C. I got a C.

I have not received anything below a B since freshman year.

I groan.

"Are you cool?!" Camryn shouts from the kitchen. Yes, if she means cool because it starts with C. Otherwise:

No. "Yes."

My head feels scattered. My mind refuses to stay in one place; it keeps hopping from the stress of independence to work to Dakota and the sudden mystery he is to these feelings forcing their way in. From the moment I saw him, I knew it would be an issue, in spite of all the times I'd insisted that, after total independence, I would live with a dog and nothing else — something loyal and kind and desirable to cuddle at every minute of the day. A man is none of those things.

So why am I even desiring Dakota's presence, his attention?

An hour is spent for the first stage of perfecting the next paper: studying its requirements and the topic of discussion -- The Broken Window Theory. An easy one, but so was the last topic on the inner-workings of a killer's mentality. Put simply, we had to write five pages on the mental process that turns "the average person" into "the killer," from the point of view of the killer. Easy enough with the crime dramas I binge on the daily. However, according to my professor, I was too "soft." The paper wasn't "criminal enough," and deserved a C at best, but only for the decent "quality stalker edge" I included. It was partly due to my own mental process.

My only mental process was figuring out how to see Dakota more often. What shifts does he work? Should I ask Amanda? Will he always bring his dog to training? What if Michelle decides to take America and doesn't need my assistance anymore? What shifts does he work?

The only answer I have for those is that I cannot continue earning C's and expect to maintain my scholarships. I cannot continue college without said scholarships.

Junior year. One year to go.

I have to make it count. I must. I need to focus.

The Broken Window Theory is a quick paper to write. This time, I take the criticism into consideration and, once satisfied, I take in my job-well-done.

Chills race down my own spine, and I know it is criminalistic enough. Any worse and I would be taken in for evaluation.

"How is it going with you and Dakota?"

"Nothing is going, nothing is going anywhere." I'm quick to close our texts. If she sees his name on the screen, it will never end.

"Sure it is." Camryn winks. "You have his number... He has yours..." How did she...? "Relax. You left your phone on the coffee table, and it wouldn't stop buzzing, and I went to check it out and saw that he was blowing up your phone!"

"Oh."

"You should invite him over!"

"No way, not yet."

"Not yet? So, sometime?"

"No! No, no."

Camryn's sigh is one of disappointment, not in the situation but in me. I can tell. Until I got the job at The Daily Grind, she would all but push me out the door to socialize and make friends I would actually sustain for more than a day or two. Now that I have a crush, this is her opportunity to lecture me on "leveling up."

And she does. For two hours.

I interrupt her, hoping flattery will be enough to convince her that I'll take her tips. "You should have five boyfriends by now with that advice."

Camryn snorts in laughter. "I could, but I believe in monogamy."

"I'm happy to hear that."

"When is your next shift?"

"Wednesday, tomorrow. But I'll need a cover if I can't get this homework finished before."

She wrinkles her nose, jumps off my bed and heads for the door. "Sorry, sorry. I'll leave you to it." The door closes behind her with barely a sound... only to open not a second later. "Don't forget."

"I won't."

Honesty, to Camryn, is the best policy. In other words, if I fail to tell Dakota how I feel, the situation could "worsen." I've only known him for a few weeks, and bad is not a word I would use to describe the current situation, but Camryn sees almost everything through a magnifying glass. It is just one reason why we get along so well.

She is right, though, about one thing: with Dakota now at the forefront of my mind, homework has taken the back row. Without resolution, regardless of what that looks like, my main priority — school — will continue the downward trek, hand-in-hand with my grades.

On the one hand, resolution might be the closure I need. On the other, I know that a few weeks is too soon, and how much more difficult would it be to raise and maintain a GPA with a relationship in the mix? That is, if these feelings are reciprocated. With a face like that, he could likely have any girl he wanted.

Flashbacks of the interview for The Daily Grind: what makes me stand out from the sea of faces? What makes me special? Why should I be chosen out of the masses?

What makes me stand out if I were to stand beside Heather?

I've been told on multiple occasions that I have pretty eyes and a warm smile. Strangers have paused to question and touch the abnormal length and fullness of my hair, a "gorgeous brown, with highlights of red -- is that really natural? Wow."

Heather has all of those things -- pretty eyes, a nice smile, hair that I envy. Outwardly, she is without error.

What makes me glow if I were to stand beside Heather?

All that comes to mind is: I'm nice.

The way Amanda described her, she is everything except.

It would be a lie to deny that I have my own voice inside begging me to understand that, regardless of how stunning I may feel she is, she is no longer a concern. Worse yet, it whispers that Amanda is right: I should go for it.

I should let go and, in so doing, allow.

I let go.