Age 13
George . kept both hands on the wheel and drove without talking.
Stephen sat in the passenger seat with his duffel on the floor between his feet and a box of books pressed against his shin. The road ran straight and dull. The radio stayed off. Tires stayed on asphalt. The turn signal clicked when they passed slower cars.
They stopped for gas.
George. filled the tank, screwed the cap on, and looked into the back seat. He shut the door and rested his hand on the roof for a second.
"You got everything?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
George. nodded and got back in.
They stopped for coffee.
George. ordered plain and paid without checking the receipt. Stephen did not ask for anything. He took the cup when his dad handed it over, held it for warmth, then set it in the holder.
George. pulled back onto the highway. His fingers tapped once on the wheel, then stopped.
"Keep your head down," he said after a long stretch. "Stay ahead."
"I will."
Austin showed up in pieces. Traffic tightened. Signs got closer together. George Sr. turned toward campus and slowed at every crosswalk.
He pulled up to the curb in front of the dorm.
Parking brake clicked.
George. got out and popped the trunk. Stephen stepped onto the sidewalk. Cold air hit his face with exhaust underneath it. The building looked the same as December, just quieter.
George. lifted the box of books. Stephen grabbed his duffel.
They stood beside the open trunk.
"Call your mother," George. said.
"Yes, sir."
George. nodded once, got back into the car, and drove off. The taillights turned the corner and disappeared.
Stephen watched the empty curb until another car rolled past and took the space.
He walked toward the dorm with the strap biting into his shoulder.
Inside, the building smelled like cleaner and old carpet. Flyers sat stacked on a table in the lobby. A fake plant leaned toward the window. Half the doors down the hall stayed shut. Most of the floor had not returned yet.
Stephen's shoes echoed on the tile.
He unlocked his door and stepped inside.
Heater hummed.
The room held stale air and whatever detergent the dorm used on sheets. The blinds were half-open. Light made pale stripes across the floor.
Stephen set the box of books on the desk and dropped his duffel by the bed. He stood still long enough to see what had changed.
Nothing.
Home had been crowded. Missy running through the living room. Georgie talking too loud. Sheldon correcting people in the kitchen. Mary asking questions until Stephen ran out of answers. Here, the room waited.
Stephen unpacked without wasting time. Shirts in the top drawer. Socks in the second. Books stacked on the shelf by size. Notebooks lined up on the desk with the edges even. Pens arranged by color. He retaped his schedule to the wall where the old tape mark still showed.
Clock hands sat frozen on the dresser.
Stephen picked up the clock, turned the knob, and set the time.
Clock ticked.
He left it there and watched the second hand move for three beats.
Paige's pi keychain sat on the nightstand. Black rubber. Simple. Stephen turned it once between his fingers and set it beside his wristwatch.
He changed into a plain gray T-shirt and dropped to the floor beside the bed. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Stretches against the wall. He counted in his head without moving his lips.
Sweat gathered at his collarbone. He ignored it.
Stephen stood, drank water from the sink, and felt the cold hit his teeth.
He showered fast.
The mirror fogged. Stephen wiped it once with the towel and shut off the bathroom light.
Knock.
Stephen opened the door.
Ben stood there with a clipboard under his arm. No Santa hat this time. His hair looked damp, like he had just come in.
"Back early again, Cooper," Ben said. "Not surprised."
"Efficiency," Stephen said.
Ben leaned forward and looked past him. His eyes caught the lined-up pens and squared notebooks.
"Most people unpack like they lost a fight," Ben said.
Stephen stayed quiet.
Ben flipped a page on his clipboard. "Paige checked in about an hour ago. She told me to tell you she beat you back."
"Noted," Stephen said.
Ben smiled. "Do not start a study group before the rest of us get back. Some of us need a day to pretend we are normal."
"I will wait," Stephen said.
"Welcome back," Ben said, and walked off down the hall.
Door shut.
Voices started showing up in pieces. A suitcase wheel clacked on tile. Someone laughed too loud at the end of the hall. A door opened and closed again.
Stephen sat at his desk and pulled out the new syllabi. Advanced Calculus. Data Structures. He read fast and marked dates in the margins. He stacked the pages into neat piles.
A thud hit the wall from the room next door. Something heavy dropped. Stephen did not look up.
He opened a notebook to a blank page and wrote headers for each course. Titles. Dates. First assignments copied clean.
Afternoon light shifted at the edge of the blinds.
Stephen cracked the window.
Cold air moved in.
He sat back down and kept writing until the page was full.
By evening, more students returned. The hallway filled up, not steady yet, but louder. Someone argued about whose bed was whose. Someone yelled, "I missed you," down the corridor.
Stephen turned his desk lamp on, then off. He did not need it.
He looked out the window at the courtyard.
Lamps glowed.
Students crossed the walkway with suitcases. Someone carried pizza boxes and nearly dropped them. Another group hugged near the steps and took too long to separate.
Paige crossed the courtyard with a scarf around her neck and a paper cup in her hand. She walked beside another girl Stephen did not recognize. Paige was talking. The other girl laughed.
Paige did not look up at Stephen's window.
Stephen watched her until she disappeared under the dorm overhang. He turned back to his desk and picked up his pen.
His handwriting tightened for a few lines, then smoothed out.
He set the pen down and checked his alarm clock.
Stephen set it five minutes early.
He changed into clean clothes, shut the window, and crawled into bed. The room went dark except for the clock face.
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