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My problem is I love to be prepared. Like the psychology paper I crushed out in four hours, anytime there’s a big assignment I just sit down and get it done. No point in wasting time and energy stressing over something that’s easily checked off.
Are hefty assignments a pain in the ass to get done? Of course. Hence the adjective choice. But sitting down and grinding for a few hours makes the rest of your week and weekend so much easier. Sure, I fall into the eager student category but let me put it to you this way: would you rather be nursing a hangover Sunday morning by writing a ten-page essay, or would you rather be watching Netflix and catching up on some ZZ’s? My point exactly.
The obstacle I’m currently stuck on is the balance between training and school. My homework strategy works perfectly until I’ve got a 4pm lacrosse practice that cuts my homework time in half. And then by the time I shower, pack up my equipment, walk back to my dorm, and make some dinner; about three hours has gone by and the thought of sitting back down and finishing the assignment is the last thing on my mind.
My jock and nerd tendencies are clashing against each other, and it feels as though there’s not a thing I can do about it.
Musing this dilemma in my usual seat for psychology, I see Trip enter the auditorium. Her standard ponytail swings softly behind her as the four books shift precariously in her arms.
Without thinking, I push my chair back and holler, “TRIP! OVER HERE!” Not my most subtle approach, but hey, it gets her attention.
Startled, she looks in my direction and I make an impatientget over herehand gesture. I see her eye roll from across the auditorium and I have to bite back a grin as she starts making her way towards my row.
I sit back down in my seat and it’s only then that I realize both chairs on either side of me are full. Looking up and down my row, not a single chair stands empty. The only spots open are the ones I just waved Trip away from. Shit.
I quickly turn to my neighbour, the pretty brunette I befriended during the first psych class, and flash her my most charming smile.
“Serena, my beautiful queen, my unstoppable empress.” I pause, making sure each word has a chance to sink in. “Would you so kindly do me a favour?”
Serena studies my dimples, tilting her head. Target has been hooked.
“I’ll move. For twenty bucks.”
I blink, my brain short-circuiting on how my target became the hustler within seconds. “What happened to good will? Or helping out a friend in need?”
Serena shrugs without a trace of remorse. “I’m fulfilling my duties as an empress. Now, hand me a twenty so I can leave before your girl gets here.” And to think we live in a democracy.
“Tyrant,” I mutter, pulling out my wallet.
Snatching the bill from my hand, Serena throws me a triumphant smile and sashays her way down to the front. I hope today’s lecture is on ethics.
I put my wallet away and stand as Trip finally makes it to the newly emptied seat. Her head barely reaches my shoulders, and she looks up at me with a hesitant smile.
One of the things I like most about Trip is that there’s nothing typical about her. From her misty eyes to her emo style, every aspect of Trip is perfectly unique. We all fall into some stereotype one way or another, but with Trip, she’s an original.
She’s also one of the few people who continues to surprise me. And for someone like me, surprise is… well, surprisingly refreshing.
“Am I allowed to sit down or are we going to stand through today’s class?” Taking a quick glance at today’s t-shirt choice, I note Nirvana was the lucky winner. Classic.
“Mais oui, mademoiselle,” using the worst French accent humanly possible, I pull Trip’s chair out for her with a flourish.
“Why thank you kind French man.” She drops all her books onto the table with a bang and I drop back into my chair. Dropping my voice into a whisper, I make a shushing noise.
“Don’t say that too loudly. The real Francophones will have my head if they hear you praising that accent.”
“They couldn’t handle your head if it was half the size,” she playfully whispers back, and I have to physically restrain myself from taking a sniff of her hair. It’s just shampoo for God’s sake.
“You know, I have been told my size is abnormally large.” My murmur causes a blush to stain her cheeks, but before Trip can formulate a response, Professor Anderson enters the room.
Conversation combat report: mission accomplished.
Silence falls between us as Anderson begins the day’s lecture. The monologue is easy to tune out as I turn to look at the girl beside me.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…
“Quit staring,” Trip whispers through the side of her mouth, refusing to shift her gaze one millimeter from Anderson’s presentation.
“Not until you stop staring at the professor’s goatee.” I watch her teeth grit from my side view.
