Chapter 5: Cheering Crowds, Racing Hearts

Please just leave. I forced a laugh, hoping he’d get the hint and move on.

As for the second question, I chose to ignore it.

Compared to me, Mason was clearly more assertive: "I don’t like playing basketball games. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to eat."

His voice was cool, almost icy. I glanced at him, surprised by the shift. Whoa.

I felt like Mason now didn’t match his gentle freshman persona at all.

He was standing his ground, making it clear he wasn’t interested in being the center of campus gossip.

Guess even the quiet ones can bite back.

The sophomore quickly realized he’d said something wrong and hurried off.

He mumbled an apology and disappeared, leaving a trail of awkwardness in his wake. Good riddance.

He was gone, but the awkwardness lingered, even with Mason’s comfort.

I tried to shake it off, but the encounter had thrown me. I fiddled with my napkin, wishing I could rewind the last five minutes.

So I forced a laugh: "If I don’t show up more, people are gonna forget I exist."

I forced a smile, hoping it looked more genuine than it felt.

Mason answered seriously.

"No, I remember you. I’ll always remember you."

His words were soft, but they landed heavy. For a second, I forgot about everyone else.

Now, I felt like Mason was the innocent freshman again.

His sincerity was disarming. I found myself relaxing, just a little. I let myself breathe.

After that first meetup, Mason often invited me to eat together. Because of that incident, I was still a bit awkward and refused several times.

Every time he messaged, I hesitated. I didn’t want more rumors swirling, but I also missed talking to him. Torn.

One day, he said he’d found a Cajun place and asked if I wanted to go.

I couldn’t refuse again, so now I was sitting in the Cajun restaurant with him.

The place was cozy, the kind of spot with red-checkered tablecloths and the smell of spices in the air. I tried to focus on the food, but my nerves wouldn’t let me relax. The smell of spice was everywhere.

"Last time we talked about The Daily Show. Besides that kind of show, which others do you like?" The silence was unbearable, so I started a topic.

I hoped it would break the ice. Maybe we could get back to the easy flow we had online. I missed that.

But Mason kept looking at his phone, very focused, and didn’t hear me.

He scrolled, typed, scrolled again. I tried not to take it personally.

Only when I repeated the question did he finally answer.

He stammered, "I like… most of them, I like."

His answer felt off, like he was searching for the right thing to say.

What kind of answer was that?

Before I could ask more, Mason looked at his phone again, saying he was replying to a message, then turned away.

Was he not interested in what I was saying?

I wanted to observe him, but accidentally saw he was searching on Google.

There was a mirror behind him, reflecting his phone screen. Of course there was.

I could just barely make out the title:

[Shows similar to The Daily Show]

I felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over me.

Mason didn’t actually like these.

So, today he kept looking at his phone, making things up on the spot.

Even though I didn’t mean to see it, I still felt like I’d invaded his privacy. Guilt hit me.

At that moment, our dishes arrived. Facing the bright red hot sauce, he frowned. He looked miserable.

I didn’t know why at the time, until during the meal, someone recognized him—a girl—who saw what he was eating and was very surprised.

"Mason, don’t you hate spicy food? Why didn’t you tell your girlfriend?"

"And Autumn, that’s not right. Mason doesn’t like spicy food, likes basketball, doesn’t like talk shows—I know all this."

She said it loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear. I wanted to melt into the floor. Thanks for that.

Wow, she’d heard everything, and came over to declare war.

Unfortunately, I chickened out.

Now I could tell, Mason was accommodating me, but he wasn’t actually interested in these things. And I really didn’t know him well. I barely knew him.

I remembered what the sophomore said—why was Mason with me?

To outsiders, we didn’t match. Maybe they’re right.

Out of an inferiority complex, I quickly explained to the girl, "Misunderstanding, I’m not Mason’s girlfriend, just his senior."

I tried to sound casual, but my voice wobbled a little. I hated how nervous I sounded.

Then to Mason, "So you can’t eat spicy food? You should have said, let’s order something else."

I quickly ordered a new dish. Damage control.

Mason kept his head down—I didn’t know what he was thinking.

He suddenly said, "Actually, I can get used to spicy food. Like last time, I just endured it."

His words hit me right in the heart. He really didn’t need to do this. It hurt to watch.

After thinking it over, I decided not to hurt Mason.

Let him be himself.

So when the new dish arrived and he tried to serve me, I quickly served him a big piece of fish.

I tried to joke: "Fish is good for your brain—helps with studying, you know."

Mason looked at me blankly, then looked down at the fish in his bowl.

He nodded and put the fish in his mouth.

I could avoid him for a day, but not forever.