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His words sound like a command. He doesn’t say anything else, as if those simple words are supposed to make me move. I raise my eyebrows and turn to the guy.
His place?
My eyes fall first on a strong forearm resting on the edge of the door, then I raise my head and, when my gaze finds his, I frown. I had never met a man with different colored eyes before.
Sure, I’ve seen them in pictures, but I have to say that his blue eye on one side and blue with brown on the other are quite unsettling.
His red and white baseball cap hides his dark hair. I don’t look at him any further and take a step in his direction.
“Does it say ‘Public Danger’ on it?” I reply, pretending to look at the ground behind my car as if I were looking for a name. “No, it doesn’t say that, so I don’t think it’s your spot.”
“It doesn’t say ‘Special Bitch’ either,” he retorts. He frowns, his mouth puckering in the middle of his three-day beard. A few hours ago, I would have called him handsome, but now I’m not thinking about that at all.
“If you don’t want to move your truck, that’s your problem,” I continue as he stays behind my car. Don’t complain when it’s ripped off later.
His place? Seriously? What a jerk.
I don’t wait for a second and walk away to get to class.
2. Watch Out for Wolves
Iris
OK, B4. Where the hell is B4?! Can’t they put up a sign, like in Portland?
Three times I walk down that same hallway and no lecture theatre in sight. I glance at my phone screen. Eight fifty-seven. I have three minutes to get there on time.
A student busy with his phone conversation passes by me, talking loudly and gesturing wildly.
“Hey!” I call out to him tactlessly. “Do you know where is the room B4?”
He looks me up and down, pulling the phone away from his ear. One of his blond eyebrows goes up as he answers me, “Sorry, my name is not Michael Scofield. I don’t have a map tattooed on my skin.”
Who is this jerk?
In front of my confusion, he sighs with a theatrical air and resumes while clicking his tongue.
“You know, from Prison Break? Where on earth are you from?”
I squint my eyes. “Do I look like I want to talk about a show? The classroom?” I ask again, restraining myself from insulting him.
The student sighs again.
“Next intersection, turn right.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, walking away as he resumes his conversation as if nothing had happened.
Well, you can’t say that the students here seem friendly! But I finally find my happiness when I arrive at the door of the lecture hall. I catch my breath and push back a lock of my short hair so as not to look like a half-dead asthmatic.
The room is a huge amphitheater, completely full. Shit. It’s a good thing the teacher hasn’t arrived yet. I notice two empty seats in the middle of the lecture hall. Weird. Some students are sitting right on the steps but leave those seats free? Maybe the seats are broken?
“Excuse me,” I whisper, making the students in the row stand up and move to one of the seats.
Despite my apologetic smile, a student glares at me when I step on his foot.
Miraculously, I end up arriving at my destination without killing anyone. I fall on a chair and grimace when I feel the wood hit my buttocks with full force. Well, it’s in good condition but comfort-wise, not so good. Then again, the lecture halls at the University of Portland are not much better. I won’t miss Oregon for that.
Two people in the row in front of me turn around and stare at me.
