Part one, through Dean's perspective. Mia's perspective coming soon! Please let me know what you think! Brutal honesty is much appreciated! Xoxox
*****
I grab the first things that my hands touch, knowing that no matter what it was it would be fine. Khakis and something. Today: a light blue button up.
Whatever.
My backpack is too heavy, the morning air is too cold, and my coffee is too hot. What a way to start the morning. Every. Single. Morning.
The campus is teeming with people, like it will be for the rest of the week. I don't bother to return the polite nods and friendly smiles offered to me. The chances that I will ever cross their paths, or ever see them again are slim. After this week they will figure out the exact amount of time that it takes to get from wherever they sleep to their first class, and time it out so that they get there just as the professor begins to speak. I pass a group of too eager freshman girls. They're all completely decked out in matching university gear. Their smiles are too bright, their giggles too loud, and I am just as chipper as ever.
My "friends" are at the fountain as per usual. I'm surprised that Chris's ass print isn't permanently engraved into the stone. Senior year, and the group still gathers in the same spot every morning, as if we are still in high school- not a group of 22 to 23 year olds.
Seth and Chris flash their cheeky grins as I take my spot on the bench opposite them. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it's still warm from last semester.
Ashley breaks out her megawatt smile and bats her eyes as if she's got a lash in one of them and she's desperate to get it out. If I weren't so use to it already I would find it annoying. We went out a couple of times sophomore year, and for some reason she continues to harbor a prepubescent crush on me. I'd tell her to piss off if turning a blind eye to it didn't mean free blowjobs whenever I pleased.
"Ready for this year, man?" Seth is about as eager as the freshman girls from earlier.
"Ready to get this shit over with," I grunt.
They all laugh and Ashley leans into me and lightly caresses my upper arm. I don't know why they're laughing. I haven't made a joke.
Ashley leans into me farther, "you're going to the back to school party at Chris's tonight, aren't you, Goes?"
Why do they always assume that I have nothing better to do with my time? I mean, I don't. But they shouldn't just assume that, "aren't we a little old to be celebrating coming back to this shit hole?"
They start to laugh again, and this time I've obviously missed what was so funny.
Too soon, it's time to make our way to our first classes. It's the first time that their schedules aren't identical. They're all rather co-dependant. If they weren't a group of such genuinely great people, I'd find them ridiculous. But, they've always put up with my shit, so it's only fair that I put up with theirs...
* * *
A sea of freshman flood into the room. Soon enough they'll learn to navigate the campus quickly enough to get to class on time. But it's only the first day. And I'm sure their previous classes were on the opposite side of campus. Some look eager. Some hold a look of complete despair. A few hold a similar look as my own- disinterest. Currently, I'm kicking myself for waiting until now to get my gen eds taken care of. Most kids get them knocked out the first couple semesters while they figure out what they'll major in. Lucky for me, I've already had my major decided for ten years. The second I picked up my first camera, I knew. Photography was my destined path. My face has been hidden behind a camera ever since.
Now it's senior year, and all of my pleasant photography classes have already been taken and passed. I could do yearbook or newspaper. But I don't exactly like to be told what to shoot.
So here I am. Two semesters from freedom. Algebra 210. Advanced algebra. The only people who take this class are high school brainiacs who think they're too good for entry level algebra, and future accountants.
And me.
Because my counselor refused to have mercy on my soul.
Class starts, and I'm beyond grateful that this is the type of professor that turns the lights down and lectures all period. The low hum of voices quiets to silence. Professor James is old. His voice is low and slow, like the guy from the Visine commercials. It's syllabus day. Which means my attention is not required. I watch in amusement for a few moments while the freshies furiously take notes- over the fucking syllabus- before leaning into my hand and zoning out.
I'm just about to fall asleep into my palm when the the door slowly creaks open. Nobody seems to notice, but the figure in the doorway has every ounce of my attention.
Blue hair. Neon blue green waves of hair rolling down petite shoulders, accentuating her small frame. She's not a freshman. She can't be. At risk of sounding cliché as hell, I find myself legitimately struggling to breath. She's stolen my breath. Even in the dim room, the flush on her cheeks is obvious as she ducks her head and rushes to the only open seat in the large room. Lucky me, it's across the aisle and down one row.
I stare uninhibited as she rummages through her backpack to pull out her materials. I laugh silently as I realize that she's wearing red plaid sleep pants. Her black tee shirt is torn at the bottom, and her white chucks aren't hardly white anymore. It's all I can see without being too obvious. When she straightens up in her seat I focus my eyes on my blank notebook page in front of me.
What was that?
When do I ogle a girl? Very much not my style.
I quickly shake it off and try my hardest to find interest in what Professor James is rambling on about. Plagiarism. Ha. Well, they are freshman.
Too slowly, 3:45 rolls around. I'm last out the door because I value my personal space. I'd prefer to not know the aroma of a sea of freshies.
I shove my pen into my back pocket and stack my sole notebook and textbooks into my arm without looking up. I'm at the bottom step when suddenly I'm on the ground, in a mess of limbs. I'm about to rip into whoever thought it was a bright idea to come to a stand still on the bottom step when I look up, and my breath is gone again.
Her eyes are the exact color as her hair. They're beautiful. My eyes move down to her lips, and I realize that they're moving.
Shit, she's talking to me. Not talking, yelling, "hello! Are you deaf!? Get the hell off of me!!"
I feel the blood rush to my face as I scramble to my feet. I extend my hand to her, but she ignores it and gets to her feet. She gives me a look that I'm surprised doesn't kill me as she returns to the floor to collect the contents of her backpack.
I mumble an apology as I join her to gather my books. I try to help her pick up the mess of papers. Her head snaps up and she narrows her large eyes at me, "it's fine."
Her words are venom. But there's something in her soft, feminine features that keeps me from taking her anger all that seriously.
When we're back on our feet I speak up, "I really am sorry. I wasn't paying attention."
The furrow between her brows relaxes slightly, "you don't say? I thought that was just your way of saying 'hello'," she looks down and shakes her head at herself, " It's just not my day."
