Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Shit!” I tilt my head back and look up at the blue sky. Why, why does the world have to shit on me? Building two is all the way across campus. It’s going to take me forever to get there, but since I had to park pretty far away, I think I’m still better off on foot than driving and trying to find a spot to park again.
Exhaling a frustrated sigh, I swing my bag over my shoulder and start running down the sidewalk to the other buildings, my feet slapping against the concrete. I probably look like a crazy lunatic, as I hurry past everyone in my way. By the time I get to the building, I’m ten minutes late, sweating like a whore in church and completely out of breath.
Just how I wanted to start my morning, stinky and late.
The room is packed, but somehow, I manage to find a seat. Whispers meet my ears, some quiet, some loud, but I don’t pay anyone an ounce of attention.
The rest of the class I spend frazzled and feel as if I’m trying to play catch up. I hate being late. Hate it. It ruins my day and gets me off schedule. Maybe it’s a form of OCD, but when it comes to being somewhere, I’m always on time. Always. I end up dropping my pencil twice, and misspelling words left and right. My notes end up in the wrong notebook, and now I’ll have to copy them into the right one.
Something is wrong with me.
After what seems like an eternity, the professor releases us. I gather up my things and walk out looking for my next class, which luckily doesn’t start for another half an hour. Hopefully this time I can be on time, and in the right room.
My class schedule says it’s in building five, but when I walk over to the sign, it says Administration Building. I clench my jaw, a low simmering anger rippling through me. Why would my English literature class be in the admin building?
Vance. It hits me then. He must’ve done this, done something with my classes. There’s no other explanation for it. When I got my class schedule, all my classes matched up with the books that I bought, but the classes on my schedule now, don’t.
Stupid, Vance. He thinks he can mess with me. I kick at the pavement out of anger and stub my toe. Jesus. I’ll find a way to get him back, but for now, I need to fix the problem that he’s caused. Walking inside the building, I peer around, trying to find someone who can help me. It’s the first day of school you would think this building would be the busiest of all, but it seems it’s the most vacant.
There’s no one sitting at the front office, instead there’s a sign that says OUT in big bold letters. Who works in an admin building at a college and just doesn’t show up for their job? It’s not lunch time, so what does the out mean? Shaking my head in frustration because today has already been a clusterfuck, I walk down the long hallway looking for someone, anyone.
Out of nowhere, a door opens right in front of me, and I almost run into it face first.
“Oh, sh— I’m sorry…” the guy who almost hit me with his door says, his eyes finding mine. They’re a vivid blue, so blue that for a moment I forget what the hell it is that I’m doing.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His deep baritone voice breaks the trance and I find my voice through the fog.
“Yes, I’m fine…well, besides this... it seems the building numbers on my class schedule are messed up. I ended up in the wrong building and then late for my first class because I had to run across campus.” I blow out a frustrated sigh. It’s not his fault, I know that, but I can’t help but vent.
“Why don’t you come into my office and I’ll see if I can help you with that,” he says, holding the door open for me. I walk in and take the seat at the front of his desk. It holds a little metal plague that says S. Miller, Dean’s Assistant. Looking at him, he doesn’t seem to be much older than me, and though I know it’s none of my business, I wonder how he got into a position like this.
I hand him the piece of paper as he sits down in the chair on the other side of the desk. I take him in, he’s handsome, young, and could pass for a student that goes here. His eyes glance over the paper his eyebrows pointing down, his features turning serious.
“I think someone was trying to play a prank on you.” He frowns a moment later.