ON THE SURFACE, THE problem is Jules. Then again, it's possible that Jules (and the problem I've created around her) is only a smokescreen for the real problem... and that the real problem is me.

This is painfully clear to me suddenly.

I haven't even sampled Jeffry's pot this time, but my brain feels loosened by the hotbox effect he's creating in the shedroom. He's drawing at the table in the corner closest to the space heater, and I'm lying on the cot, combing through all the tangled threads that have bound me up in a straightjacket of indecision.

"The problem is me," I whisper to myself, lips only, no sound. I am astounded by this revelation and not ready to share it yet with Jeffry. He tells me everything, but I've just barely admitted this to myself. The concept is too new, too fragile to undergo his armchair pot-head analysis.

The truth is, what happened with Jules confused me. Or, I was confused already I guess, before that even happened, because I've never been remotely interested in having a relationship. Definitely not a physical one, anyway. And not romantic either. My whole life, there's been this — blank spot — where I think maybe there's supposed to be something. I'm eighteen. Shouldn't I be thinking about sex all the time? Dolling myself up to attract someone's attention? Checking people out in that 'there's someone I'd like to get my body up against' way?

But I don't. I never have.

The fact that I had a blank spot at all didn't occur to me until I found myself sharing a tiny dorm room with Jules, and then, only because she seemed to be brimming with what I lacked. Not that she was interested in me, exactly. Only a little, that once. But I mean, she seemed interested generally. She flirted, she dated, she sent people pictures of her boobs sometimes — I know because I saw her do it. That's how she communicates her sexual intentions, I think.

It was like watching the bizarre mating rituals of some foreign species being around her. And, at first, she assumed I was of the same species. She'd talk to me about the people she was boob-bombing and seem a bit let down when I didn't reply with the appropriate enthusiasm or antics of my own.

Maybe she thought I was jealous of her popularity. Or maybe she just thought I was weird, which, I guess, is closer to the truth. Eventually, she stopped trying to engage me in gossip about who she was into and just started hanging out quietly, kind of mirroring the things I would do. If I were studying, she'd sit on her bed and flip through a textbook. Every once in a while, I'd look up from my notes to find her eyeing me intensely. Like she was trying to learn me instead of her coursework.

To be honest, I liked the change in her. It was like I was slowing her down, steadying her. She was morphing from a species I didn't understand and was a little bit terrified of, to something a lot more comfortable for me to be around.

I don't know if what I felt about her was what people mean by 'being attracted.' I felt this sort of rush of warmth around her. Different from what I feel about Jeffry, which is mostly safe, understood, familiar. With Jules, I seemed to be having a new version of those feelings that I couldn't exactly place.

On my birthday, she left campus, went all the way into town, and came back with a chocolate cupcake (my favourite) and a bundle of white lilies. She left them on my pillow for me to find when I came back from class. There was a note with the gifts that said, "Thinking of you... a whole bunch!"

It was an extravagant gift for a roommate, and the card confused me. Was the 'thinking of me a whole bunch' because it was my birthday? I didn't know. There was something between the card and the tone of the gifts that embarrassed me. A girl like Jules doesn't think about someone like me. Especially not a whole bunch. She obviously didn't realize about my blank spot.

That's when I started to wonder about the nature of 'myself' and how, if at all, that could get changed by internal or external forces. I lost interest in economics and started checking philosophy books out by the armload, trying to make sense of myself. I'll admit, I got even more lost than I started.

This was all leading up to the Kierkegaard night, of course.

After that, it's like my blank spot got even bigger. Wider. It fed on my confusion, growing and growing, until it consumed everything in its path. I blamed her for my scary apathy. I blamed the school for my sudden loss of appetite to succeed. I blamed the universe for my lack of purpose.

At the time, I hardly thought about how Jules might have perceived my reaction. My shutting down. If I hadn't been so self-consumed, I might have noticed the disappointment she seemed to carry around for a while. Then the not exactly off-brand but still quick escalation into a full-fledged relationship with the new boyfriend. If my eyes had been clear, they might have noticed that she could have been hurt by my sudden coldness. And she might have been trying to cover that hurt by being cold back.

Now, lying on Jeffry's cot, staring up at an old Smiths poster, I realize it absolutely: I am the problem. Not Jules. And I need to apologize.

I take my phone outside into the snowy garden and stand shivering while I tap through to her profile on Instagram and touch the video camera. At first, I think she's going to ignore the call even though I can see she's online, but after a bit, the call connects.

The screen blurs then settles as she holds her phone steady. I see her face for the first time since I left. She looks pissed off.

Not a good place to start.

"Hi," I venture.

"You know exams started this week, right?"

"Yes, I know."

"So you're missing them? You're throwing your year?"

"I... yeah, I've had a change in direction. That's not why I'm calling though."

"It's not? You fuck off out of here without a goodbye, and you don't want me to ask why?"

"I left a note. I tried to explain."

"I got the note. First of all, you have the handwriting of a psychopath, do you know that? Second, all it says is you're going home and not to contact you. That's not an explanation. Do you have any idea how worried I've been about you?"

"Not worried enough to call. Or email. Or DM me. Or anything."

"You said NOT TO CONTACT YOU."

I have no answer to that. I just stomp my feet against the cold.

"Okay, so you left. Change of direction. What, you're switching majors? Switching schools?"

"I'm not sure about that. I think I need to take a gap year. Figure out what I want to do. I just realized that I don't want to go into business."

She cracks an almost-smile, which is a pleasurable improvement over the angry frowny face she's been giving me so far.

"Finally, you're making some sense."

Jules is in Environmental Sciences and has some strong beliefs about the evils of corporations.

"What'd your parents say?"

"Um. Well, nothing much yet. I haven't told them about the gap year plan. Still figuring it out. But they've been handling me gently. Not being too pushy."

"Wow," she says, lying back on her bed now. I recognize the fairy lights on her headboard. "Your parents are way cooler than mine would be."

I shrug at that. "My mother dropped out of university. Dad never went. They don't put too high a value on it, I guess. Plus, she's been a bit distracted."

I go on to tell Jules about the big butts video, which she has, unbelievably, already seen.

"That's your MOTHER?! Shut. Up. I saw some girls doing the challenge outside of the Starbucks the other day."

I nod and then clear my throat. Get ready to say what I called to say.

"Listen, Jules, there's a reason I called."

She says nothing, letting me get to the point.

"I realized tonight that I owe you an apology."

"For what?" She says suspiciously.

My mouth opens and closes like a dumb fish, trying to figure out how to express what seemed so clear 10 minutes ago.

"For being so weird. For being a blank. For giving you mixed signals, maybe? For shutting down and shutting you out and ... well, just for being weird again."

"Were you giving me mixed signals?" she asks with an uninterpretable look on her face.

"Um. I think I probably was. I don't really know what signals are supposed to look like though."

"I think your signals were pretty clear, and, honestly, they were consistent. I'm the one who should apologize, I think. I made you uncomfortable. You're obviously straight. Or... well, I don't know."

"No, I don't know either. I'm not anything, Jules. I've never been interested in anyone."

"Oh."

Silence follows, then she adds, "I get it. No, I get it. That makes sense, actually."

"Does it?"

She rolls over onto her side so the camera is half consumed by the pillow. I can only see the left side of her face. The effect is like lying right beside her.

"You're just so different from everyone else I've ever met. I wanted to get closer to you. I just didn't know how to do that without scaring you off."

"Usually, you just send people pictures of your boobs."

She laughs. "I'd have tried that if I thought it would work."

I can hear Jeffry moving inside the shed, very possibly eavesdropping, so I say, "Listen, I should go. It's late, and it's cold out here."

"So you're not coming back?"

"I don't think so. Enjoy having a double room to yourself."

"Why don't you just come back after Christmas break? Don't make any decisions until then."

"But the exams."

"Ask for a deferral. You might need a doctor's note, but they give them all the time. You can take them in the new year. Or just choose a new major and start over."

My breath is billowing out into the dark in big, frosty plumes. "Maybe," I say noncommittally.

"I miss you," she says, left eye blinking into the camera.

I pause, on the verge of saying I miss her too. But what do I miss? Instead, I pretend I didn't hear that part and press the disconnect button. I shove my phone deep into my hoodie pocket and go back inside.