Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
A teacher’s assistant walks across the stage; at least, I’m assuming that’s who this is? She’s young, probably a student, holding a stack of papers. She sets them on the table on the stage, then exits stage right.
“Dang, Professor Higgins, she’s snatched.” I wonder if he’s boning her or if it’s strictly professional or if—
“You need to stop.”
The girl in front of me—the one wearing the ball cap—has her head craned around and eyes narrowed. Lips pursed.
This feels very much like the other day when that other chick in my actual class was pissing and moaning because of my pen twirling.
“Stop what?
“Talking.”
“I’m not.”
I mean, I am—but not to her.
Mind your business.
She glares a few more seconds before turning back toward the front, and now I find myself staring at the back of her head at the clasp of her ball cap where you adjust the size.
The dark hair against her white hoodie.
I scan the stage for the hot TA (tits and ass, get it), but she doesn’t reappear no matter how hard I conjure her. Professor Randall continues yammering about the invention of television and copyrights and how the dude got his idea stolen because he didn’t patent it and what the hell this has to do with marketing, I have no idea.
I lean forward. “When is the break for this class?”
A loud sigh.
“Thirty more minutes.” The response is faint because she doesn’t bother turning around.
Thirty more minutes.
Ugh.
Fuck.
My leg bounces nervously. Fidgety.
She turns. “Would you stop?” More glares. More daggers.
“Stop what?”
“Oh my god, are you that obtuse? Stop moving your leg. It’s hitting the back of my chair and making it vibrate. I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Obtuse?” She’s using big words, and I don’t like it. Not when I’m tempted to google the definition.
“Yes. Are you that clueless?”
I roll my eyes. “My bouncin’ leg is making your chair vibrate?” My voice is deep and low ’cause I at least have the couth to keep it quiet. “That makes no sense.”
Ridiculous.
“Well, I can feel it. That’s the point.”
“Well, I’m a big boy. I can’t help it if you feel my knee hittin’ the back of your chair.”
The young woman’s nostrils flare. “I’ve literally missed five minutes of his lecture, no thanks to you.” She flops around to face the front.
“Pfft.” I snort. “As if he’s got anything important to say. All he’s doin’ is braggin about himself.”
My eyes leave the back of her head and stray toward the stage, where Professor McEgoPants is boasting on and on. Something about, “…the evolving media, changing every single day, which is why chapter fourteen of the textbook isn’t the same as it was the last school year…”
The dude has a serious ego problem. He hasn’t taught a single thing, rather has spent the duration of the time promoting the latest edition of his book, which students are forced to buy.
That he wrote, in case you missed it.
That they have to buy.
Dude, I have no idea why Drew needs this class, but he needs to drop it, stat. This is painful and little Miss “I want to hear what the douchebag is saying” only makes it worse.
Sue me for having a wobbly leg.
I sigh.
Loudly.
She glances over her shoulder but doesn’t have anything to say.
“Oh, I’m sorry, was I sighing too loud?” I sigh. “It’s not a crime.”
The girl adjusts herself in her chair, making her irritation known.
I check my watch; ten more minutes.
Dang, the time flew while I wasn’t having fun, thanks to ball cap and her entertaining huffing and puffing in my direction.
Five minutes.
Three.
Then we’re being excused from class for the break.
When she stands, she grabs her backpack, hefting it onto her shoulder and glaring.
“Where you goin’?” I can feel my brows rising.
“Moving to a new spot.” She’s looking down at me, face scrunched up distastefully. “Do me a favor and stay away from me after the break.”
That makes me laugh. “No problem.” My hands go up in mock surrender. “Go do your thing.”
Daisy
“…That is the most annoying human I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”
This time, I’m the one who’s grumbling, bending over the drinking fountain in the lobby of the auditorium. The water is freezing cold and perfect—just what I needed to cool off, literally and figuratively.
“Who’s the most annoying human you’ve ever met?”
I stand.
Wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my hoodie.
The girl behind me has her eyebrows raised into her hairline, and she’s staring, clearly interested in what I have to say under my breath.
“Just some guy sitting behind me. He was so freaking rude.”
She cocks her head. “What was he doing?”
“Talking. Complaining. Jiggling his knee.” Being obnoxious on purpose.
I look through the big wooden doors of the auditorium, down to the row where the dude sits rooted to the seat. He’s so big he probably wouldn’t be able to pry himself out if he tried, long legs bent and arranged just so.