stupid if she thought PE and kinesiology were the same thing--which she didn’t! She just wanted to start a conversation.

“I assume you’re--” He looked to the ceiling, now, as if praying for some sort of ability to be a decent person and say any random compliment, before he settled on spitting out the word, “talkative.” Catherine bit back a retort by pursing her lips, forcing her scowl into a smile, and turning to Rebecca. Talkative. Really?

“Rebecca, I assume you’re very quick to think on your toes,” Catherine said without difficulty. The room seemed to let out a collective breath.

“And you, Catherine, I assume you’re passionate!” Thank God that was over. But Peter still had to go.

“Last round,” Catherine muttered as she crossed her arms.

When Peter started out, he moved a lot faster than she did. He pulled out near synonyms, ridiculous thesaurus entries. Reliable. Trustworthy. Real original. Words he didn’t bother to waste on someone as talkative as her. He even repeated a compliment, but with it being so close to the end, no one else seemed to catch it. Or maybe they were giving him a break so this would just end already.

He let out a heavy sigh before he came back to Catherine. “Catherine, I assume you’re very...opinion…” Opinionated? “I mean, you’re very...your opinions are…important to you.” She raised her brows, staring him down. That’s what he was going with?

“Personality traits,” Rebecca reminded weakly from the sidelines.

“I mean--presumptuous. Or--partic--” Before Rebecca could find him a suitable synonym, Catherine let out the fire in her chest.

“And you, Peter,” she continued, “I assume you’re judgmental. Judgy. Or, sorry, particular about people.”

“Oh, you’re just a delight, aren’t you?” he spat while he shook his head. Rebecca’s call to order went ignored. Time to take off the gloves.

“And you’re a fuckin’ cakewalk.”

“Classy.”

“Oh, get that stick out of your ass--”

“BATHROOM BREAK-TIME!” Rebecca shouted, now. Cat jumped in her seat, and she wasn’t the only one. “Men’s is down the hall to the left, women’s to the right! Let’s go, let’s go!”

Rebecca kept them separated after that, like some sort of kindergarten teacher. But, when it came time to sign up for classes, there was only so much she could do in a small computer lab. And if it was one thing Cat and Peter had in common, it was that neither of them were very good at whispering. About anything. Least of all, insults about one another.

“Stats will be too hard for you,” Peter mused over Jeffrey’s lap at her when she asked Rebecca about it. “How about remedial algebra?”

Cat didn’t even bother looking at him anymore. This was the hundredth stab he took at her intelligence this afternoon, and none of it stuck anymore. Now, the irrigation was constant, not just when he spoke or when she accidentally looked at him. “How about a remedial fist in your face if you don’t shut up?”

“Remedial English, too, so you learn what words mean.”

Rebecca looked insane by this part of the day, her hair stuck in a tizzy from pulling at it all day long. She sounded hysterical when she said, “Stats is fine for you, Cat! If you got an A in trig, you’ll do fine in stats.”

Jeffrey sounded just as uncomfortable when he shouted, a little too loudly, “My computer is broken and I need to change seats!”

“No you don’t, Jeffrey!”

Cat didn’t waste any time. “I heard demons affected electricity. Maybe it has something to do with sitting next to the Prince of Darkness?”

“Or maybe it’s--”

“I swear to GOD, if you two don’t shut up--!” It was Josie this time, sitting behind them. Cat wasn’t an aggressive person by nature. But she wasn’t a coward or a pushover, either. If Peter thought he could get the last word in, he was sorely mistaken.

“If you’re done signing up for classes, you can just leave. This is the end of orientation.” Rebecca’s announcement forced a hush to wash over the room. Suddenly, everyone studied their screens intensely, and clicked faster than ever. How anyone could be that careless about future classes was beyond her.

Cat continued to compare times to professor ratings, and almost everyone had left by the time it came to choosing her last class: communications.

Jeffrey scrambled out of his chair faster than his legs could carry him. When Cat looked up, it was just him and Peter left. And now their barrier was leaving.

“Shit,” she muttered to herself. Semi-fair teacher with no support three days a week, or less-fair teacher twice a week with more office hours?

“Just pick!” Rebecca shouted from the front of the room.

“I-I’m done!” Cat announced right when Jeffrey let the door slam behind him. Communications three times a week it was.

And, just like that, she saved her selections and pressed the power button on the computer to speed up the shutdown process so she could leave.

She would have rather had a root canal than stay any longer in that stifling room without anything to stop her from punching Peter in the face and getting expelled. But, she was signed up for her first semester: Advanced Expository English, Statistics, Human Sexuality, Communications, and an open track and field class that just said she had to turn in proof she ran a mile a week.

So long as Peter kept to his schedule and his own major, there was a very little chance she’d have to see him again.