Bella's hands were shaking.
She looked around.
Students were everywhere. Some were reviewing notes, flipping through flashcards, whispering formulas to themselves. Others were chatting, heads bent together, laughing at something on someone's phone. A girl two rows over was braiding her friend's hair, her fingers moving quickly and deftly. A boy near the window was staring out at the campus, his expression distant, maybe nervous, maybe bored.
Bella watched them, fascinated.
This was what she had missed. This was what she had never had. The nervous energy before an exam, the quiet camaraderie, the shared experience of being young and scared and hopeful all at once.
She had studied alone, in her room, with no one to compare notes with, no one to whisper good luck, no one to hold her hand when she was scared.
A boy in the row behind her dropped his pencil, and it rolled under her desk. She bent down, picked it up, and handed it back to him.
"Thanks," he whispered, his ears red.
