There was a long hallway to get across campus. The kind of hallway that stretches for an unimaginable amount of time. Where you get lost. The kind of hallway where if you were late to class, there was a real justification to just go “fuck it, I’m not going any more.”

We always walked in this hallway, at the same time, in the same direction. He was the only other Vietnamese guy I had seen on campus outside of the club. We exchanged glances toward each other every once in a while. More in an acknowledgement of how long the fucking hallway was. But there’s an inherent connection you make with people of your creed, your race. Something that gives pause to the mind to go “he’s like me.”

It was dead in the middle of October midterms. I was walking with a couple of my friends from class. They were in the middle of going over the elements on the periodic table (something that was going to be provided to us). As they talked, I took my regularly scheduled glance toward him. But this time he met me with a look of nerves, apprehension even. He was by himself, the white headphones on his ears contrasted his pale, almost red complexion. I just knew that this was the look of a guy who was dying to talk to me… and not in a very platonic way. He removed his headphones and touched his phone. He walked over to me.

“Hi, I’m Jamie.” I immediately stopped in my tracks and opened.

“Uh. Cool. I’m Ray.” He sat shocked and confused.

My face must have been red, and my friends noticed it all. Out of the corner of my eye their stifled laughs were not making it any better. I thought that I had this all thought out in my head. We were going to exchange numbers… I thought. I don’t know.

“What class are you going to?” He asked, easing my tense demeanor.

“Chem 201.” I was less red.

“201. Aren’t you a freshman?” He continued.

Lucky guess? “How’d you know that?” I asked back.

“You’re wearing your high school sweater. Class of 2019.” He looked down and my power move turned out to be a disaster.

“Right. I thought it was a lucky guess.” I replied.

“I’m class of 2018. I graduated from San Miguel.” He said back to me.

San Miguel. The rich school. Not sure what to make of that yet.

“I graduated from Sienna Ridge.” I snipped back.

“Yup. Figured.” He smiled.

Fuck. Forgot about the sweater. My face was burning me. It was as if hot coals were sitting right atop my cheekbones. I was grinning like a dog. My dumb face must have charmed him somehow. Cause next thing I knew he was handing me his phone.

(zat is it for now ladies… will do something with it eventually)…