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My priorities. The sting of those words burns through my veins because every moment of my adult life has been a struggle in priorities that this man couldn’t even begin to understand.
I swallow down the rage and force out quiet words. “I understand.”
“You’re a great student, Atlas.” He pauses in consideration that feels like a heavy weight pressing in the room. “I’ve already given today’s assignments to my TA, Nathan, for grading. He’s not too far away though. And I think you have enough time.” He pauses and checks his black smartwatch before offering me a kind smile.
Fuck Nathan. He’s a racist pig. I’d rather eat all ten pages of this assignment than have a conversation with that asshole.
Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. I’ll literally do anything not to fail this class.
Even if it means swallowing my pride and facing that prick. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve forced a smile after stinging comments that are forever burned into my mind. I’m too much for some people. With skin that’stoodark, thighs that aretoobig, hair that’stoocurly. I am decidedlytoomuch.
Greatness is like that, my mother once told me when I was a little girl.
And I believed her at the time...
“If you hurry, you can still turn the paper in to him.”
“Hurry where?” My brain whirs as a mental map forms in my mind, and I calculate the distance I’ll have to run even before my professor tells me where. My thighs are going to hate me for each step later, but it’ll be worth it if I pass this class.
“The hockey stadium–”
I’m already turning, a hasty goodbye leaving my lips, and I’m running down the hall before the professor can even finish his sentence.
Two
Atlas
The parking lot is packed, and the front entrance to the arena is even worse. A blaring announcer only adds to the restless excitement of the people waiting in line. The chaotic swarm of noise and people send my skin crawling. I try to breathe through the sensation that I’m drowning in a crowd. My lungs burn from the run, though, and I can’t even get a word out as I step up to the booth. There’s a pretty blonde with her hair in perfect waves behind the counter. She looks at me with an impatient arch to her brow, her attention darting from me to the line of people behind me.
“Ticket?” she asks.
“I–” I try to think of the fastest way to get inside and back out without buying a ticket. Because I have two dollars in my account until Friday and absolutely no charitable attributes that this woman will give a single shit about. “Professor Morrison sent me to turn in an assignment for him to one of the players, Nathan Bolen.”
That’s not entirely untrue. And it’s a great excuse. We can’t let Professor Morrison down, can we? I mean, I already have twice, but we don’t want it to happenagain,right?
“Ticket?” she repeats, her blonde head bobbing to one side.
“I just have to run right in. It’ll take five minutes tops.”
“Ma’am, you can’t go in without a ticket.” she starts to explain, and I feel my stomach twisting. I shouldn’t have stayed late to help Anna at the morgue. She could have dressed Mrs. Johnstone without me, but she almost broke the corpse’s arm off trying to get her into that dress that god knows the woman hadn’t worn in two decades.
I love my job, but my professor’s right: I have priorities. Too many of them. And starting college in my twenties and moving to this chaotic city is more than I can handle after everything that has happened with my mother. Maybe failing my favorite class is a sign.
I don’t belong here.
“Don’t students get free passes or something?” I try again, a note of pathetic desperation in my voice. I know it’s a long shot. I know she’s not going to let me in for free. I may as well write the giant F on my paper right now.
She sighs. “You don’t, but you can get the student discount. Can I see your school ID?”
I probably can’t even afford the measly student discount price, but I say nothing as I dig into my pocket and pull out my school ID, pushing the plastic card her way.
I watch in a few seconds of silence as the girl types something into her computer, staring back and forth between my ID and the screen. After a moment, a ticket prints, and she slides my identification back across the counter to me.
“Alright, it looks like you have free passes for the entire season actually.”
My fingers take the ticket hesitantly while my brain tries to register what she said. When I finally catch up, my eyes nearly bug out of my head. “What do you mean, free passes? How much is that going to cost me?”
This feels suspicious as hell.
