The Campus King's Lullaby

My voice, naturally high and soft—what everyone called a “baby voice”—was apparently a crime. The campus queen, Delilah, didn’t just call it “fake” or “putting on an act”; she weaponized it, using it to freeze me out. I ran to Lucas, my best friend since kindergarten, crying until my face was blotchy. He didn’t rush to my side. He simply lifted his chin, glanced past me toward Delilah, and the distance between us stretched out, cold and immediate. “Delilah isn’t wrong, Avery,” he said, his voice flat. “Maybe you should stop asking me out for a while.” I froze, staring at him, the tears instantly drying on my cheeks in disbelief. Later. Backstage at the All-Campus Vocal Showcase, the guy everyone called the “Campus King of Chaos,” Jax, cornered me. By the time I could breathe, my carefully applied stage makeup was smeared with tears from a frantic, punishing kiss. That’s when Lucas hammered the door open. His eyes were pure crimson rage. He launched himself across the room, his fist driving toward the boy holding me: “Get your damn hands off her!”

1 I walked into our large History of American Culture lecture and slid into the empty seat next to Lucas. Before I could even open my notebook, a tall, striking girl holding a stack of books approached. She wore a pristine pleated skirt. She stopped in front of me, glanced at Lucas, then gave me a soft, wounded look. “Excuse me, but this is my seat.” I frowned. “It’s a public lecture, seats are first-come, first-served. There’s an empty spot at the back row.” A light breeze from the vent stirred her hair. She bit her lip, her eyes suddenly welling up. She turned to Lucas. “Lucas…” The classic distressed damsel move. I’d seen it a million times. I ignored her, pulling my books and laptop out of my bag. Not only was Lucas and I practically attached at the hip since kindergarten, but he had always, always backed me up. He had never once crossed me for anyone else. Even if I were a stranger, why should I be forced to move for someone who came late? In college, seating rules were simple: Possession is nine-tenths of the law. But then, a long, lean hand tapped sharply on my desk. I looked over. Lucas was giving me a mildly exasperated, almost apologetic half-smile. “This is the spot I saved for Delilah, Ave. You should probably move.” The shock was physical. I stared at him. In a petty fit of defiance, I upended my backpack, scattering my books and pens across the desktop. “I got here first! I’m staying put right here.” Delilah’s voice immediately cracked with a sob. “Just because you have that voice, Avery, and can turn on the coy act, doesn’t mean you can steal someone’s spot and be a bully, does it?” The all people in the entire lecture room went silent under her accusation. All eyes, including the professor’s, swiveled toward our corner. 2 Delilah was the campus’s reigning beauty queen—the “angelic” type, all white skin and delicate, pointy features. When she looked upset, she truly resembled a distressed fawn. Suddenly, a chorus of male voices from the crowd began to protect her. “Avery, that’s too much. Are you just picking on the easier target?” “This is why I hate that childhood-friend stuff. They use that history to team up and intimidate people.” “Lucas seems fine, he’s usually a gentle guy, but his childhood friend… seriously, that voice is so affected. Does she actually think pretending to be cute makes everyone side with her?” The noise level was too high. Our Professor, Dr. Hill, a man known for his sharp patience, walked down from the podium, his expression cold. “What’s going on here? We’re about to start class.” A student chimed in instantly. “Professor, Avery here tried to steal Delilah’s reserved seat and is being totally unreasonable about it!” I opened my mouth to explain, but Dr. Hill’s steely gaze cut me short. He looked to Lucas. “Is that true?” Lucas was the class representative, always level-headed. The Professor was right to trust his version of events. I turned to Lucas, pleading silently with my eyes for him to set the record straight. He barely glanced at me. Then, he simply nodded. “Avery didn’t want to sit near Jax, Professor. She took Delilah’s spot.” I shot up out of my seat. “That is a lie!” “Enough! Seats aren’t assigned in this class, and there’s no such thing as choosing who you want to sit with. Young lady, if you want a good spot, come early next time. Class is starting immediately. Sit in the back or step outside!” The professor slammed his hand on the podium, sending me a look of profound disappointment. “Avery, you’re usually so engaged in class. I didn’t expect this kind of petty behavior from you.” I genuinely loved this course, American History. I always came early, pre-read the chapters, and fought for every chance to contribute. Being misunderstood by a professor I admired felt like a betrayal twice over. As he walked away, I wanted to charge up there, he can check the surveillance feed in need. But all the words caught in my throat, swallowed whole by the sharp, ringing sound of the tardy bell. I sank back down, defeated. 3 The only empty seat was in the very back row, next to a guy who had his face covered with a denim jacket. Jax, the campus legend. The hardest person to cross on campus. Rumor had it his family had just donated an entire wing to the university library, and the time he’d gotten into a fight with a tutor, the President had practically walked him out of the office personally. I sat down tentatively, trying to be silent, terrified of waking him. My phone, resting on the desk, suddenly vibrated twice. I clamped my hand down on it. Jax lifted his head from under the jacket. His narrow, dark eyes, sharp as a predator’s, were staring coldly at me. A chill ran down my spine. I immediately offered a submissive whisper. “S-sorry.” His gaze remained fixed on my face. Just as I braced myself to be yelled at, Jax simply dropped his head back down, pulling the jacket over his face again. I exhaled sharply. I checked my phone. Several unread texts. Lucas: [Ave, I didn’t mean to side with Delilah back there.] [The thing is, she failed her last pop quiz, and she’s already used up all her participation points. If the Professor gets a bad impression of her now, she’ll definitely fail the class.] [Promise me you won’t go talk to the Professor after class? I’ll buy you the latest Pop Collectible Figure—the limited drop just happened, you’ve been dying for one, right?] [Don’t be mad at me, okay?] [Animated GIF: Calming an upset kitten] What struck me as cruelly ironic was Lucas’s profile picture: a simple stick-figure drawing of two cats—one blue, one pink, one large, one small. I had drawn them when I was ten and first learning to sketch. He had used it as his profile picture for nine years without fail. And now, using that profile picture, he was asking me to forgive him for letting another girl publicly humiliate me. My pencil tip snapped under the pressure of my grip. I took a deep, shaky breath and looked out the window. The sky outside was an angry smear of blood-red sunset, swallowing the last blue light. How could he ask me not to be angry, Lucas? How could anyone not be angry after that kind of public betrayal? 4 “Stop the waterworks. It’s a bad look.” The cold, low voice from beside me startled me. I quickly wiped my face, glaring at Jax. He was propped up now, messy dark hair falling lazily over his forehead, his button-down shirt worn carelessly unbuttoned at the neck. The sunset streamed through the window, tracing the sharp curve of his jaw and neck, hitting the desktop like a piece of sweet, golden amber. Honestly. Ignoring the whole terrifying reputation thing, Jax was impossibly good-looking. I must have been staring, because I quickly forced my expression back into tense neutrality, remembering his capacity for violence. “Tch. Looks like a scared kitten.” Jax scoffed dismissively.