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“He hates coffee. Why would he be there?” I ask.
“No idea. But only two types of people hate coffee.”
I laugh. “Babies and sociopaths.”
“Fact.”
7
The alarm clock blares its annoying siren at eight thirty. I roll out of bed to shut off the nine-dollar contraption. My vibrating phone starts next, setting off the second backup alarm, two minutes past the first one—right on cue. It is then that I notice a series of text messages. Wow. Three.
Claire: Feel free to borrow anything from my closet for your DATE.
I make the safe assumption that Claire is at the gym, basing my hypothesis on the fact that if she was home, she would just scream me the message upon any indication that I am up. The next message, I could have avoided reading.
Dad: This is dad. Tried your email and it said delivery failed. I need a little help with finances. Got myself in a jam.
I swallow hard at the words splayed across the screen of my cell. Figures. The man doesn’t talk to me for months, except when he needs me to bail him out of trouble. I place the anger that is rising in another box in my brain to rest until I can deal with it in an appropriate manner.
Dominic’s text fills my screen next.
Dominic: A car will be parked outside of your place at seven sharp. ;)
Does anyone sleep in around here? I stretch and head for the shower, leaving the texts hanging in the balance, not responding to any. I have about an hour until I have to leave for the only class of the day—Human Behavior. The two-hour class has a lab component as well, which involves experiments with human guinea pigs. I learned early on in college that the longer you attend, the better the professors get, as well as the classes. Being a senior—again—does have the whole scheduling first advantage.
I dry, brush, dress, and organize myself in under forty minutes. A quick breakfast of a fruit smoothie fits nicely into a travel cup. Claire would be proud—except for the powdered sugar supplement she never needs to know about. Sun beats in from the sliding glass doors leading out to a wooden deck, casting shadows on the walls. It’s going to be a nice day.
Two stacks of mail rest on the island, one for me and one for Claire. She must have organized it sometime this morning. I weed through the fluff to find the signature white envelopes that could only be one thing—bills. There are several addressed to me. I cringe at the numbers and use a tiny calculator to figure the total. I owe $1,458, which needs to be paid within the next ten days. Can I make any more cuts and live comfortably?
Slurping my smoothie, I head out of the house, locking up.
The drive to campus is peaceful, as I allow for time to just think in the silence.
When my car settles into a commuter spot near Newton Hall, I am grateful that the oil light on the dash disappeared on its own volition. Maybe it’s just a fluke, but at least it is one less thing to worry about for the day. I step out, grabbing my bag from the passenger side of the car, and make my way into the building.
My legs carry me into the room, and I find my usual seat in the middle of the auditorium. I don’t know anyone in the class, and it seems late in the game to go out of my way to make study partners or friends. My workload this semester is light, with the exception of meeting Dr. Williams’s top-notch standards. I just need to coast my way to finishing up my degree.
“Hey, Teach,” a masculine voice calls out to me before class starts, causing me to turn in his direction. “Is this seat taken?”
I laugh under my breath because there isn’t and hasn’t been anyone in this row from the start. “It’s all yours.”
“I’m Bryce, by the way,” he says smoothly, drawing in my attention.
I look into the friendly eyes of a fellow classmate who appears to be holding what looks like two iced caramel lattes—my love language. “Angie McFee.” I eye Bryce’s frat hoodie and try to think if I even remember him being in this class. Who knows, maybe he finally decided to show up for the first time. It’s not like I’m very observant these days. Got too many other things on my mind.
“Before you think I have a date with diabetes, one of these is yours. Figured we could all use a little pick-me-up. Plus, I saw you drinking one last class. Just finally got the courage to make a move.”
“Make a move?” I ask stupidly.
He hands me the beverage and an individually wrapped paper straw. As environmentally conscious as Portland is becoming, I wish the cardboard straws wouldn’t dissolve midbeverage. I rate them a three out of five for design.
“Figure sweetening you up will make asking you to be my lab partner on Thursdays easier.”
Adjacent to the room is the laboratory, where all the real fun is to be had.
“What do you say, Teach?”
The nickname is growing on me although I am not sure his motives for calling me by it. I think Bryce is just buttering me up by making me think I am a good teacher so I will share all of my notes with him.
