Hana wonders if one day he will loosen up and finally be able to share his thoughts with others, or be able to put his thoughts into words. She hasn’t written anything yet and is afraid she’ll be one who is called on this time without anything to share. She puts a few sentences to paper, dissatisfied with her choice of words. Maybe she’ll go back and revise, but something tells her she’ll be lazy to go back to it or forget about it, like she usually does. Soon time is up and Mr. T is asking students to read. He calls on a student two seats ahead of her. At this point, her dread becomes a little bit more real, that she’ll have to make up the story in her head. The words are a struggle to glean off that she hardly gets a gist of the called-on student’s story. Two other students volunteer and she is relieved.
When she gets home, she doesn’t want to make dinner because it will take time and time is what she wants to waste on her couch watching TV or taking a long shower. But she has homework and her relaxation time will have to wait. She’ll periodically take from her shelf the poems of Sylvia Plath. She doesn’t want to be bothered but her roommates storm her room at 10 and it is a Thursday night and what on earth is she doing on a Thursday night, studying of all things? So they drag her from her desk and force her to wear a dress and put on make-up which she rarely does. She doesn’t quite like the way she looks but by that time her roommates are pulling her arm through the door, which she locks, waiting for the click that will allow her to leave her room without qualms.
They enter a fraternity, five blocks away. Inside it smells of beer and sweat, but already there is a line of eager teenage boys trying to get in. She gets offered a beer, but she refuses. There is a pool table. Her friend hands her a drink, and tells her to sip. She does. It doesn’t go down very well. She puts the drink on a piano, struggling to do so because of the sweaty bodies rubbing against each other and taking up too much space. She is in a dance circle with a few of her friends but soon a guy she does not know creeps behind her, putting his hands on her hips. Normally, she would oblige like everyone else, but she doesn’t know him and he smells sweaty and of alcohol. The music is hammering her eardrums in but no one complains and she doesn’t want to be the one to make her friends leave with her. She doesn’t feel very enthusiastic about dancing, and doesn’t feel at all connected to her limbs. She feels something wet by her foot. She’s a little quiet, not making outbursts of happiness at every familiar song she hears. In the other corner she looks over to see Joshua having what looks like an enjoyable time with his friends. He seems to have taken the advice of live every moment to its fullest. At one point she catches his eye and he catches his, but it is fleeting and instantaneous. Nothing could come out of it. But it was a surreal, emotional connection. She felt the emotion they both felt—insecurity. For they were both hundreds of miles away from home, and having fun on a Thursday night because they were supposed to have fun on a Thursday night.
It is at all alright and acceptable, however. She hasn’t even drunk yet. She wants to talk to him but they are again moving to another fraternity. This one’s a lot quieter and smaller, which means it is even more crowded. A boy stares at her from the other side of the room. She diverts her glance but soon he is looking at her again from another direction. He isn’t walking any closer to her, so he is either very shy or strange or both. It smells like marijuana and hookah, and she just wants some fresh air so she walks outside. There are a few people sitting down and drinking. There is no one she knows and she feels a little alone. So she looks at her phone, scrolling down her contact list for someone to talk to. She has an inkling to call him, Joshua, for no apparent reason.
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