I pulled the door open, handle gripped with both hands. The wind fought me, pushing the door closed, but I slipped into the main student building. I paused in the vestibule to catch my breath.

Outside the tall glass doors, leaves in all hues of red and orange danced in the gusts. A majestic display from the inside, but on the other side, it wreaked havoc with more than my hair. I pulled my eyes away and focused back on my mission through the hordes of students.

The door to the central area opened with ease. The welcome scent of coffee brewing greeted me, albeit tainted by the musty smell of the older building.

My mouth salivated, and I honed in on the source of my lifeblood- Tim Hortons.

I made a beeline for the coffee shop, despite the long line. Nothing could come between this girl and her coffee. After the hellish Calc class I suffered through, I desperately needed my caffeine fix.

Voices overlapped as students swarmed, here for the lunch rush, like me.

Being the only Tims on campus that served their whole menu, more people flocked to it than a Marvel movie on opening night. As a super fan, I would wait an inordinate amount of time, sans costume.

The flutter of papers on the community board when the doors opened, and the breeze gusted in drew my attention. Posters for the upcoming hockey game on Friday were stapled all over.

I edged closer to read the details. Sports had never been a focus at my high school, but maybe things were different here at Summit University.

"Hey, you in line or what?" the tall guy behind me said, and I jolted away from the board.

The line had shifted forward while I stopped.

"Yeah, sorry." I moved up as the complainer scowled at me, and from there, I made it to the front in no time.

"I'll take a large double-double and five assorted Timbits," I said and got the goods in minutes. Efficient and delicious.

While others wasted time stalking tables where the current occupants were possibly packing up, I didn't even bother scanning the filled cafeteria-style seating area.

I went to my empty table, obscured from view by a vending machine.

After tossing my backpack in the seat next to me, I plopped into the chair. I sucked in a breath at the sudden scalding pain at slopping coffee on my wrist.

Lifting the plastic tab of the cup, I inhaled the aromatic scent, face upturned. Bliss. Infused by warmth as the coffee filled my stomach, I sipped the hot drink. I savoured the perfect balance of bitter and sweet for a moment before dragging my phone out of my jacket pocket.

I bit the bullet and swiped into my contacts, then pressed the little green icon. The call rang for the longest thirty seconds of my life before she picked up.

"Hi, honey!" said Mom. "Sorry I missed your call last night, I was out at dinner and by the time I got back I forgot to call you. It was the most romantic night, did you see my post about it?" She sucked in air.

"All good, Mom," I cut in. If I didn't, she would ramble worse than Mia. I tried to get ahold of her yesterday after getting off the phone with Mia, but, of course, she had plans on a Sunday night.

"Anywho, I have some exciting news, baby." She paused for dramatic effect. Instead of her voice, I heard the thump of unfinished coffees being thrown into the trash. How riveting.

"I'm moving to New York City with Christopher!"

"That's great, Mom," I trailed off. "Who's Christopher?" I said, then plucked a chocolate Timbit from the bag, taking a bite of the sweet treat. My self-awarded reward for calling her.

"My fiancé, silly!"

"Oh, okay." I took another bite. "You never told me about him," I mumbled, crumbs escaping my lips. I stopped keeping track of her relationships long ago.

"What? I'm pretty sure I told you, Nat. I met him on my singles cruise, then I told you before you left for school," she said.

"No, we haven't talked since before the cruise. I thought you were dating Byron, but congratulations. Hope it all works out." I scratched at my chipped polish, my gaze wandering to the giant glass windows with a view of students passing by. Who else had to deal with a mother that couldn't remember when last they'd seen their child?

"Aw, thanks, honey. We're planning on eloping in Vegas," she said. The whole point of eloping was not telling anyone, or planning it, no? But, I didn't bother to figure out her thought process.

"Mhm, have fun." What other reaction did she expect of me?

"So, back to moving to New York," she said.

"Right. You should still be able to work remotely, I don't see any issue with that." Before I left for university, I set everything up so that I would be as hands-off as possible with a virtual team. Mom handled customer service, A.K.A, the bane of my existence.

The business worked like a well-oiled machine, and we managed to sell more than ever.

"Well, what I was calling to tell you, was that I won't be working anymore. You know, it's a new relationship with Chris, and I want to dedicate all my time to it." Before my brain could catch up with the grenade she dropped, she continued, "I knew you'd understand, baby. Talk soon, kisses!"

The dial tone buzzed in my ears, mocking me.

A sudden coldness hit my core as she left me spluttering.

I curled my hand into a fist, nails biting the palm.

Did she just quit?

This couldn't have happened at a worse time. Where would I find the time to train someone for customer service? It took me over a year to let my own mother take over for Pete's sake. Then, she decided to leave me hanging.

I grabbed another Timbit, one of the powdered ones, and squished it so hard that the jelly in the centre squeezed out. The powder poofed everywhere.

"Son of a motherless goat!" I cursed under my breath.

The bright pink jelly dripped down the white collar of my blouse onto the grey knit sweater layered over it. Powder settled on my jeans, specks of white splattered on the denim.

Teeth clenched, I grabbed at a napkin.

Now, I had more than one mess to clean up. I never should've relied on Mom. Conceivably, my assistant, Carly, could've handled customer service. Still, I interacted with my customers in a specific way that I had to train someone to do, hands-on.

Thanks to good old Mom, now I had to take on the customers myself, on top of everything else.

I shook my head, dabbing at the mess on my clothes.

This sure was shaping up to be one hell of a day.

▿

Hell day turned into hell week.

My gaze darted to the room numbers as I passed them. 407, 409, 411...

I couldn't be late for the first newspaper meeting. Me, Natasha Chabra, the organized, Google-Calendar-following, colour-coding-notes Natasha Chabra never arrived late.

I allocated fifteen minutes to find the room since I already checked beforehand anyways on the university app that had directions to every place on campus.

So, I might've spent ten extra minutes responding to a customer complaint, leaving me a mere five minutes.

413, 415, 417...

That five minutes turned into ten when I took a wrong turn.

419, 421, 423...

I checked my phone. Wednesday, September 10th, 5:14. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!

The numbers ticked on. 5:15.

Now, I was officially fifteen minutes late.

425...

I rounded the corner.

430?

I scratched my temple. Where in the world was Room 427?

Then, at the end of the hall, I struck gold. Room 427. Whoever numbered these rooms should've been fired.

I screeched to a halt outside the door to slow my racing heart, then gripped the cold metal of the handle.

The door squeaked as I opened it, revealing a room full of people. No heads swivelled in my direction as I expected, but Professor Davis hesitated mid-sentence.

He gave me a harsh squint, but hopefully, I was reading too much into it. A speck of dust could've landed in his eye. Or, perhaps, he despised my guts for disrespecting his time.

I never could tell what he thought in class about the books we analyzed, so I didn't know why I would be able to discern his reaction walking in late to his meeting.

He adjusted his tie. "As I was saying, congratulations on making the Summit Post."

With hot cheeks, I stumbled to the nearest empty chair, in Siberia- the farthest seat at the back of the room. Enter the Natasha Chabra walk of shame.

"We were very selective in choosing our writers this year, and I know you won't disappoint. You all show tremendous promise, and I eagerly anticipate reading your work." I sat at the long table, gaze downward.

Professor Davis's lit class was one of the few lectures I actually liked, so it stung that I made a poor impression of myself by getting here so late.

My hair fell forward, hiding my flushed face.

The girl sitting beside me nudged me with her shoulder, box braids swinging. "Don't worry, we literally just started. Davis couldn't get the projector to work, but what else is new," she whispered with a light chuckle.

I glanced up at him, but he went on about the importance of journalistic integrity. He usually struggled with technology in class, grumbling about back when he began teaching there was no such thing as a PowerPoint.

Giving her a small smile, I nodded. I vaguely recognized her from the lecture, though I'd probably only ever seen the back of her head.

I leaned back in the plush chair, soaking in the professor's thoughts. He spoke at the front of the room, pointing to a slideshow jam-packed with words.

We all had a place around one long table. Single desks lined the walls. Behind a glass board with some half-erased plans were floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the sprawling campus.

"I'm the paper's teacher advisor, so I won't be doing much hands-on with you all. That'll mainly be left to your very capable editor," Professor Davis said, gesturing at someone sitting near him to go up.

The girl next to me gave me the meeting materials that were going around. I took a packet and passed the rest on. My fingers slid over the smooth sheets of paper as I sorted through the pile.

While I read, the whir of a fan inside the projector increased over the steady drone of air conditioning until the whirring paused, stuttered, and gave out, along with the overhead lights.

"Well, I guess I'm bad luck," the editor said as he joined the Prof at the head of the table, seeing as the electricity cut out in time with his arrival. A smattering of laughter rose from the group.

I pursed my lips. Why did that voice sound so familiar?

"Power should be back up in two shakes of a lamb's tail. This sometimes happens when the wind knocks over a power line or something of the sort," Professor Davis said as people turned on their phones to illuminate the room.

The acrid scent of burned coffee wafted over from the table behind me. A little condiment trolley carrying sugar packets, fake sweeteners, and creams fit nicely beside it. I couldn't help but notice the selection of snacks, some more appealing than others. The croissants had a plastic-y look, whereas the oversized muffins loaded with berries made my mouth water.

People broke off into small groups, speaking in low voices. I turned to the girl who'd reassured me earlier.

I stuck my hand out. "Hi, I'm Nat."

She gripped my hand. "I'm Layla."

"So, what are you excited to write about?" I angled towards her in my chair.

"I'm a photographer for the paper, words aren't my thing. But, I take it you're a writer?" She tilted her head, and I nodded.

"In that case, are you interested in any specific type of photography?" I asked, voice rising in pitch. Did photographers like taking different types of photos? What were the different types of photos? I knew more about astrophysics, and that was only because once I went down a YouTube rabbit hole about Neil Degrasse Tyson.

"I'm all about action photography," she said, eyes bright. "On Friday, I'm–" She halted as light flooded the room. Lo and behold, the power kicked back on in minutes.

She shut her mouth as attention returned to Professor Davis and the editor.

"Let's finish this conversation after," I murmured. Layla nodded.

I turned back to the front and landed on a pair of familiar brown eyes. A tentative smile built on my lips. Pablo never told me he was the editor of the paper!

We'd met planting trees on Charity Day, one of the last days of orientation week. We spent all day together under the hot sun chatting.

"Well, good afternoon, everyone. Let's get right back into it, I guess. My name's Pablo Ramirez, and I've been given the amazing opportunity to be Summit Post's editor this year. I'm excited to lead our team and make the Post better than ever," he said.

He continued on, but his words slipped right past me as I remembered the many, many pros on his list. Definitely boyfriend material.

When I didn't know anyone else at Charity Day, Pablo popped up next to me, conversation easy. Being a junior, he was a leader in charge of running the day. Nevertheless, he truly went above and beyond to make sure everyone was comfortable and having fun. Well, as much fun as you could've had planting trees.

As I openly stared, I was reminded that not only his personality made it on the pros list. With a slim and muscular build, his lips always curled into an easy grin. People were just drawn to him. I mean, I could see it in the way that they hung on his every word and returned a smile.

Oh, and don't get me started on his dark eyes. They made me weak at the knees.

I nodded along to whatever he told us, stroking my arm.

Professor Davis stood when Pablo came to a natural pause. He clapped Pablo on the shoulder before he turned to us and said, "Thanks, Mr. Ramirez, but I need to get going."

"I have one last point I forgot to bring up earlier. Twice a year–this semester in December, then again at the end of the year–there's an edition dedicated to personal pieces from the writers."

I smoothed down my skirt and bit down on a smile. Writing for my high school's paper was one of the few extracurriculars I participated in, seeing as my business ate up so much of my time. I could write a stellar personal piece, no problem.

"Everyone is required to submit an article, but only a few will be chosen for publication. Start pondering, let it percolate. The deadline will come up faster than you think, and I want you to dig deep," Professor Davis said.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Every teacher and their mother toted the same line. Yes, deadlines were objects in the passenger-side mirror- closer than they appear.

But, I had precisely a bazillion other items on my to-do list to tick off before even thinking about this personal piece.

"And with that, I bid you adieu," he finished.

As soon as the door shut behind him, the decibel levels in the room rose considerably. I followed suit and sniffed out the coffee like a bloodhound.

The sludge I poured in a paper cup was a far cry from the aromatic coffee blends I kept stocked in my room, but it was somewhat warm and caffeinated.

I brought a shaky hand to my forehead and massaged my temple, closing my eyes for a second. I barely believed it had been only two days since Mom dropped a truckload of crap on my head with the amount of work that'd piled up.

"Alright, everyone, if I could have your attention please," Pablo said.

I slid back into my seat next to Layla.

"We're just going to jump right into this and hand out the first set of assignments for the September issue." He raised a stack of papers in the air to emphasize his point as we all settled, chairs scraping.

He began to list the options and writers volunteered.

"Upcoming Summit University Student Council vote." Political-ish stuff. Bleh. Plus, interviewing all the candidates would take for-freaking-ever.

I rubbed the back of my neck. I needed something quick and easy.

"Covering the climate change protest." Too significant for me to mess up.

"The new cannabis shop opening." Perfect!

I raised my hand, but a guy closer to Pablo snagged it.

He went on, each option growing less appealing. Beneath the desk, my knee bounced.

"The future of the internet opinion piece." Did I have forty hours to spend researching?

My stomach rolled. I grabbed a water bottle from the middle of the table, cold condensation on my warm skin.

"Student-athlete interview."

"Me!" I blurted out as my hand shot up. Heads turned in my direction.

"Uh, for the student-athlete interview. Me, um, I would love to write it," I said in a weak voice. What I wouldn't have given to, at that moment, slide off my chair and crawl out the door.

"Are you sure? Most of your work has been investigative, from what I understand," Pablo said, head bent as he checked his list.

Yes, well, I didn't have time to do a deep dive into the dark underbelly of the Summit University Student Council, so this interview would have to do.

Instead of voicing the snarky demon in my head, I replied, "I want to expand my skill set. Broaden my horizons." A little white lie never hurt anyone. I needed a quick and painless article that would be done faster than I could cross it off my to-do list.

"There is one issue we've been running into, though." He chewed his bottom lip, regarding me.

"What's that? I can make it work, no problem." I shrugged. So, there might be a little snag in my easy peasy article, but how hard could this really be?

"Well, the player has declined all our interview requests so far, and we need to get it in this issue."

"Who is it? I'm sure I can convince them," I said.

"Let me check here." Pablo ducked his head, consulting his notes.

"It's the hockey team's new star rookie, Tyler Sawyer."

"Wait, who?" I said, voice halting.

"Tyler Sawyer."

Of course, it had to be him.

Now, we've met a bunch of new characters! What do you think of them– Nat's mom, Professor Davis, Layla, Pablo? I'm having so much fun meeting all of them with you.

Are you a coffee addict like Nat? I'm partial to a chai tea latte myself. What's your go-to drink order? Nat's is clearly a double-double from Tims.

Also, exciting news! I've hopped onto a bunch of different socials if you wanna hang with me over there too. I post sneak peeks of upcoming chapters, exclusive content, and of course, fangirl over everything bookish. I'm @NikkiPierceBooks on Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter (minus the s cause of silly character limits). Are there any other platforms you're on that I should join? Lemme know!

If you've read this far and haven't voted yet, what're you doing? *picture me side-eyeing you* Just kidding! Or am I...

I'm having SO much fun writing Nat's story. Until next time!