A New City

There were a lot of people here.

That was probably the first intelligent observation I made after moving to the city.

People walking.

People talking.

Cars honking.

Music coming from somewhere I couldn’t see.

Everywhere I looked, something was happening.

A couple hurried across the street before the light changed. A delivery truck blocked half an intersection while some guy leaned on his horn like that was somehow going to make it disappear. Two students carrying coffees walked past me, arguing about something involving a roommate and a missing pair of shoes.

Then there was me.

Standing on the sidewalk with my hands shoved into the pockets of my hoodie, staring up at buildings that seemed way too tall.

I wasn’t used to this.

Back home, you could drive ten minutes and find yourself surrounded by absolutely nothing.

Here?

Ten minutes probably wouldn’t even get you through traffic.

Across the street was a restaurant I’d never heard of. Next to that was a bookstore. Then a coffee shop. Then some little convenience store with a neon sign in the window.

And beyond all of it, farther into the city, I could see the upper floors of the buildings surrounding campus.

My campus.

That still sounded weird.

College.

I was a college student now.

Technically.

Classes hadn’t started yet, so I wasn’t sure if I had officially earned the title.

But I had an apartment.

I had a schedule.

And I had textbooks that had already taken an unreasonable amount of money from me.

That seemed official enough.

I ran a hand through my hair.

It accomplished nothing.

My hair had never really cared what I wanted it to do.

Thick. Shaggy. Dark brown. Long enough in the front that pieces constantly fell over my eyes.

Mom had spent most of my childhood trying to control it.

She lost.

Eventually, everyone just accepted that my hair was going to do whatever it wanted.

I looked toward campus again.

Four years.

That was the part that hadn’t really hit me yet.

Four years in this place.

Four years of classes.

Four years surrounded by people I’d never met.

Four years to figure out what exactly I was supposed to do with the rest of my life.

When you’re a kid, eighteen sounds old.

Adults ask what you want to be when you grow up, and you give them some answer because you’re supposed to.

Professional athlete.

Doctor.

Astronaut.

Firefighter.

Whatever sounded cool that week.

Then somehow eighteen actually arrives, and everybody starts asking the same question again.

Except now they expect a real answer.

I didn’t have one.

Not really.

I had ideas.

Plans.

Things I wanted to accomplish.

But standing there, surrounded by thousands of people who all seemed to have somewhere to be, I suddenly felt very aware of how little I actually knew.

New city.

New school.

New people.

New life.

Maybe that was exciting.

Maybe it was terrifying.

Probably both.

I stared toward the buildings in the distance.

So… what happens now?

“Huh.”

A familiar voice came from behind me.

“I didn’t realize a bear escaped from the local zoo.”

…

Never mind.

I knew that voice.

I turned around.

Blond hair.

Slightly spiked on top in the way it naturally fell, no matter how little effort he put into it.

A backpack hanging over one shoulder.

And the same smug expression I’d been looking at for most of my life.

Mikhail Volkov.

Although calling him Mikhail was a pretty good way to make him wonder whether he’d done something wrong.

To everyone else, he was Mishka.

To me?

He was a pain in the neck.

“You’re hilarious,” I said.

“I know.”

“You come up with that yourself?”

“Had plenty of time.” Mishka nodded toward the buildings. “You’ve been standing here staring at them for five minutes.”

“I was thinking.”

“That explains the smell.”

I stared at him.

He smiled.

There he was.

Mishka had moved to my hometown from Russia when we were both little.

At the time, he was just the new kid.

Different country.

Different home.

Different school.

He didn’t know many people.

Then, unfortunately for him, he met me.

My nickname came first.

When I was little, my hair was somehow even worse than it was now.

Thick, wild, permanently unkempt.

Apparently, I looked like somebody had taken a baby grizzly bear, put clothes on it, and sent it to elementary school.

Kids started calling me Grizzly.

Then adults did.

Eventually, even my family did.

By the time Mishka met me, I barely thought anything of it.

He thought it was the coolest thing ever.

Naturally, that meant he wanted a bear nickname too.

His mother was the one who solved the problem.

Mishka.

Little bear.

And that was it.

Grizzly and Mishka.

Big Bear and Little Bear.

Two stupid nicknames that somehow followed us all the way from childhood into college.

Mishka stepped beside me and looked toward campus.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Big city.”

“Yep.”

He glanced at me. “You scared?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“You?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

He thought about it.

“Fair.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

That was the thing about Mishka.

We could insult each other for six straight hours and still somehow know exactly what the other was thinking.

We’d been through everything together.

School.

Sports.

Fights.

Girls.

Breakups.

Family problems.

Good years.

Bad years.

Some extremely questionable decisions that were better left undocumented.

There weren’t many memories from my childhood that didn’t have Mishka somewhere in them.

Calling him my best friend didn’t really cover it anymore.

He was my brother.

Not by blood.

But sometimes I wondered how much that actually mattered.

“Your bag’s open,” Mishka said.

I looked down.

A pair of boxers was hanging halfway out of my duffel bag.

I quickly shoved them back inside and zipped it.

“You couldn’t have told me sooner?”

“I just did.”

“How long has it been open?”

He started walking.

“Mishka.”

Nothing.

“Mishka!”

His shoulders started shaking.

“You jerk.”

He burst out laughing.

I grabbed my bag and followed him.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Grizzly.”

Yeah.

My brother.

Unfortunately.

I caught up with him.

The campus waited ahead of us.

Students moved between the buildings in every direction.

Somewhere in there was the beginning of the next four years of our lives.

Mishka glanced over.

“Ready?”

I thought about it.

New city.

New school.

New life.

I smiled.

“Not even a little.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“Because neither am I.”

And together, we walked toward campus.