The Boy Who Couldn't Forget Ellis

Ellis: The Happy College Student

Chapter 2

The Happy College Student

Ellis

"Ellis? Ellis, yo, you alive?"

I pushed myself further into the bed and scrunched my eyes tight, faking sleep.

There were sharp, rapt, errant knocks on the door like somebody's trying to break it down. My roommate Frankie was not pleased. "Ellis Chan, I know you're in there. Open the door. I accidentally left my keys by my bedside."

Sighing, I leapt from the bed, walked across the room and turned the knob, swinging it open to let Frankie in. Frankie, short for Francesca, strode in, arms crossed. "You should be more organized," I advised her, and half a second later, hating how much I sounded like an uncool mom.

"I can't help that I have the memory of a goldfish," she huffed as I retreated back to my side of the room, which was currently a mess- nothing like the I-hate-clutter-Ellis-Chan standard conditions. Dirty laundry spilt out of every drawer and my papers were cluttered everywhere, piling up like unread newspapers, exams and worksheets with low scores and crosses marked all over them, lab reports and chemistry exams with comments like 'Not your best work' and 'Try harder' and the dreaded 'Please visit me in my office'. My desk had layers of dust coating the surface as it has never been touched. High-school, perfectly primed, A-student Ellis Chain was so different than College Ellis Chan. Guess I had finally achieved the 'setting yourself apart from others' phase of college since the most unique thing about an Asian kid doing medicine was an Asian kid failing medicine.

In high school, I always assumed I would be the ultimate Happy College Student. I'd be exactly like I was in high school but an upgraded version: on top of everything, signing up for activities, rushing for sororities, attending cool parties but with one mild exception. Instead of the aloof, cold responses by unappreciative, immature high-school kids who can't recognize greatness when they see it, I'd have many friends because, in high school, you get made fun of for being smart in high school but in college, it was appreciated. I'd be popular and the cool, timelessly constructed epitome of perfection, surrounded by many rich, put-together, like-minded peers who prefer classy soirees and drinking three hundred dollars champagne out of Italian hand-crafted flute glasses imported from Venice than stupid house parties and shotgunning a beer upside down.

That ideal future I dreamt about in the sophomore year of high school after Jem Leighton had pushed me into the school's swimming pool and ruined Jimmy Choos, was sadly shattered.

Shit, I thought, pinching my wrist. I'm not allowed to think about him.

As I settled back into bed, Frankie was changing into her going-out clothes, opting for a black lace-up crop top I've seen her bought from Forever 21 and high-waisted shorts, applying her contour and spritzing that basic vanilla perfume I swore everyone was wearing these days. She grabbed her small little clutch that looked like it could barely fit her iPhone 6, much less her wallet and keys and turned around for me to examine her outfit. "How do I look?"

I didn't even glance up. "Hot."

"Ellis."

My eyes travelled upwards from my bedsheets onto Frankie. Francesca Nguyen's olive skin glowed in the lights of our dorm, courtesy of her mixed Vietnamese and Scottish blood- she told me all about being a Third Culture kid when we had our initial get-to-know-you roommate call back in July. Back then I thought it was cool how Frankie was an international school rich kid living the fast lane while seeming so down-to-earth, despite having parents that built half of Singapore.