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Huddling in the bathroom stall, I allow myself ten minutes of self-pity, releasing tears until I can regain my breath. Then I pull myself together once more. I can’t afford to miss my next class over what happened with Nicolo. I need to find my resilience and push through if I’m going to take advantage of this opportunity Rosehill College has afforded me.
When I step out of the bathroom stall and approach the mirror above the sink, I’m glad I’m alone. My face is a mess, despite being free of makeup. My tears have left my cheek splotchy, and the tip of my nose is an angry red. Turning on the cold water, I wash my face, rinsing away my salty tears and cooling my flaming skin. I dry off with paper towels and fix my hair, pulling it back into a French braid that will keep it off my face once more.
I then turn to my leggings, which are stained with dark coffee splotches and oil from my salad dressing. I do the best I can to blot away the worst of it, using paper towels and water to help lift the stains, but I’ll need to work on them more when I get home. I can’t afford to simply replace my leggings if I can help it. At least I have a few other pairs, though these were my best ones.
My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten, but I won’t have time to stand in line for a salad again. Instead, I head to the expedited pre-packaged food fridge, grab a fruit bowl and bottle of water, then add it to my meal plan. Clutching my meal to my chest, I head outside to enjoy my food in peace and quiet. Finding an empty bench, I sit and eat, soaking up the summer day as I think about my encounter with Nicolo.
He’s just as cruel as I remember him being, if not more so, and I wonder what could have possibly turned him into such a mean person. Maybe it’s his excessive life of privilege. Though I bet it has more to do with his father being a prominent mafia figure.How can anyone turn into a decent human being when their way of life revolves around taking advantage of other people’s weakness and misfortune?He didn’t even allow me the time to feel bad for spilling hot coffee on him, which I know from the angry red splotches on the back of my hands must have hurt him as much as me.
I finish my meal with just enough time to make my way to class, and I head into the new gray stone building, rushing upstairs to find the right room. This is one of the few remaining core classes I’ll need to finish to complete my degree. For the most part, I was able to get them done during my time at community college, but not this history class.
The room is almost full, and I rush to find an open chair in the theater-style raised seating. Slipping into my chair, I tuck my bag beneath my seat and pull out a notebook just as the professor enters the room.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” someone says coldly behind me as I sit up straight.
Once again, the hair raises on the back of my neck, and I slowly turn to find Nicolo sitting a row behind me and a few seats to my right. My stomach drops as I realize he must be talking about me. His eyes are locked on mine, and his lip curls in utter disgust as he scoffs at me.
“What?” his blond friend with a clean-shaven face asks quietly beside him as the teacher starts to speak.
Nicolo jerks his chin in my direction, and when his friend glances my way, fresh mortification heats my cheeks. The friend snickers and I turn to face the front of the room, willing them to ignore me now that class has begun.
I can barely focus as the teacher introduces herself, writing her name on the board before handing a stack of syllabi to the nearest student seated in the front row. When the stack of papers reaches me, I take one and pass them down, turning to read what’s before me, focusing studiously on what the professor will expect rather than the handsome jerk behind me.
As Professor Kennedy reviews the class expectations in depth, whispered hisses issue from where Nicolo sits. I keep my eyes focused forward adamantly, doing my best to ignore what I’m sure he only intends to be a further insult to injury.
Something thunks lightly against the back of my head, and I catch sight of a crumpled piece of paper tumbling to the floor in my periphery. I can’t put him off any longer. Turning stiffly in my seat, I meet Nicolo’s playful eyes once again, and he smiles cockily.
“Hey, New Girl, did someone forget to tell you that we don’t let trailer trash into this university?” he whispers.
I glare at him, tired of the way he finds amusement in hurting me. “Then someone must have missed the memo when they sent you an admittance letter,” I snap back, keeping my tone low so as not to draw attention from the front of the room.
“Oh, shit, Nico! New Girl’s got claws!” Nicolo’s blond friend says behind his fist as he chuckles.
Nicolo backhands his friend’s shoulder, shutting him up with a cold look.
“You think you’re funny, klutz?” Nicolo demands, turning his attention back to me.
I shrug and turn to face our professor once again. The silence that follows behind me feels more ominous than any form of relief. My muscles tense as I wait for the next attack, sure that Nicolo’s not done with me.
The pen that hits my head a moment later, point directed at me, makes me jerk forward unexpectedly.Ow.I try not to show my pain, though I can’t stop my hand from reaching up to find the tender point of contact and cover it defensively. Someone snickers, and I grind my teeth as I regain my composure, refusing to glance back and give Nicolo the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me.
“Psst, New Girl.”
Another object flies past my ear, making me flinch.
“What?” I hiss, whirling to stare him down as fiercely as I can.
“Who’d you have to sleep with to get into the university? You clearly couldn’t afford the tuition otherwise. Haven’t you noticed you don’t belong?”
“Is there a problem?” Professor Kennedy asks, her voice raising to carry more authority as it travels to the back of the room.
I turn to find her eyes on me, watching me with pursed lips that give her a bespectacled face and an angry librarian look.
“No, ma’am,” I whisper to a round of snickers behind me. “Sorry.”
“Eyes up front,” she says dryly in response, no doubt thinking I must be mooning over Nicolo or something.
I’m going to have to get more intentional about when I get to this class and where I sit. The back row is looking far more appealing. At least then Nicolo wouldn’t be able to launch missiles my way.
