Chapter Text
Shit is the only thought in Angela’s mind when she wakes up. Of all the days to sleep through her alarm, of course it’s today. It’s every day, actually, but today is important: college registration. It’s her final year, majoring in Literature. This is her opportunity to study play writing: she’d literally picked UCLA for its Shakespeare class.
‘Shit,’ she mutters under her breath, grabbing her laptop from the nightstand with shaking hands.
It’s 10am: registration began at 9:30. She tries to be hopeful: maybe nobody else wanted to take the class. It’s probably not one of the most popular classes. Maybe she hasn’t missed her opportunity.
The website takes an eternity to load, and she knows her hands won’t stop shaking until it does. Finally, the page refreshes. She takes a deep breath, searching for “Shakespeare”. There’s another agonising moment before it shows: [Waitlist Only]
What. The. Fuck.
If she wasn’t in a middle apartment block, she would have screamed outright, but she has more respect for her neighbours than that. Instead, she grabs a pillow, pressing it over her face to muffle the sound as she lets all the air out of her lungs. She stays like that for a few minutes, leaving the pillow over her head and letting out a couple more cries of frustration.
She feels her phone buzz at her side, shifting her back to reality.
Chanse [10:04am]: bitch I hear you screaming
Chanse [10:04am]: stf I’m hungover
‘Chanse,’ Angela sits up in bed as she yells to her roommate, ‘get in here.’
She knows he can hear her through the wall, but he doesn’t reply. Her phone buzzes again.
Chanse [10:05am]: u come here
There’s no version of this argument where she wins, so she decides to cut her losses rather than fight him. She huffs, getting out of bed to go to Chanse’s room. For a split second, she thinks about taking her laptop with her, but decides against it when she sees the "waitlist only” message on the screen again. There’s an old UCLA hoody on the floor which she grabs, throwing it over the t-shirt and shorts she’d slept in, as she walks across the kitchen to her roommate’s bedroom.
Chanse’s bedroom room is pitch black. He groans when she opens the door, pulling the covers over his head to shield his eyes the light.
‘Why are you yelling? It’s too early.’ He mumbles from the depths of his bed.
‘It’s an emergency,’ Angela ignores her roommate’s protests as she climbs into bed with him, pulling the covers off his face in the process. She unlocks her phone, checking the time again. ‘I missed registration for classes. So did you, by the look of it.’
The room is still dark, but the light from Angela’s phone screen illuminates her friend’s face. He’s usually put together, but this morning he looks like shit. Angela hadn’t heard him come home last night, so she knows he must have been out late partying.
‘I’m registering for an internship, I don’t think it can fill up.’ He rolls to the far side of his bed, allowing Angela a little more space, and protecting his eyes from the light of her phone. ‘Also, this is not an emergency. Let me die in peace, Angela. My head is pounding.’
‘No, it’s absolutely an emergency. You have to help me. This is the one class I came here for.’ She’s panicking. Of course she’s panicking.
‘So take it next semester.’ He pulls the comforter back over his head in an attempt to ignore her.
Taking the class next semester isn’t possible. She opens her mouth to explain that, but she can’t speak. Her throat feels like it’s closed up completely. She can feel tears welling in her eyes. It’s stupid to cry over a class, she knows that, but this is everything to her.
Chanse must sense that she’s upset, because he reaches a hand lazily out from under the covers. He pats around the bed until he finds Angela’s hand, which he grasps tightly. It’s nice; comforting. She squeezes his hand back, appreciative of his half hearted, hungover effort.
‘It’s just a class, Ange. You’ll be okay.’ She knows it won’t be okay, but doesn’t bother to say so. Instead, she climbs further into the bed, laying down next to her best friend. He rolls over and pulls her into a tight hug, holding her until she drifts back into a panicked sleep.
By the time she wakes up again, the curtains are open and the room is flooded with sunlight. The bed is empty next to her, so Chanse must be elsewhere in their apartment. She checks the time on her phone: it’s almost 1pm. Thankfully, the panic that had settled in her chest seems to have subsided for the moment.
She yawns, rubbing her eyes, and lays still for a second, mentally preparing to get out of bed. All she has to do is place one foot out of the bed, then the other. Then work out what to do with the rest of her life.
No, that’s dramatic. Just the rest of college.
She does her best to push the thought out of her mind, and finally gets out of bed. The floor is warm from the heat of the afternoon sun. She takes a moment to stand in the centre of the room, soaking up the feeling of the October sun on her back, before she leaves to find Chanse.
Their apartment is small, consisting only of an open plan kitchen-living-dining room, a shared bathroom, and their respective bedrooms. Despite its size, Angela loves the home she and her friend have built together. It’s cosy, and more than enough for them.
Chanse is sitting on the couch, holding a mug and watching some kind of reality show. His laptop is balanced on a cushion in front of him. Usually, Angela would run to the couch to join him, but today her mind is elsewhere.
‘I literally just made coffee. I was going to wake you up soon - I’m just replying to some work emails. Do you want me to grab you a cup?’
Angela shakes her head, holding her hands up to indicate that he doesn’t need to get up.
‘I’ve got it, thanks’ Angela replies, heading into the kitchen to pour herself a drink. She reaches into their mug cupboard, standing on tiptoes to select one of the lesser used ones from the back. Her hand catches on one of the cups at the front. It slips off the shelf, smashing into pieces on the floor.
‘Are you good?’ Chanse looks over at her, concerned.
‘What the fuck do I do?’ She says, cupping her head in her hands. She hates how often her voice has been strained from choking back tears today.
‘About the mug? Don’t step on the shards. I’ll get it.’
‘No, with my life.’ She knows she is being dramatic, but she can’t help it. She has no idea what to do next.
Chanse stands up from the couch and moves towards her, stepping carefully the shattered ceramic pieces on the ground. He places a hand on each of her shoulders, steadying her.
‘Do a film internship with me.’ His light eyes are full of sincerity. ‘I’m using my actual job instead of an internship, and, please don’t freak out, but I already asked my boss if they’d consider taking you - just in case you needed something to do.’
‘And?’ Her brown eyes widen, in a mixture of hope and panic.
‘My colleague, Amanda, can take you as her PA for the semester. You don’t have to take it, I just wanted to try and help.’
Angela knows that Chanse works part time at a media company, but she doesn’t exactly understand what that means. After living together for two years, it definitely feels too late to ask. She knows he loves his job though: he’s been increasingly upping his hours, and decreasingly caring about school. It’s nice though, that he already has plans after college. Her thoughts return to her own plans: she’d wanted to teach Literature, or write plays. Without her coveted Shakespeare class the future she’s been planning for seems significantly bleaker than it did a few hours ago.
She considers what being a PA would look like; getting coffee for people and replying to emails, she supposes. Of course, she’d need to work on not breaking coffee mugs, but it feels like something she could breeze through for a few weeks, at least until a spot opens up in the Shakespeare class. It’s the best option she has right now. Actually, it’s the only option.
She narrows her eyes at Chanse, who’s bent down scooping up the remnants of the shattered mug from the floor.
'So we could hang out and get college credit?’ She asks, cautiously considering his offer.
‘We’d have to work, obviously. I don’t wanna lose my job.’ Chanse replies, smiling up at her. ‘But yes, essentially we could hang out and get college credit.’
It’s tempting: if she can’t take the only class she’d been interested in, at least she can spend time more time in her final year of college with her best friend.
‘Okay,’ she says, as she heads into her bedroom to get her laptop. Rather than taking it into the kitchen, she sits down on her bed. She inhales, then exhales deeply as she brings up the registration page.
‘Okay,’ she repeats to herself.
All she has to do it complete a form about her proposed internship. There's a lot of guesswork for her, and she takes a lot of creative liberties in her answers, rushing through as quickly as she can to make sure it’s submitted as soon as possible.
After a few minutes, Chanse enters the room, taking a seat next to her on her bed.
'How are you feeling?' He asks.
‘I don’t think I have ever thought about anything less in my life.’ She sighs.
Career goals aside, she's not usually a huge planner, but this feels like a huge risk. It’s hard to place how she feels: a mixture of exhilarated and absolutely terrified.
‘You got this,’ Chanse reaches over, giving her arm a supportive tap as she presses "submit".
‘Holy shit,’ she exclaims as the screen reads “application received”. ‘This is not how I pictured my day going.’
‘Let this be a lesson: quit snoozing your damn alarm.’