You frantically make your way over the City Road footbridge. You were running late for your shift as a tour guide for Welcome Week had spent the 50 minute train ride looking at the minutes pass by, getting more and more anxious. That was one of the perks of living over the bridge.
You know you have sweated through your orange Usyd Welcome Week t-shirt but don’t have time to fix your frazzled appearance. You were saving up for a six week European summer, and needed the money, and not many North Shore kids needed tutoring during the summer holidays – they were all in Aspen.
“Y/N! I was wondering if you were going to make it”. Your eyes land on Paul Mescal. You met at a SASS event last year and have been inseparable since. You were lucky the relationship didn’t turn awkward after a drunken makeout outside the Lord Gladstone during a SURG High Rotation. Paul didn’t believe in dating and you agreed that you were better off as friends. No benefits anymore.
“Hey!” You give him a hug but you are suddenly conscious of your sweat. Hopefully he doesn’t notice.
“Hi! Sorry, I’ve got to run. You’re doing first-year tours right?”, he asks.
“I sure am. When you finish with Run Club, meet me at Courtyard. I think Tabatha finishes up at the SUDS stall at 4 as well.”
“Too easy! Don’t be late, I’ll be waiting. ”
——
Your feet were aching by the end of the tour, you sure picked the wrong day to wear your new docs. You made your way through Eastern Avenue, weaving through stalls, first-years in line for free goodies and Blundstone-wearing (but trust fund-holding) students trying to hand you flyers for some Marxist forum. You finally made it out of the pandemonium when a group of college boys ran past, knocking into you like you weren’t even there. You notice the nautical white and blue horizontal stripes on their jumpers. One thing you didn’t miss about uni: college kids. Especially St Andrews. You heard stories and read the PULP articles about the hazing rituals, in particular something known as ‘the bathtub’— you don’t think to ask for further details.
Frustrated, you made your way through the Quad, as your new, sexy Honi Soit tote bag hit your hips. You could feel your phone buzzing, either Paul or Tabatha telling you to hurry up.
You glance down to look at your phone enough to distract you and trip over your own feet. The contents of your tote bag spill all over the dry pavement. You feel your cheeks burn hot and hear someone suck in a breath, clearly embarrassed for you.
You keep your eyes glued to the ground, afraid to meet the eyes of whoever had the pleasure of witnessing your fall. You quickly scramble to pick up your belongings and see a large hand reach toward your copy of Wuthering Heights from Better Read than Dead. You finally glance up and your eyes meet a pair of whiskey coloured orbs. His eyes are framed by dark eyebrows and sculpted cheekbones. Oh lord. You quickly shoot up. It’s Jacob Elordi.
Despite being a second-year like you, he’s quite the BNOC. Everyone either wants to be with him or be him — except for those of us who know that nothing good comes from associating with college students.
He stands, and you have to crane your neck to meet his face. He’s wearing the staple light blue-and-white Drews jersey which majestically stretches across his broad frame.
“Hmm, Wuthering Heights, a copy of PULP and Doc Martens. Are you going to ask me to join an NTEU protest?” He gives you a toothy grin and he continues to inspect the items he’s picked up.
“Clever. Let me guess, a Drews jersey and RM Williams. Coasting your way through a Bachelor of Commerce so you can join Dad at Deloitte?” You snatch back your belongings. You’ve been fortunate enough to never have to deal with many college kids during your time here but luck has to run out at some point.
“Close. Bachelor of Economics. I like to keep people on their toes, or in your case, on their knees,” he gives you a wink. “I’m Jacob,” he reaches his hand out, as if he had not just suggested…. Nope, not going there.
“And I’m not interested.” You ignore his outstretched hand.
His confident grin falters for a minute but he recovers quickly. “I promise you, you’re not my type, Cathy,” as he shakes my copy of Wuthering Heights to emphasise his point.
“Is that because I’m not living at Women’s?”, you reply through gritted teeth.
“I just prefer girls who don’t automatically assume they know everything about me based on student accommodation. I also don’t like the idea of being the sole breadwinner, heard that arts graduates aren’t in demand.” He says the last part in a hushed whisper, maintaining a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Right, and that’s my cue to leave. I’ve hit my college kid quota for the day.” You brush past, wanting to hit his shoulders in protest, but only managing to target his hips as you make your way to Courtyard.
“Will I see you around?”, Jacob’s voice booms across the Quad.
“Oh, I sure hope so”, you yell, voice dripping with sarcasm. However, you don’t turn around to face him. You won’t give him the satisfaction. You hear him chuckle and head in the opposite direction.
——
Before you could be reprimanded for being late, you slump into the chair next to Tabatha and groan, “why must college students exist?”
Tabatha gives you back a sympathetic pat and asks, “What happened?”.
“Two words, Jacob Elordi.” Paul immediately straightens up.
“He’s bad news Y/N, he went to Scots with me.” Paul’s blue eyes pierce into yours, a silent warning.
“Don’t worry. Hopefully that’s the first and last time I ever have to deal with him.”
“Let me get you an oat iced latte, that always cheers you up”, Tabatha says as she walks inside, her keys clanging on her carabiner–noise pollution.
——
Week 2 is always your favourite; you’re not behind on assignments and love the anticipation of the first tutorial. This semester, you’re taking ENGL2650: Reading Poetry.
Before you can enjoy a unit that is relevant to your degree, you have to go to your FASS3999 tutorial, all the way on the ugly side of campus, at ABS.
As you wander around the new building, looking for Seminar Room 1080, your eyes are immediately drawn to the imposing figure of Jacob. His head almost hits the ceiling.
“Well, well, well. What is Cathy doing all the way at the business school? Breaking out into hives?”
“A severe migraine, actually”, you mutter. You then notice a lanky guy standing next to him.
“Where are my manners! This is my friend Timothee Chalamet, he’s an exchange student from France.” He points to you, “This is Catherine.”
“Bonjour, Catherine,” Timothee says, pronouncing Catherine in an American accent. Of course, you had assumed he would have a French accent.
“My name is not Catherine, it’s Y/N”, You reply curtly. You all stare at each other in uncomfortable silence. Your eyes zero in on Jacob’s eyebrow piercing. Huh, that wasn’t there before.
As Jacob opens his mouth to speak again, Timothee cuts him off and says something in French so you don’t understand.
Jacob shrugs his broad shoulders and follows Timothee, only this time he turns and looks back at you.
——
After what felt like the longest tutorial of your life you use Lost On Campus to find your classroom in Old Teachers College. As you walk down the hallway, you rummage through your tote bag, trying to find your copy of The Secret History when you slam into what feels like a brick wall. Recovering from the impact, you realise that the brick wall was, in fact, Jacob Elordi. Unsurprisingly, he is only holding his laptop, without a case.
You crane your neck up to look at his ruffled hair. His orbs peer down to you as the corner of his mouth ticks up into a grin.
“Cathy, we have to stop meeting like this,” he sounds amused.
“I’d rather we stop meeting at all”, you mutter under your breath. He leans down, his tall body almost at a right angle, bringing his ear closer to your face.
“What was that?”
“Jacob, ABS is actually across Footbridge. I’m sure you’ve got riveting things to learn about such as micro and macroeconomics and John Maynard Keynes”, you mutter.
“You’ve got me all figured out, haven’t you?”
“Please!” you scoff. “College kids all fit the same brief. You meet one, you’ve met them all.”
“Always a pleasure making your lips curl, Y/N”. His eyes briefly flicker to your lips before he tips an imaginary hat on his head and walks off.
He called you Y/N.
——
You grab a seat near the window so you can get some air in the stuffy building.
“Welcome to ENGL2650!” your tutor, Graham Norton, announces.
He begins with a simple icebreaker, and then begins to walk through the course syllabus with his Irish lilt, the door creaks open. No need to guess who. You see his eyes scan across the room and when his eyes meet yours, he smirks. You pretend to be interested in something outside the window.
“Sorry I’m late, had a bit of a clumsy moment earlier,” Jacob says, unprompted, his eyes never looking away from you.
Graham Norton nods and continues with the icebreakers. Oh wait, he already did that.
As you process your flustered state, it takes Jacob four strides to get to your desk.
“Seat taken?”
——
TO BE CONTINUED in a future instalment…
