I opened the door to the student union, immediately unleashing a torrent of joking and laughing voices. A fleet of melamine tables filled the tall rotunda, with rows of food stalls lining the walls. A winding, spiral staircase traced the edge of the seating area. I hurried past all the noise and activity of the dining hall and headed for the stairs. The weight of my crochet bag dug into my shoulder with every step, but I was almost there. I made a mental note to work out more, or well, at all really. Yarn should not be this heavy. Maybe Caleb would like it if I worked out more. Maybe he’d come with me to the gym and I could see him all sweaty and strong and . . . I bumped into the handrail of the stairs. Shaking my head, I returned my attention to walking. I wouldn’t even know what to do at a gym anyway, besides pick things up and put them back down. 

As I climbed the stairs, I pulled out my phone. I couldn’t wait any longer to text Caitlyn. I had to talk to someone about last night. Even though I hadn’t slept much, I still felt positively exuberant this morning. “Girl, we have to talk about last night. It went so so so well.” I sent the message off into space on its journey to Southern Spain. Then I quickly followed it up with the little spiral eyes emoji and the one with the playful wink. I knew she probably wouldn’t respond for a while, but I still had to tell someone. 

The soaring heights of the atrium gave way to a series of corridors on the upper level. I knew the way to the craft room by heart at this point. The familiar circle of desks greeted me as I entered. A few of the other girls gave polite nods or waves as I entered. We weren’t the most social bunch. Some of them knew each other from before, but we mostly just exchanged pleasantries and crochet tips. That was fine with me. I had to hurry today, if I wanted to finish the gift before tonight. 

I rummaged through my crochet bag. Of  course, I had crocheted the bag itself. I extracted a ball of white yarn with black, fuzzy accents, one of my favorites. I only used it for special occasions, like making a beanie for my cute boyfriend. Then I caught myself. Was he really my boyfriend? We’d only seen each other a couple times. I was getting carried away. Calm down. One thing at a time. That one thing was dinner at Caleb’s place tonight, and I wasn’t about to show up empty handed. If I made good time, I should be able to finish before tonight. 

My fingers reached into the bag and found the smooth surface of my wooden yarn bowl. I pulled it free and placed it on the desk in front of me. The round bowl had a perfectly circular rim, except for one edge that dipped down into a spiral opening. I delicately traced the groove. Before last night, I would only have seen it as a yarn feeder. But this morning, I couldn’t help but see the symbol as some hidden message, concealed in plain sight for only the keenest, kinkiest observers. I supposed I was among that secret club now. I wasn’t sure if I should be proud or ashamed of that fact. 

 I took up my crochet hooks and latched the white yarn onto one end of the right one. The familiar feeling of the hooks in my hand soothed my nerves a bit. So I decided to be proud of my newfound knowledge. After all, last night went well, why shouldn’t I feel proud? I faced my fear and had been rewarded with . . . well . . . an experience to say the least. 

Fortunately, my fingers knew the rhythm of this project on their own because my head was elsewhere, still swimming through the dream like fog of trance. That was the right word for it right, trance? I thought so, but couldn’t be sure. The whole thing had dissolved into something of a blur. I formed the yarn into a slipknot and then began single crocheting a chain. That chain would form the beginnings of the hat. I counted the stitches in my mind. One, two, three. Could you go into trance doing this? Had I been hypnotizing myself every time I crocheted for all these years? Maybe. Four, five, six, seven. The steady rhythm soothed me, blocking out my nagging thoughts. Eight, Nine, Ten. My hands were moving automatically, drifting through the calm steady rhythm of hooking, looping and pulling the yarn through. I felt a strange clam settle over me as I lost myself in my work. Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen. My memories of trance came bleeding back into my experience, the calm, the blankness, the smell.

That smell. 

Somehow I recalled it exactly, a heady blend of burnt cedar and vanilla. Just thinking about it, I could almost taste it again. I bit my lip, hungry for that flavor. Fourteen, so strong, fifteen, so intoxicating, sixteen, so arousing. My thighs squeezed together, remembering the bottomless desire that had nearly swallowed me. My legs joined in the rhythm of my counting, twitching and rubbing against myself in time to my mental count. Seventeen, rub, eighteen, squeeze, nineteen twitch. I never imagined hypnosis could bring something like that out of me, such a primal need.  I never thought I even had that inside me, but now I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My phone buzzed against the desk’s hard surface, breaking my train of thought. 

Caitlyn had responded, “That’s my little slut! I guess I should say hypno-slut.”

I set down my chain. “Haha, I wouldn’t go that far,” I typed. Except, I almost had gone that far. I would have gone further if Caleb hadn’t stopped me. I deleted the message and wrote, “I guess that’s me.” But was it really me? I was polite and respectful, not the kind of girl to rip someone’s clothes off just because they smelled nice. 

Right? 

Right? 

I settled on responding with, “You have no idea.” Then returned to my crochet hooks, trying to pick up where I left off. What count had I stopped on? Was it seventeen? No, I thought it was “rub”. I meant Nineteen, just sweet innocent, wholesome nineteen. Not rubbing myself in public under the desk. 

Another buzz. This time she had just sent an emoji of an egg plant and a question mark. Classy as always, Caitlyn. I rolled my eyes before responding, “No, not yet.” Then I quickly added, “Maybe tonight though! I’m going to his place, off campus. He’s making dinner.” 

Another emoji shot back right away, this time just two eyes looking inquisitively to the side. She tacked on, “He’s cooking for you? Yeah it’s definitely tonight.”  

“Don’t jinx it! I’m making him a hat, right now. I need to finish it. Call later?” 

“You know it. I should get back to drinking, I mean studying.” 

I smiled, as I slipped the phone back into my crochet bag. Ok, no more distractions. I had to get stitchin’. Where was I, eighteen? Burning arousal? Tearing Caleb’s clothes off? Stop it! No, it was definitely nineteen.  

I flew through the rest of the chain. It looked like a big fuzzy caterpillar. There was no time to admire my work, though. This caterpillar needed to metamorphosize into a hat. I inserted the glinting, green metal of my hook into the back loop at one end. Then I pierced into the second hole down and ran the length of yarn through both. I repeated the pattern again. Backloop, pull up one loop, yarn over, pull through two. Back loop, pull down one, yarn over, pull through two. I fell back into the steady rhythm of my work, mechanically following the same steps over and over. Maybe this was why I was good at being hypnotized. I could lose myself in a task, following the process, quieting the distracting voices in the back of my head, not thinking at all, just following. Regardless, I fell into my groove. The single line of stitches had grown into a narrow rectangle. I was making good time. I could definitely finish by tonight, so long as I didn’t let myself get distracted again. 

“Excuse me.”

The words bounced off the shield of my concentration. Surely they were directed at someone else. No one ever talked to me. 

“Excuse me?”

Backloop, pull up one loop, yarn over, pull through two. Don’t think about being hypnotized or how hot it was. Back loop, pull down one, yarn over, pull through two.

“You’re Annie, right?” 

I finally looked up, to meet a large pair of spectacles leaning over my desk. The glasses sat before a round, full face, with nervous eyes and an awkward smile. “Yes, that’s me. And you are?” I knew her name. I knew that I knew it. I scanned her appearance for clues. She wore a white tee shirt with a map of the United States and all their state flowers. A rainbow of beaded bracelets wrapped around each of her wrists. I couldn’t recall her name for the life of me.

“I’m Olivia. We met at the start of the year.” 

“Yes! Olivia, of course.” Truthfully I’d been too shy to talk to people much earlier in the year. We’d gone around and introduced ourselves on the first day, but I mostly kept my head down. 

“Could I ask you a question?” she fidgeted with the bracelets on her wrist, turning one of them over and over.  

“Sure. I’ve been crocheting for a while. I can probably help with whatever you need,” I answered. 

“It’s .  . um . . . not about crochet.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “Ok, what’s it about?” 

“Well . . . it’s just, how do I put this?” the other girl stammered.

I glanced back down to my still very un-hat-like caterpillar. “It’s ok, just ask,” I said, trying to give her some reassurance, but also hurry things along. 

“Are you dating Caleb Thompson, the keyboard player for Echo Street?” She blurted out. 

My jaw fell open and flapped soundlessly, before I finally found my words. “Um yes. . . I mean, maybe . . I mean, I think so. But how do you know about that?” 

She sat down at the desk beside me, her bracelets clinking as she did. “It’s on Snickr.” 

“Snickr?” Then I remembered. I never used social media much. My dad had always said it was brain drugs and to stay away from it. While I’d gotten more adventurous about some things, like boys, I mostly listened to my parents.

“It’s a campus gossip app. Someone posted that you guys were talking after class one day and you seemed really worked up,” she said quickly, flustered by my surprise. 

My head spun, trying to put the pieces together. How did people know? We’d only had one real date. Did hypnotized humping count as a date? Maybe one and a half dates. “It’s just. We’re um . . “ I looked down at my unfinished gift. “Not even official yet, is all.” 

“Oh I see. I guess I was just curious about . . .”

“Melisa!” It hit me in a flash and the words escaped before I could think about them. “She was there when I talked to Caleb after psych! It had to be her.” 

Olivia stammered unsure of what to say. 

I shook my head. It wasn’t her fault. “Sorry I cut you off. It’s fine. Just, please finish.”

Olivia swallowed and then spoke, “I guess I was just wondering . . . how did that happen?” 

“What do you mean, how did that happen?” I huffed. My thoughts started to spiral. Was it really so unbelievable that I could be dating Caleb? I knew I wasn’t the most outgoing person, but Caleb seemed like he really liked me. 

Olivia flinched, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“I asked him out. That’s how it happened,” I sat up a little straighter, trying to project confidence. 

“You asked HIM out? I kind of thought you must’ve matched on an app or something.”

“I don’t use those much. Was that all you wanted?” 

“I’m sorry if I offended you. I was just surprised is all. I kind of figured you were,” the last words caught in her throat. “Like me.” 

My face softened. 

“It’s just, I’ve always been shy. I can’t imagine just asking out a guy I like. I just sort of wait for them to make a move. You’re really brave.”

I set down my hooks and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not that brave. All I did was send one little text.” I conveniently neglected to mention that I’d needed a pep talk from a stuffed animal to work up the nerve. Olvia didn’t need to know that, nor did anyone. 

Her face flushed. “You make it sound so easy,” her brown eyes drifted down towards the desk. 

“It’s not so hard! If I can do it, you can totally do it,”

Olivia just looked down and shook her head, sending her straight, black hair swinging from side to side. 

She needed more. “You’re right. I am like you. It wasn’t easy for me to put myself out there. I was terrified he’d never talk to me again. I thought he’d laugh in my face, but he was super sweet. I was worried for nothing.” Somehow those words caught up to my brain at the same time they left my mouth. I had been worried for nothing. Maybe I worried too much. 

“If I texted a boy I liked, I think I’d have to lock my phone in a safe to not check it constantly,” she sighed. 

“Then do that. Do whatever works for you!”

The hug was sudden. Her arms wrapped around me with a gentle warmth. “Thanks Annie, you’re the best.” 

Slowly, I returned the hug. I could feel the thumping of her heartbeat. Part of me felt like an imposter. I wasn’t some brave inspiration. I was just a girl who felt like I was running out of time, but that didn’t matter to Olivia. “Tell you what, why don’t we go out some time? I can be like your wing woman.” 

Her eyes widened. “You would do that for me? You barely know me.” 

“I feel like I know you pretty well. But be careful what you wish for, you’ll have so many guys chasing you, you’ll have to beat them off with a stick,” I said trying to lift her spirits. 

“That sounds like a great problem to have.” She paused, as if turning words over in her mouth. “But I don’t know if I want to beat them off,” she said before breaking into laughter. 

I laughed too. “Well, that’s up to you, but I really do need to finish this,” I said, gesturing to my beginnings of a beanie. We exchanged numbers after that. I couldn’t help but see the time as we did. Between Caitlyn and Olivia and my own . . .  distractions, the club session had been less than productive. I’d have to get to class soon. 

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I could barely concentrate on my classes. In the big lectures, I even dared to pull out my crochet and keep working, while the professor rambled on about stats or whatever. Still, I couldn’t finish it. The little strand of yarn had grown into a whole rectangle, but not a finished product. I only stopped to get ready for our date. I was NOT about to show up to two dates in a row without properly getting ready.  

I picked back up working on it in the uber to Caleb’s place. It was so close. I held it up to my head in the back seat, wrapping it around my freshly straightened hair. It was a little big for me, which meant it was likely perfect for him, but the map on my phone reminded me that time had run out. The tiny digital car closed in on the tiny digital circle with relentless haste. I would never finish it before we arrived. With a weary sigh, I packed the rectangle away in my purse. 

The car finally came to a stop. I stepped out, looked down at my phone, looked back up at the house, back down at the phone, back up. There had to be a mistake. I expected an apartment building, or a small shotgun house. But instead a charming one story facade greeted me with a bay window and a warm brick exterior. Caleb lived here?