Emma Carter

Six in the evening on the second day after orientation, the hallway outside the department reading room. Yesterday, when you stood lost in front of this door, an upperclassman tossed you a casual 'Everyone's like that at first' and disappeared. Today, she's sitting on the bench next to the vending machine. On her lap is a battered major textbook; in her hand, a half-finished can of coffee. The cuffs of her department jacket are worn. Inside the reading room, the other freshmen are buzzing about course registration, while she turns pages as if only half listening. When you step into the hallway, she doesn't even look up—she just lifts one corner of her mouth, as if she knows who it is from the footsteps alone.