Scene: Hillside cafe
Nestled into a window nook inside the crowded Hillside Cafe, she stands facing an older, silver-haired man–presumably, her father, visiting campus for a few days–and a female classmate, the three of them chatting amicably amidst the lunching students and faculty. The gray light of the rainy scene outside illuminates her face and bounces off her straight, shiny brown hair, pulled back from her face with a black clip. The silvery hoop earrings she wears, partially hidden by her long mane, glint in the light as she turns her head. As she chats, the assorted bangles and bracelets stacked on her wrist jingle noticeably; she talks with her hands. Stopping to listen, one drops down to tug idly at the straw of the nearly empty venti-size Starbucks cup she holds, stirring the ice at the bottom. In a soft knitted gray top and dark wash denim, her attire is perfectly suited for the day, accessorized with a bright navy rain jacket and cognac leather belt, which corresponds perfectly to the soft brown hue of her tote bag. As her friend rises from her chair at the high-top table to offer it to her, she beams, her bright white smile bidding a cheerful farewell.
Scene: Patio outside Maloney Hall
It’s the first 70-degree day of spring at Boston College, and the entire campus community has emerged from winter hibernation, scattering themselves across every green space and patio available. She and her friends have managed to snag one of the sought-after tables at the foot of the Million Dollar Stairs, taking advantage of an afternoon break from classes to work on some Statistics homework. Wearing a lilac v-neck t-shirt and black skinny jeans with grey quilted slip-on sneakers, she leans over the tabletop, her eyes darting back and forth from her worksheet to her calculator as her friends chatter about probability and intervals. A piece of her golden hair falls out of the hastily tied bun at the nape of her neck, and she shoves it back behind her ear, biting her lip as she concentrates on the problem in front of her. Without looking, she reaches into the black North Face backpack resting against her calf to rummage around for a certain notebook. She continues flipping through the pages of her coursepack, until another friend walks over to say hello. She looks up quickly, squinting into the sunlight, her concentration broken by a grin across her face as she greets her friend.
Scene: Backyard Mod quad
In a classic display of college life, he and his friends are congregated in the backyard of their friend’s Mod, enjoying the sunshine with some beers and putting of golf balls–presumably, to practice for the senior tournament coming up in a few weeks. He wears a faded turquoise t-shirt, adorned with a front-and-back logo of “The Grey Lady,” a relic of summers spent on Nantucket with his family. The rest of his aesthetic is decidedly not Nantucket, his denim and posture slouchy, and his floppy halo of curly brown hair nearly covering his wayfarer-covered eyes. He’s overdue for a shave, with a five o’clock shadow across his cheeks and chin. Just below his jeans–pegged at the ankles–he sports vintage-inspired high-top black Vans, currently being covered with dust from the not-so-grassy lawn. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he observes a friend hitting the golf ball, standing with one leg crossed over the other. He moves to take the club from his friend and have a go at it himself, after inspecting the club and pausing to take a sip of something out of a red solo cup that he had left sitting on the patio picnic table. Swinging gently, he watches as the ball rolls diagonally away from his target, and curses under his breath. He’s not upset for long, however; he smiles at his posse and reaches into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes, gingerly retrieving one and placing it between his lips, waiting for a light.