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“Some people have only taken criminal science as an elective,” Professor Richards continues.
I feel myself being targeted when she says this and turn my attention back to her.
“Others as a required subject. Regardless, I’m counting on you to push yourself throughout the semester. The key to success is knowledge, young people. And money, but that’s another topic.”
A few laughs come out as she purses her crimson lips. Then she sits on the corner of her desk, with hundreds of students looking on.
“Over the semester, you will have several assignments to complete. Criminal science is an exciting but complex subject. You will be required to complete several group assignments in addition to final exams. If you don’t feel you can handle the workload, you should withdraw today.”
A guy in the front rows makes a comment that I can’t hear from my seat. But Professor Richards seems to hear it because she tilts her head to the side with a sigh.
“Let me be clear with you, we don’t pair or trio based on each other’s looks. So, no, young man, you are not going to choose your partner based on the size of her breasts. And girls will not choose a male partner based on the size of their penis, but on their brain. Although some of them seem to lack one.”
More laughter erupts, and a little smile comes over my face. Well, she doesn’t look so evil. What a woman! I have a feeling that this class is going to be…exciting.
I keep feeling my neighbor’s gaze on me, but I ignore him blatantly.
After a few minutes, the girl sitting on his other side quietly calls out to him, diverting his attention to the rest of the class.
In the late afternoon, I walk out of my cognitive psychology class, lost in my thoughts. It was a trying day. I am exhausted, and my only desire is to dive into bed and stay there until tomorrow morning. Looking like a normal person, like a normal student, is more complicated than I thought. It’s been two weeks since I arrived in Denver, completely on my own, but I don’t regret my decision to leave Portland. I needed it.
No one really understood my desire to leave, to put distance between me and my past. The truth is, I couldn’t stay there. I tried for months, but I couldn’t do it anymore. I had an all-consuming need to get away and rebuild somewhere else.
Denver is a big city—and that’s an understatement—with about three million people. Thousands of students, all of whom are still unknown to me, as is their city. But it’s thousands of miles away from Portland, from my old life, and that helps me feel a little lighter, as if the weight of reality isn’t so strong here.
I wonder what my sister is doing right now. Living with our aunt is hard for her. I know she would rather be with me, but I wasn’t able to get custody of her after our parents died. So maybe I should have stayed in Portland and tried to see her when I could. But I couldn’t stay in that city that reminded me of so many bad things. Not after all this. Not right now.
I hear screams that seem to be coming from a giant speaker and see out on the quad about fifteen female students who are apparently protesting. I stop to watch, as do several other people, one of them starting to film.
I squint and read one of the signs carried by a tall blonde:
We will not let a destroyer of womanhood
lead us.
I laugh softly as I discover another sign. I finally understand who the students are talking about.
My body, my choice.
I can only agree with them. I raise an eyebrow as two girls take off their shirts. One is in a bra while the other is completely topless.
The first girl, the one who leads the way, screams insanity. Her long black hair shines in the sun, and she throws it over her shoulder, clearing her face. That’s when I recognize her. It’s the girl who was sitting next to the asshole during this morning’s class.
She passes by me and stops when she sees my little smile when I discover that she has a penis drawn on her forehead with a white marker.
“Does my drawing displease you?” she asks me while straightening her head, fixing me with her dark eyes.
I raise my hands as a sign of peace, but I can’t help but stare at the fake penis.
“You have my full support,” I tell her with an air of encouragement.
This seems to be the right answer because she winks at me and leans in. “I think so too. Even though my boyfriend will probably dump me when he finds out. But you know what they say, ‘There are plenty more fish in the sea.’”
I pretend to think while putting my index finger on the bottom of my chin. “Personally, I’ve never seen those fishes come in and say, ‘Hello, sweetheart, we’re the fishes of the saying,’” I reply.
The girl laughs softly while revealing a whole row of teeth and seems to analyze me from top to bottom as if she’s evaluating me. After a few seconds, she offers me a hand, “You’re a funny one. I’m Yeleen.”
“Iris,” I answer politely.
