Red Hot Love

Maybe, If We Could Go Back...

Mia, it turned out, was perfectly content to just study without talking to Sunny. Though she responded politely and with wit to Sunny's questions and attempts to form a conversation, she ultimately seemed most interested in her schoolwork. Sunny watched her jealously as she pored over her microbiology and astrophysics textbooks. It almost reminded her of Jem, when they arrived for their first quarter. Watching Jem hunched over her desk, with her lamp dimmed, acting very still while turning a page every few minutes or scribbling equations onto a piece of scratch paper with rapid ease. Sunny, who had nothing to do, had just sat on her air mattress and quietly watched her, her chin resting on folded arms and her back covered with a thick blanket. It had been a quiet ritual for the both of them and practically Sunny's ideal way to spend a weekend evening.

Now, Jem rarely ever came back to their dorm, and for a very short amount of time. Jokey flirting and the occasional pickup line had turned into more desperate, more risqué shows of seduction. More than ever, she was losing her time with Jem. She could feel it.

It eventually became too painful and reminiscent of the past for Sunny to bear. After a few minutes of this, she had stood up and said "Bye" quickly without looking to see whether Mia said "Bye" back. Perhaps, she thought to herself, the counselor might be right. Not that she really cared.

What is it like to be completely absorbed in your studies? Sunny mused. To love your work and to enjoy school life?

Regina Hall once said "I loved being a student. I could've gone to school until I was 75 years old as long as somebody would've paid my rent. I would've been a professional student," her brain added.

Scornfully, she kicked aside a rock.

Well, I'm not that type, she muttered. Some people love their education. I don't even know what my degree should be – I haven't started taking any classes to contribute towards it. All my life, I've been afraid that college will be the worst, most terrifying part of my entire life. The only reason I can stand it is because I have Jem…for now.

Maybe it's your mother's fault, her brain suggested.

I don't want to think about my mother, Sunny replied.

But already her image, against her will, was forming in the back of her mind.

The winds began to blow a little harder. Sunny tugged her cardigan around her, feeling stupid for not having dressed properly. Leaves flew across the ground, as if propelled by an unseen force.

"This is the stupidest mistake you'll ever make, Sunny," the image of her mother hissed. "You can't trust that girl. Never trust a woman who you can't read. I, at least, was always honest with you."

"Jem is my other half," Sunny repeated, quietly watching her breath form puffs in the chilly air. "We will always come back to one another, no matter what."

"Yes. In the worst times," the witch snarled. "And not in a good way, baby girl."

"I'm fine with that," Sunny replied.

By now, it was starting to get dark. Now she could see the windows of occupied buildings glowing like golden candles in the blue darkness. Quietly, she wished herself back in the dorm, tucked into her comfortable blanket, reclining next to Jem's matching air mattress.

"Tell me more about what you're reading," she would say, reaching out and putting her hand gently onto Jem's.

Jem would quietly shift, and without looking up, summarize the last few events of her book in the same tone of voice. Sunny would just nod and watch her intently, as if she was following along, though of course Jem knew she couldn't really remember this many events and characters.

Or maybe Jem would raise an eyebrow and reply "You already asked me that yesterday, and nothing new has happened," which would make Sunny prompt her to repeat it all again.

Sunny smiled. If it weren't for moments like those…when Jem would still repeat her synopsis, even though she could clearly see through her ruse, or when she let Sunny use her quilt if she whined long enough. When she would help zip up the back of her dress, or when she would perpetually reply "You look pretty" (no more, no less) in the same tone after Sunny asked for a second opinion. When Sunny would ask for permission to share the air mattress, after having a nightmare with her mother, and Jem would obligingly move aside and give her room. Moments like those were the reason she kept on hoping and dreaming.

Like Saturn's twin moons, Sunny reflected. Always in the same orbit. Opposites, but of the same kind.

Just then, as she rounded the corner to enter her dorm hall, she bumped into something. Or rather, someone.