Page 1 of Cabin Mate

Brooks

Freshman Orientation MIT

Walking across the MIT campus, I can barely contain the grin on my face. Year after year, I’ve watched all three of my older siblings go off to college and pave their way to success. And now it’s finally my turn.

I’ll get to prove my intelligence, while also enjoying some independence—my mother’s love can feel smothering sometimes.

My siblings warned me my first day would be nerve-racking. I huff out a laugh at the thought. I can’t remember a time I’ve ever felt nervous.

A tall, blonde girl walking in the opposite direction must’ve heard me laugh and stops in her tracks. If her scowl is any indication, she clearly thinks my laughter was directed at her.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” I tell her, hoping to smooth things over.

The girl opens her mouth to say something, but closes it again as she takes me in, shamelessly looking me up and down. She bites her bottom lip, her expression changing from a scowl to appreciation… She likes what she sees.

Unfortunately, tall blondes aren’t my thing. Probably because they remind me too much of my sister.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, taking a few steps towards me from the opposite side of the path. A coy smile plays on her lips. “You look like you know your way around campus. Any idea where I can find the software engineering building?”

This happens to me a lot. People mistake my confidence for being older and more knowledgeable than I really am. Or sometimes I’m approached, usually by women, just because I’m the best-looking guy in the room.

Did I ever ask for all the attention? No.

Do I take advantage of it? Absolutely.

I can’t help it I hit the genetic jackpot.

I give the girl a friendly smile and a one-shoulder shrug. “Sorry, this is my first day. Heading to freshman orientation.”

Her eyebrows raise just enough to confirm she’s likely a senior and thought I was too. She never needed directions.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, sorry! Have a great first day.”

I continue walking, not bothering to look over my shoulder at her. If only my older brothers could see me now … It’s only the first day of school and chicks are already pursuing me.

I’m not in Kansas anymore, though (no Wizard of Oz puns intended). I’m sure college will be different. Maybe a few less girls will throw themselves at me than usual. Which is fine by me. I have school to focus on, even though school has always come easily to me as well. After all, I got into MIT because on top of being a handsome trust fund kid … I’m also brilliant.

Like I said: genetic jackpot.

When the orientation building comes into view, I admire the modern, sleek design. The MIT campus is only a few miles from Harvard, and the contrast between the two is almost comical. Harvard with its classical New England charm, and MIT with its modern, minimalistic, white structures; it’s like traveling through time when you drive down Massachusetts Avenue.

Fifteen minutes after leaving my dorm, I arrive at the building my orientation is in—thanks to the handy map I received when I moved in. Once inside, I see the lecture hall is set up in the traditional concert-style setting, with rows of seating starting at the doors and stairs leading downward to more rows. The orientation director, I’m guessing she’s around fifty based on her cardigan and slightly grey hair, stands at the bottom of the room in front of a large dry erase board. Unlike most lecture halls, this room isn't dark. Instead, it is clean and white, with large windows lining one side. The natural light feels vibrant and energizing.

Most of the students are already here, with a few more trickling in. Glancing down at my watch, I smirk to myself. I’m one minute early. Just enough to look like a good student, but without seeming desperate to impress the professor like the rest of these early birds.

Looking around, I see an empty seat next to a dark-haired girl. All I can see is the back of her head, but her thick hair hangs down her back in loose curls and there’s a scarf tied around her head like a headband. The scarf has a sparrow pattern all over it.

I walk toward her and clear my throat. “Is this seat taken?”

Her head swivels and she glances up at me with the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Not the same bright blue as mine and my siblings’, but darker and more enchanting. Her cheeks and lips are pink and they stand out against her pale skin.

Her white sweater has delicate pearl buttons, and she’s paired it with a silky black skirt that probably goes to her calves, but it’s hard to tell when she’s seated. She has that coastal grandma vibe that screams old money. There’s nothing about her that would make the average person realize she comes from money except for the tasteful diamond stud earrings in her ears. But wealth recognizes wealth.

She’s like Massachusetts Avenue: a mixture of old and new. Modern and antique. And she’s pretty. Really pretty.

Her smile is genuinely kind as she says, “Nope! Go ahead and sit down.”

I take a seat and hold my hand out to shake hers. “Brooks Windell.”