I don't see him again that week.
Thursday drags through three classes, Friday only two, but I'm going through the motions, notes, participation, posting like clockwork.
But my thoughts keep turning back to that talk.
Ambition, it's addictive.
The way he said it. The look he gave me.
Like he was giving himself a warning just as much as me.
Riley notices I'm distracted. Friday night, she's getting ready for a party and invites me.
"I have reading," I say.
"It's just week one. You're not behind."
"I'm ahead."
She rolls her eyes, layering mascara. "Right. You know it's okay to have fun, yeah? You don't have to be perfect all the time."
"I'm not aiming for perfect."
"Could've fooled me."
She leaves. Dorm goes quiet.
I open my laptop, reading for Tuesday, Goffman again, theories on identity performance.
But I can't focus.
Laptop closes. Phone comes out.
Instagram scroll. Followers up by five thousand. College posts are doing well. People hooked on my story.
